“I like being here and I love you both,” said Munroe, being careful not to wake up Sam.
“I know,” said Choss, giving her a squeeze. “That was never in doubt. But you don’t belong in a classroom. They’re training you to be able to do something with your magic, not teach others. So go out there and do it. Just promise me you’ll be careful and come back to us.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
“You can be very persuasive when you want to,” said Munroe, appraising him.
“I learned from the best,” he said.
“Keep talking like that and you’ll get a night to remember,” she promised him.
The next morning all three members of the Grey Council were there to wave her off. They’d agreed Sam was too little to understand so he was being kept indoors with her mother. She pulled Choss down towards her for one last kiss, not caring that the others were watching, before climbing onto her horse.
When she passed through the gates Munroe expected to feel free. Instead she felt homesick. She just wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible and return to her family. Now all she had to do was find a missing Seeker.
CHAPTER 5
Wren tried not to stare as they approached the Red Tower but despite her father’s warning she couldn’t help it. She’d never seen a building so tall and strange. It was monstrous and so narrow it looked more like a huge splinter of fresh blood than a building. She hadn’t been sure what to expect but her imagination had not prepared her for this. A building that, even at this distance, felt as if it didn’t belong.
Wren wondered if anyone actually lived inside it and how they could bear it.
Her father, riding beside her on the wagon, was still preaching “. . . must respect your teachers. I know this school is different from what we know, but they are still your elders and you will listen.”
“Yes, Father,” she said by rote. Most of their conversations had been like this since they’d left home. At times it had been a long and tedious journey from Drassia.
“Learn as much as you can and try to do . . . well.”
Wren smiled and patted his knee. He was trying so hard. She was amazed he’d managed to say even that much. Her father knew almost nothing about magic and how it worked, which was a great deal more than her mother. In fact, none of her people could speak about it with any real authority.
Magic had no functional place in Drassi society. Any child unfortunate enough to have the ability was effectively exiled. Not by their family or the village, but simply because no one in Drassia knew what to do with them. There was no shame or embarrassment, merely indifference.
Wren knew other nations in the west had more severe reactions to children with magic. The introduction of monthly visits from a Seeker had been carefully negotiated. In Drassia there had been no need to walk on eggshells. Every community wanted the children found and taken away as soon as possible so that life could continue as normal.
Her culture was built on skill, tradition and patience. From the weavers and tailors to the bladesmiths and martial arts masters. Any person learning a craft remained an apprentice for a minimum of ten years, while in some cases it could be as many as twenty. There was no shame in this. It was necessary and the time taken to acquire such knowledge could not be rushed. However long it took to achieve, a master of their craft was highly regarded throughout the nation.
To someone from Drassia, magic seemed like the worst kind of shortcut. It was a way to create something quickly and cheat the craftsman. From the little that she knew, Wren understood the ingrained Drassi attitude showed their general ignorance. It took a long time and considerable skill before a mage could effectively wield magic. It also required several more years before one was allowed to use the title of Battlemage. Beyond that only a handful in history had ever attained the mantle of Sorcerer.
Others before her had tried to argue the point, but no one in Drassia wanted to listen, so the level of ignorance remained the same today.
Wren remembered a boy from her village who had left home two years before to study at the Red Tower. No one really spoke about him any more. No Drassi who went to the Red Tower ever returned home once they were fully trained. There was simply no point. Some Drassi mages became Seekers and others travelled the world as Battlemages, lending their skill and strength to those in need. Beyond the borders of Drassia magic had a purpose and, like everyone, Drassi mages wanted to belong.
She wondered if one day she would be able to call herself a Battlemage. It seemed a tall order and so far away. At the moment all she had was a crude understanding of magic and how it worked.
Her ability to turn the power she summoned into a physical force had seemed like a great achievement. The Seeker visiting her village had been less kind, saying this was the first thing students were taught. The physical manifestation of will was merely the beginning and the easiest skill to master. Wren had felt deflated ever since and had not experimented by herself any further.
The journey to the Red Tower had given her some time to think about what she wanted. Her old life was gone and she could never go back. She was still coming to terms with that, but if magic was to play a large role in her future then she wanted to excel at it.
“Are you listening?” asked her father.
“Yes, Father.”
“Then repeat the last thing I said.”
“That I should try not to embarrass our family and undermine everything mother has built.”
Her father grumbled but let it pass. In truth she’d only been half listening, but he’d said something similar a dozen times already. It was much the same lecture she’d heard all her life. Only now she had one more thing with which to embarrass and disappoint her mother. After all, it was only Wren’s great-great-grandmother who had created the thriving business empire that she had passed down to her daughter and so on through the generations. Her family’s silk clothing was renowned and worn by kings and queens across the world.
From the moment of her birth it was expected that Wren would inherit and run the business after her mother, but now that honour would pass to her cousin. Apparently that was the worst thing that could ever have happened in the world to her mother and her business empire.
“She does love you,” said her father, somehow reading her thoughts.
Wren laughed at the idea. She’d never experienced any displays of affection from her mother. Mostly it was irritation for not being the best in her school at everything. Her mother also blamed her for being shorter than average, enjoying her food a little too much, having stubby fingers and no artistic eye for design. All of these were grave sins, far worse than a crippling injury or even an untimely death.
“We’re nearly there,” commented her father, gesturing at the gates ahead.
Someone in the nameless town had given them directions to the Red Tower and this last mile on the road felt incredibly long.
Magic had changed the course of her life and Wren felt enormous relief. Her gender had locked her into one path and much had been expected of her. Any ambitions of her own had been irrelevant. Until now. She was determined to become a great mage. Not because it was expected or that she wanted to make her parents proud. She was doing it for herself. Her magic belonged to no one else and with it she would carve out her own future.
The most terrifying part of her great plan was that there was nothing to fall back on. Failing would not mean Wren would be sent home in disgrace. No child in Drassia who left for the Red Tower ever returned. It made her wonder what would happen if she couldn’t master even the basics? How long would they give her? Would she be cast out into the street? Or did they have a way to burn the magic out of her for ever? She had so many questions and no answers.
The seed of fear in her stomach grew tendrils that began to spread.
The gates to the Red Tower were not as impressive as Wren had been expecting. They were tall and looked well made, but they wer
e quite ordinary. Some might say plain. The wall surrounding the school was three or four times the height of a grown man, but it too was simply made from ordinary grey stone. Wren considered that perhaps she was being arrogant. Maybe this work was all they knew in Shael and it was the height of their stonemasonry skill. Staring more closely Wren noticed the wall didn’t look that old in comparison with the tower itself. She wondered if the original wall had been destroyed in the war ten years ago.
The rest of the school was hidden from view, but waiting for her at the gate was a tall Zecorran girl about her age. When she’d first seen one of the northerners as a small child Wren had assumed the man’s eyes were dark brown. It was only later she realised the irises were totally black and featureless, just like every other Zecorran.
The girl had pale skin, long black hair and a friendly face that lit up when she smiled. “You must be Wren.”
“Yes, that is me.” She hopped down off the wagon and stretched her legs. The air smelled different here, dry and crisp like the moment before a heavy storm. Perhaps it was all the magic.
“I’m Tianne.” When the girl held out a hand it took Wren a moment to realise she was supposed to shake it. This was how they greeted people outside Drassia. It was another foreign custom she would have to become familiar with. She’d only just arrived and was already feeling a little out of her depth.
“It’s kind of you to meet me.” Wren wasn’t sure if it was normal for only one student to greet a new arrival at the school. She tried her best not to seem disappointed in case she offended Tianne. Wren saw her father looking around in bewilderment as well. Such a thing would never have happened if they were at home. All of the senior figures in the community would normally have been waiting. Thoughts like those did not belong any more either. Wren was starting to understand that she would have to relearn what was normal for people from other countries, as well as how to use her magic.
“The Grey Council asked me to give you a tour. They’re busy at the moment, but you’ll have a chance to meet them later.”
Wren pulled her bag down from the back of the wagon and then held out her hand towards her father. He gave her a wry smile, touched two fingers to his lips and turned the wagon around.
“Is he a friend?” asked Tianne, watching as the cart slowly trundled away through the gate and then back down the road.
“He’s my father.”
Tianne was visibly puzzled but Wren ignored her. This moment was for remembrance. For her to think about the many things her father had done for her over the years.
When she’d come home from school angry or in tears, it was her father who had consoled her and made her laugh with his silly jokes. He was the one who had nursed her through a scare with the damp lung while her mother had been travelling abroad. A letter had been sent, but of course her mother had not cut her trip short. Through every scraped knee, every tear and heartache, her father had been someone she could rely on and trust. Her mother had merely been a vague presence in the house, constantly disappointed by her lack of excellence at school. Wren had realised a number of years ago that, no matter how hard she tried, it would never be good enough for her mother.
At least she had been blessed to have one parent who truly loved her.
Wren whispered a brief prayer to the Blessed Mother to look after her father on his return trip and then turned back to her guide.
“Didn’t you want to say goodbye?” asked Tianne.
“We’d already said everything on the journey here. Anything more is wasted breath.”
“I heard you praying. Is it true everyone in Drassia prays to the Mothers of Summer and Winter?”
Wren wasn’t sure if Tianne was joking or not, but she decided to take her question at face value.
“Most people in Drassia follow the teachings of the Blessed Mother, but a few follow the Maker. Every summer we give thanks for a good harvest with a festival.”
Tianne looked disappointed. “Oh, we do the same thing back home. Most people in Zecorria follow the Lady of Light these days. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Tianne led her away from the gate and then along a narrow path between several buildings. They emerged in an open grassy area with a large paved training ground on one side of the square and six long buildings on the others.
“Those are the dormitories,” said Tianne, gesturing at the buildings. Their construction was different from the outer wall and finally Wren saw something familiar. Although they’d not been constructed by her people, she could see the dormitories were incredibly well made. Huge slabs of black stone had been used to fashion the walls and the seams between the blocks were barely noticeable. When she touched the stone Wren saw it had been worn smooth over many years.
“They’ve been here almost as long as the tower,” said Tianne, gesturing at the red needle that loomed over everything. It lurked at the corner of her eye and the weight of it seemed to press against her mind. Wren wondered if she would ever get used to the sense of unease.
Trying to put it from her mind she followed Tianne to one of the buildings. The inside of the dormitory was plainly furnished with rows of bunk beds and foot lockers for their belongings. The space inside was only two-thirds full, suggesting that in the past there had been many more students. The washroom was located at the back of the main room and Wren was alarmed to discover that boys and girls were housed together in the dormitories. Tianne explained the dormitories were organised by age group, allowing classmates to spend time together and become friends. Her twitching eyebrows also indicated it was sometimes more than that.
“There seems to be very little privacy,” said Wren, struggling not to make it sound like a criticism.
Tianne shrugged. “There are always quiet places if you need to get away. Especially if you meet someone you like,” she said with a wink. When Wren didn’t respond in kind she covered her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry. Was that rude? Are you not allowed to kiss before marriage in Drassia?”
Wren took a deep breath before answering. It seemed as if she was not the only one who had a lot to learn about foreign cultures. “Kissing before marriage is permitted, but I’m not here for that. I want to learn about magic.”
Tianne relaxed and chatted on about nothing of consequence while she helped Wren unpack her belongings. She seemed to have an unusual interest in other students and who she’d witnessed sneaking away late at night together. Wren smiled and nodded, pretending to listen to the gossip, but in truth her mind was elsewhere.
The thrum of energy at the edge of her perception was much stronger here. If she concentrated she could almost feel it, like a ghostly hand running across the surface of her skin. The air was alive with wild magic from so many children in one place. Wren could feel an untamed echo of it every time they passed another student. Only the older students and adults radiated an odd sense of calm.
She sought the same tranquillity and control of her own magic. For now it felt as if all she was doing was holding it in check and slowly releasing it, like steam from a boiling kettle. Wren sought to understand the nature of magic and how to control it, not be at its whim. Once she had mastered that she would be in charge of her own fate. No one would be able to control her.
For the next hour Tianne showed her around the school and Wren was disappointed at how mundane much of it seemed. The stables, dining hall and exercise field held no surprises, but when they returned to the training ground Tianne was once more surprised by her answers.
A group of unarmed students were practising in two lines, grappling and throwing one another, under the scrutiny of a large, bald man from Seveldrom. The bluff-faced man moved lightly on his feet in a way that Wren recognised from home. By comparison most of the students clomped around as if their shoes were full of lead.
“As well as magic, they teach us how to fight hand to hand and with swords,” explained Tianne. “I’m not very good without a weapon, but I guess you’ll be much better than everyone else.”
“Aren’t you taught how to fight from birth?”
Wren shook her head, disappointing Tianne once more with a boring dose of the truth. “Drassi boys learn how to fight from a young age. In Drassia the women lead and organise the country. We govern the cities and run the businesses. If a man survives several years in service, then he may give up the mask and become an apprentice in a profession.”
“Why aren’t you in class?” said a new voice, startling them both.
Wren turned to find a burly man with a shaggy red beard watching them. Her first impression was that he was not a kind man. His eyes seemed cruel and, from the way Tianne reacted, Wren knew he was someone she feared. Even without reaching out to embrace the Source, she could sense a deep well of power within him. Anger clung to the man, wrapping him in its embrace like a thick cloak. From the clenched jaw to the white knuckles on each fist, he seemed on the verge of violence.
Tianne was stammering, unable to meet his gaze. “I was told to show Wren around, by Master Balfruss. She’s just arrived today, from Drassia.”
Wren kept her chin up and stared into his wintry blue eyes when he looked her way. She did her best not to seem intimidated and was only partially successful. The man simply harrumphed and stalked away without saying another word. Tianne didn’t relax until he’d gone around a corner and was out of sight.
“That’s Garvey. He’s one of the Grey Council.”
“He seems very fierce,” said Wren, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“He’s a rotten bastard.”
“Don’t say that,” said Wren, aghast at the slur. “He’s our teacher and should be respected.”
Tianne shook her head. “Just wait. See how you feel after a few of his classes. You’ll soon change your mind about him.”
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