“I haven’t told you much, but I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” Erisa interjected quickly. “But things didn’t happen the way most people assume. I was fighting with my mother, but when I got to Cerria, I didn’t work as a prostitute, no matter what anyone tells you. I worked in a small tavern called The Brass Button. It was a lucky job for me, since most of the customers there were rich, upper-crust sorts. I wasn’t hassled much, as happens frequently at many places where men gather to drink.”
He was somewhat relieved to hear that. His mother’s silence on the topic over the years had led him to believe something terrible had happened. As he had grown older, he had stopped asking about his father, fearing he might have been the product of rape. It didn’t sound like her story was heading in that direction.
Erisa smiled. “Mark was very charming back then. I saw him several times before he even asked my name, and after that—well, I can only say I was young and naïve. He was handsome, kind, and I was utterly smitten.”
“But you knew he was a nobleman—that he couldn’t marry you,” said Will, unable to keep from second-guessing her judgment.
His mother nodded. “He was the second son. He told me he wouldn’t ever inherit. Call me a fool, but I believe he loved me. We met frequently, and it wasn’t until later that things became serious. When I told him, I was pregnant, he promised to marry me…”
That obviously hadn’t happened, so when she paused Will put in, “But?”
“His brother died during a border skirmish with Darrow,” said Erisa, her tone becoming sad. “It wasn’t even much of a battle, just an unfortunate event. They encountered a scouting party and although they quickly sent them running, a stray arrow struck him in the neck. After that, everything changed. Mark was suddenly heir to the barony, and his father took a hand in matters. They arranged a marriage for him with the king’s third daughter, a lady named Arlen, and that was that.”
“Didn’t he tell them you were pregnant?” asked Will, outraged.
Erisa shook her head and waved her hands. “Heavens no! What do you think would have happened to me if he had?”
He was too angry to accept that reasoning. “Nothing! If he’d married you, they would have had to accept it.”
“You know better than that, Will,” said his mother calmly. “I know it’s unfair, but I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it. Mark helped get me out of the city, and when I came back I lived with Ar—your grandfather. He kept me hidden until you were born, and I didn’t go home until you were almost two. My father was already dead when I went back, and my brother had taken over the business. If it wasn’t for your uncle, I’m not sure my mother would have let me stay.”
Will barely remembered his grandmother, mainly because once his mother had moved out they had only rarely visited her. Now he understood why. “Why wouldn’t she understand? It wasn’t your fault.”
Erisa chuckled, a soft and bitter sound. “I never gave her a chance. I was determined to keep Mark’s secret, both for his sake, and for yours. I worried that the new baroness might seek to get rid of you if she found out. Since I refused to tell her what happened, or who your father was—well, she was always quick to judge. She assumed the worst.”
It was unfair, unjust, and painful to think about. “But she was your mom,” said Will at last. He couldn’t imagine a circumstance that would make his own mother treat him so badly. “She should have trusted you.”
Erisa’s eyes were brimming even though her face was smooth. “And that’s why I will never do the same to you, Will. No matter what happens. I will always be on your side, no matter what anyone says.” She was on her feet and without thinking, Will stood and hugged her.
His eyes were burning as he told her, “I know, Mom. I’m almost grown now. I’ll always take care of you, no matter what.”
She cried some at that, and Will joined her, but their sadness was short lived. While it felt as though the foundation of the world had shifted beneath his feet now that he knew who his father was, nothing had really changed, and the events she had told him about were long ago. They moved on to simple talk after that.
When he left to go back to Arrogan’s home that evening, he walked slowly, taking his time so he could mull over what she had told him. A lot of things made more sense to him now, but in the end his life was still the same.
Chapter 21
“Today I’m putting the spell-cage back on,” Arrogan informed him. “You’ve had enough light duty. It’s time to get back to work.”
Will was relieved. No matter what the old man called it, his light duty had been a pain in the ass.
“Clamp down on your source,” ordered his grandfather.
He did, and he was surprised at how easy it was. He had been worried that the two-week break might have caused him to regress, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Will felt a wave of fatigue and light-headedness as his turyn shrank, but it passed after a few minutes. His body was already drawing in energy to replace the turyn that he was no longer producing.
His grandfather nodded, observing him closely. “That’s good. How do you feel?”
“It was easier than I expected,” admitted Will. “I felt tired for a minute, but it didn’t last long.”
Arrogan raised one brow. “Really?”
Will had the feeling the old man might be on the verge of giving him a compliment, so he seized the moment. “Did I surprise you?” he asked, grinning proudly.
The old man ‘harrumphed’ and his features turned sour. “In a way, I guess. You might not be as completely useless as I anticipated.”
He felt a warm glow. For Arrogan, ‘not completely useless’ was as close to praise as anyone could expect. “Be careful, old man,” warned Will. “If word gets out that you’ve gone soft, you’ll have people lining up outside to be your apprentice.”
Arrogan snorted. “If that happened, I could quit wasting food on the moron I’ve been training. I’m sure even a village idiot would be better than you,” said his grandfather. Without warning, he conjured a new spell-cage, and in the space of a few seconds, had reapplied it to Will.
“We’ll spar and work on your studies the rest of the day, to give you time to readjust. Tomorrow we’ll see if your explosive breakthrough taught you anything,” Arrogan informed him.
The next day found Will frustrated, but he did have some success. After an hour of false starts, he did manage to ‘express’ his turyn as Arrogan described it, but it was far from being what his teacher wanted. No sooner than he had pushed some of his turyn out, it faded, dissipating like steam on a cold day.
“The idea is to contain and control it,” repeated his grandfather for perhaps the tenth time. “Don’t just push it out and forget about it. Don’t try to do magic like you’re passing gas.”
It was a week before he managed to create a well-contained outer layer of turyn around what his grandfather described as his ‘personal’ layer. The terms confused Will a little at first, though. “Shouldn’t my personal turyn be the tiny amount trapped inside the spell-cage?” he asked. “The turyn outside it is what I’m absorbing from the environment.”
“You won’t have that spell-cage on you forever,” Arrogan reminded him. “In this case, I refer to personal turyn as the energy that your body needs and uses to function normally. The fact that you aren’t actually producing it yourself is beside the point. What you’re learning now is to create a larger supply that you can use to do things without affecting yourself physically. Functionally, however, it’s all the same once you’ve converted it into your own energy type.”
Will frowned. “What’s the difference between turyn that’s been converted and turyn that hasn’t? You’ve told me that my body is doing it automatically, but I still don’t understand what it means.”
“Hold out your arm,” said his grandfather. “I’ll show you.”
Suspicious, he hesitated. “Is this going to hurt?”
“All the best lessons do,” said Arr
ogan, grinning maliciously. “Do it.”
Squinting and gritting his teeth, Will held out his arm.
The old man picked up a long stick from the ground. He used it to point at Will’s sacrificial appendage. “For this example, think of your arm as your turyn. It represents the turyn you control, whether it’s the inner personal turyn that fuels your actions, or the larger outer layer you’ve just learned to create. It’s yours. You can make a fist with it, punch someone, pick things up. You can do whatever you want. It’s a part of you.” Then he lifted the stick and showed it to Will. “This stick represents turyn that isn’t yours. It’s external and beyond your immediate control. It isn’t part of you, and it can easily hurt you.”
Without warning, his grandfather whipped the stick across Will’s forearm. “Like this, for example,” finished Arrogan.
“Ow!” yelped Will, pulling his arm back and rubbing at the red welt that was rising on his skin. “You didn’t have to do that! I understood you perfectly.”
“Pain is an excellent teacher,” said his grandfather. “If you live to be older than me, you’ll still remember what I just did, even if it’s just to cuss me.
“Spells are like the stick,” continued Arrogan. “You create them from your turyn and you can use them to do all sorts of things, as long as you keep your hand on them. The bigger question is, what can you do the next time someone decides to whack you with a stick?”
Will looked around and picked another dead limb up from the ground. “Make my own stick.” He made a pretense of fencing with his grandfather’s smaller weapon.
His mentor nodded. “That’s one solution, and it’s often the best one, but not always. Sometimes the other person has a much better weapon than you do.” Arrogan tossed his branch at Will’s face, and when he flinched the old man stepped close and twisted the larger stick from his hand. “If your will is strong enough, and you have the skill, you can sometimes take the other person’s stick away from them.” Will’s grandfather took the opportunity to whip the branch across the back of Will’s legs.
Will jumped, yelling. “Hey! Ow! Stop that!”
Things devolved quickly as his grandfather began chasing him around the yard, smacking Will’s backside whenever he got close enough. Running faster, Will was surprised to discover that he still couldn’t get away from his tormentor. Damn, he’s quick for an old man! he realized. Eventually, he gave up trying to escape and ran for his sparring staff. Snatching it up, he whirled around and prepared to defend himself.
Undaunted, Arrogan launched a series of lightning-fast attacks with his much smaller weapon. Will managed to fend them off, but his grandfather outsmarted him once again. Getting in close, Arrogan hooked one foot behind Will’s ankle as he changed positions. A second later, Will was falling, and somewhere along the way his staff wound up in the old man’s grasp.
Not content with his victory, Arrogan began cackling with wicked glee as he turned the staff on its previous wielder, and Will was sent scrambling across the ground as he tried to escape real bruises.
Knowing he couldn’t outrun the old man, Will went for the other staff, and while he took several smart raps to his arms and legs, he finally got his hands on it. After that, the lesson essentially turned into one of their more usual staff-sparring sessions.
His mentor finally relented, after more than half an hour. Will stared at him, panting. “How do you move so fast? You shouldn’t be able to outrun me at your age.”
Arrogan didn’t answer for a few seconds, but finally he responded, “What is your personal turyn for?”
Will thought about it, wondering if it was a trick question. “You told me it’s what we use to function. Walking, breathing, etc…”
“So if you can control it, and even increase it, what does that mean?” added his mentor.
Will gaped at his teacher as the meaning became clear. “You’re using magic to make yourself faster!”
“I’m teaching you to be a wizard,” said Arrogan. “That doesn’t just mean learning to cast spells. It means becoming a master of magic in all its forms, the turyn in your body, the turyn in your spells, and even that of your enemy.
“That being said, your body has a limit. You can use your turyn to make yourself faster and stronger, but not beyond the physical capacity of your muscles and bones. You can give yourself an advantage in a fight, but if you try to take on a master swordsman, you’ll still be gutted because he’s spent his life training to do something you’re just dabbling at.”
“If I can make myself faster and stronger than a normal swordsman, shouldn’t I be able to beat him?” asked Will.
“Magic is life,” his grandfather informed him. “Just because you don’t see ordinary people casting spells doesn’t mean they don’t depend on it. Athletes, warriors, people that train themselves to be the best at what they do, they’re doing something very similar with their turyn. And on top of that, they’re building their physical capacity at the same time. You can use your magic in a large variety of ways, including to give yourself a physical advantage, but don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating people who train hard at fighting, or you’ll learn a painful and bloody lesson.”
Disappointed, Will responded, “When you put it like that, it makes wizardry sound a lot less exciting.”
“I just want you to have realistic expectations,” said his teacher. “Wizardry is still far better than anything else you could learn. You might never be the best swordsman, or the strongest man, or the best climber, or dancer, whatever you name, but with conscious control over your turyn you can become much better at any of those things. Your power is much more versatile, and we’re only discussing the enhancement of your physical abilities—there are far more amazing things that can be done when you consider real magic.”
“Speaking of which,” said Will, “when are you going to start teaching me magic? You said it would be after I finished learning to compress my source, so…”
“You’ve already started,” observed Arrogan. “Creating an extended layer of turyn is the first step for much of what you’ll do in the future.”
“What’s the next step then?” probed Will.
“Learning the runes,” said his grandfather immediately. “But before I teach you that, you need to master what I’ve already shown you.”
With a sigh, Will nodded and began to practice ‘expressing’ his turyn again.
Chapter 22
After two weeks of practicing what he had already learned, Will was good and sick of it. “If I have to express myself one more time, I’m going to lose my mind,” he complained.
“Don’t get married, then,” said his grandfather.
“Huh? Why don’t you ever make sense?”
The old man laughed. “It’s a joke, but I suppose you’re too young to understand.”
As much as he didn’t want to listen to yet another weird lecture from his teacher, he was desperate to distract the old man from the repetitive drills. “Explain it to me then,” he said, choosing the lesser of two evils.
“For marriage you need patience, which is one lesson you’ll have to learn, but more specifically, you have to communicate well. You have to learn to express yourself,” explained Arrogan. “Now, let’s try it again.”
Disappointed that his grandfather had finished so quickly, Will decided to fish for more. “You don’t seem like the marrying kind. How did you wind up getting married?”
Arrogan paused, as though caught in a memory. Frequently when that happened, his eventual response would be, ‘none of your damned business,’ but this time he answered, “My teacher was determined to make sure I learned this lesson, so she took it upon herself to make it her life’s work.”
“Your teacher was a woman?” asked Will, somewhat confused. Then his mind clicked, putting together what his grandfather had said. “Wait! You married your teacher?”
Arrogan nodded. “She didn’t give me much choice, but then, she always knew my mind better than I
did. Aislinn made that same silly joke about learning to express myself, then she spent more than a century reinforcing the lesson.”
“Hmm,” said Will. “All you ever do is swear and berate people. I don’t think you learned it properly.”
His grandfather growled, “I make my feelings known. That’s the point. But I’ll admit, I may have been a little different back then. You’ll see one day. A good woman makes you want to put your best foot forward.”
Will doubted his grandfather had a ‘good’ foot. As far as he could tell, Arrogan was sour and mean from back to front. Rather than point that out, he asked a different question, “Wasn’t it a little unusual to marry your teacher?”
Arrogan shrugged. “Even in my day, wizards were uncommon. We didn’t have many peers to pass judgement on us, and we were a good match, though she was a little older than me.”
“How much is a little?”
“Forty-three years,” said Arrogan, his lips curving into a faint smile as he waited for his grandson’s reaction.
Stunned, Will almost shouted, “She was older than my mother!”
His grandfather broke into a grin. “I said forty-three years older. I was fifty-four on the day we married.”
Putting his still new math skills to the test, Will added up the numbers mentally. “She was ninety-seven! You said you had two daughters, how—”
“Two daughters and one son,” corrected his grandfather. “You neglect the possibility that I may have had more than one wife during my long life; however, in this case you’re correct. I was only married once, to Aislinn.”
He still wasn’t convinced. “But at that age…”
“Physically, she was similar to a woman in her thirties,” explained Arrogan. “No one that saw us could even notice the age difference. In fact, when we did start showing our age people often thought I was the older one. Forty years is a small difference for wizards.”
The Choice of Magic Page 16
