“I was a sorcerer, once.”
She jerked her head back in surprise, just managing to swallow the water instead of spitting it out. He smiled.
“Yes. A good one, too. Raised by two powerful, high-ranking sorcerer parents. I was in love with another sorcerer. Her name was Esme. She is the most brilliant person I have ever known. I worked hard, studied hard, and I was the best, second only to Esme, of course. When I was your age, it was coming time for me to create my first siphon, to split apart my soul, to drive out the worst part of myself and, in so doing, draw power from it.” Oswald examined the palm of his hand thoughtfully. “I had chosen to excise my cowardice. I knew I was a coward. I was afraid of everything.” He smiled at her. “I still am.” He took a deep breath. “When the time came, though, to create my siphon, I was too afraid. The process is very painful. I ran away.” He said this calmly, his eyes watching her face. “I ran into the woods, with no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do. I hated myself for my cowardice. But I couldn’t push it away, either. People create eidolons so easily, but this piece of myself I couldn’t seem to drive away. And I am immensely glad for it. My cowardice protected me.
“In the woods I met a pair of guardians. With nowhere else to go, and no idea of what I was going to do, I traveled with them, came here to the castle. I learned how the guardians see eidolons and came to agree with them. I realized that I had never wanted to reject those parts of myself in the first place. I didn’t think rejecting myself made me better, and I didn’t want to trade parts of my soul for power.
“I went through guardian training, incorporated my eidolons. Then I returned home. Esme had finished her training by then, was a very powerful sorcerer. She had only contempt for me.” He looked down at the messy surface of his desk, contemplated it for several seconds. “That is the eidolon you saw in the confine. My love for Esme.” He sighed. “It hurt, but I accepted it. Because I had something else to believe in. I never wanted anyone to feel like they had to shun a part of themselves. I never wanted another person to experience the shame I felt for the worst parts of myself.”
He looked up at her, beads of sweat on his forehead. “Do you know why I am the archguard?”
Because you’re the oldest? Because you like speeches? She shook her head.
“It is because I have a knack for seeing what other people don’t. A sense for what is true. Both in myself and in others. I can see that you are angry, and hurt, and not wanting to look at the pieces of yourself you are missing.”
She shifted uncomfortably.
“But you need to understand exactly what it is we are trying to achieve here.”
“Yes, I get it. Understanding myself. Reincorporating eidolons.”
“Yes, but let me be more specific. Here are a few of the things I know about myself. I am a coward. I am not a very good archguard, in many ways. Our order has been failing for the last few hundred years, since the sorcerers came about. We held on, though, largely because many of my predecessors were strong, charismatic leaders who convinced people to join us. In a few days I’ll be leaving on a trip through about twenty major city-states, trying to win us contacts and recruits. Last year I won us exactly five contracts, and three recruits. A truly pitiful number.” He took another sip of water and leaned his elbows on his desk. “Some of this is the work of your father. He has a bit of a vendetta, and some pull with the other Lord Protectors. But much of it is my fault.
“I am afraid that I will be the last archguard. I am afraid that my cowardice still controls me, despite how well I know it.” He readjusted his glasses. “Does that make you lose respect for me? It would make sense. Being the archguard makes it all the more difficult to keep your eidolons, because of that pressure to appear that I know what I am doing. I am willing to accept that lack of respect, in exchange for the knowledge that I am being honest with myself and with you. That is how deeply I believe in this. And still I am afraid that it is not enough. That, if the time comes for me to truly sacrifice the last of what I have for my principles, I will run again. Perhaps nothing I think I have learned here is enough. Even though I’ve already given up everything for it.”
Arabel’s stomach was tight. How much further was he going to go? This was more than she wanted to know about a person.
Oswald sat up straighter, steepling his fingers. “More than you wanted to know, I’m sure. But just keep that in mind. That’s what you’re going for. That’s the level of knowledge you’ll need about yourself.”
Well, great. That sounded like a lot of fun.
Oswald examined one of the papers on his desk. “I will be heading out soon. When I get back, I expect to hear that you’ve been spending diligent hours in the library.”
Hours? Plural? But she nodded. “I will.”
19
The heat wave had abated by next morning when Arabel pushed back the covers and dragged herself out of bed. There was a faint green glow behind the mountains in the distance, but the sun had yet to climb above the peaks. Yawning, she scrubbed her hands across her face and tied her tangled hair back, then slipped out the door as quietly as she could so as not to wake Avery.
She jogged down the stairs and emerged into a quiet dining hall. Moira bustled through the open kitchen door carrying a stack of plates, giving her a distracted smile. A few guardians sat here and there, hunched over cups of coffee. The only talk came from over by the fireplace, where Rody and Walt sat.
“You think that’s big? You should have seen the one I caught in Farlbury,” Walt was saying. “It was at least as tall as the old tower.”
“Yeah, but how fast was it?” Rody said, hands on his knees. “I’m telling you, this thing—” He caught sight of Arabel. “Morning little lady.” He glanced down at her feet. “Someone thinks you’re up to something.”
Archie twined around her legs, happily rubbing his face against her ankle. A hot tingle shot up her leg. Arabel frowned at him and tried to shake him off, but he was unaffected. “Do you guys have a… like a weapons practice ground?”
She had noticed that, in addition to their soul blades, the guardians all carried other weapons.
Rody raised his eyebrows, the second one having grown back substantially. “Why do you ask?”
“Stop giving the girl a hard time,” Walt said, taking a sip of something that smelled strongly acidic. “Yes, it’s down by the weapons shed, next to the gardens. Below the old tower.” He eyed Rody. “Rody was just headed there. He’ll take you.”
Rody swigged the last of his coffee. “All right, all right. I was just curious.” He planted his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, his lower back popping. “And it’s Master Rody to you,” he said to Arabel.
“See you later,” Walt said. Rody nodded and waved at him absently as he went to drop his cup in a basin below the food table.
“Thanks, Moira,” he called in the direction of the kitchen. “All right, this way.” He picked up the pace as they emerged into the plaza.
Now that he was standing, she could see he was a tall, heavily muscled man, around her father’s age or a little younger. He wore a sleeveless jerkin, which showed the multitude of burns and scars that crisscrossed his arms.
“So. Sparring, eh?” he asked as they hiked down the steps towards the practice grounds. The bushes on either side of the path were heavy with dew, and a cacophony of birdsong drifted over the castle walls.
“Yep.”
“Know your way around a blade already, or just wanting to take stock of our weaponry?”
His tone was light, but Arabel frowned.
“I just want to practice. It’s been a while.” She’d been able to bribe her father’s men into teaching her until she’d turned thirteen. At that point he’d made it clear to the entire castle that anyone assisting her in being unladylike would be severely punished.
They reached the bottom of the steps, cut across the practice field, and turned right on a small path that meandered through some tall bush
es. On the far side a small, shingled cottage stood with a forge attached to the front of it. Rody grabbed a handful of logs off a woodpile and tossed them into the fire.
“All right, weapons shed is that way, across the sparring grounds.” He pointed.
“Thanks. Is it locked?”
He glanced at her, lifting an eyebrow. “I think David’s over there.”
Her heart skittered. Rody chuckled, and Arabel glowered. “Great. Fine.”
“Have fun.”
She rolled her eyes, blushing, and made her way down a sandy path. She quickly came to a wide area covered in woodchips, with a row of sheds on the other side. Rody had been right; the sparring ground was empty except for David, who stood in the middle, facing away from her.
He held a large broadsword in both hands. She watched him move through what looked like a dance, lifting the blade, which flashed in the sunlight, then dipping back down into a crouch.
She watched him for a few seconds, then shook herself and wandered over to the shed, which held racks of weapons. Her heart filled with glee. There were bows and crossbows, swords of every size, pikes and spears. She pulled a yew bow off a rack, shouldered a quiver of arrows and, shaking her arms, went to try it out.
“Morning!” David called out, not missing a beat of his routine.
“Morning.”
She strung the bow, twanged its string experimentally, and picked up an arrow, sighting along its shaft. It was straight enough. A row of straw targets lined one end of the field and she took up a stance. It had been months since she’d last held a bow, but her muscles remembered everything like it was yesterday. She nocked an arrow, lifted the bow, and pulled it smoothly back to her ear, sighting along the shaft.
She loosed the arrow and, without looking to see whether it hit the target, whipped a second out of the quiver; she had it nocked and loosed half a second later, then a third and a fourth. All thought dropped out of her mind until she reached for an arrow and found the quiver empty. Then she looked at the target. A tight cluster of arrows were grouped in its center.
“Nice shooting,” David said, looking over her shoulder.
She glanced at him; his dark hair was damp with sweat and his arms were bare.
“Thanks.” She glanced at the broadsword he had slung over his shoulder.
“You as good with a sword as you are with a bow?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They were the only ones there as the sun slowly burned off the early morning mist. Arabel picked a well-balanced, serviceable blade, and they faced off. David had exchanged his broadsword for something lighter, and he dove in immediately, not giving her a second to think as he pressed his attack. She sidestepped, their swords grating against one another, and tried twisting her blade, attempting to loosen his grip. He grinned.
“Nice try,” he said, pivoting and coming at her again. She knocked his blade out of the way, waited until he came for her again, then dropped to the ground. His blade swiped over her head as she kicked his feet out from under him. A second later, she was back on her feet, her blade an inch from his chest.
“Dang,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t realize we were fighting dirty.”
“There’s fighting and then there’s not fighting,” Arabel said.
“Or there’s fighting with rules.”
“That’s dancing.”
He laughed.
“And I don’t dance.”
“I do.” He slipped out from under her sword point and stood. “Let’s switch to staves, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Maybe try. Set your mind at ease.”
He laughed again. A bell rang out. He looked disappointed. “Breakfast. But, hey, I’m here every morning.”
Arabel shrugged. That was her plan anyway. “Yeah, all right.”
That evening, after practice with Naomi, Arabel went to the library alone. She walked through that giant, echoing space, seeing no one, and entered the glass enclosure. Grudgingly, she stood on the space that said ‘annoyance.’ That felt right. She definitely didn’t have an annoyance eidolon.
The petal that read ‘ecstasy’ made her uncomfortable. It was fine; she didn’t need to think about that. She’d been happy. That was basically the same thing.
She tried ‘interest’ and ‘surprise’, but those were fine, too. Archie interested her. Oswald surprised her. She went back to stand on ‘annoyance’ again. She stayed another twenty minutes, contemplating the other spaces to no avail, and finally gave up.
The next morning David insisted on staves, and this time he managed to get some solid strikes in; Arabel spent several days bruised and aching, but happy to be training again. The next morning she’d figured out his techniques and he wasn’t able to land a single blow.
Sparring with David quickly became Arabel’s morning routine. They worked their way through the various weapons. David knew every single one, and all the classic moves with each. Arabel made up ways to foil each of them, much to David’s amusement.
“You’re good,” she said one day, after he’d managed to beat her. They were sitting on the edge of the practice field, sharing a flask of water.
“Wow, high praise,” David said, laughing. He shrugged. “I’ve got a long way to go. Lots to live up to.”
“So, the opposite of my situation.”
“Er, sure.”
“So…” Arabel ventured. “Lots of family members in the guardians?”
“That’s an understatement.” He glanced at her, gauging whether she was interested.
“My father and mother were both guardians. And my father’s parents, and their parents. All the way back to the first guardians two thousand years ago.” He gestured to the leather band around his wrist. A battered stone was set in it. “This has been in my family for generations. It belonged to Kieran Mellor, the first guardian. It’s a piece of his village, which was destroyed by eidolons. He was a child at the time, the only survivor. His father had been working on a way to fight the eidolons; had, when he died, accidentally created the first soul blade. Kieran took that blade and his father’s notes and left. He collected followers, was eventually able to make more soul blades, and the guardians were formed.”
“Whoa.” She liked watching him talk. He had a strong, open face, and he had this tone, like he really meant what he said, really believed in it. It was funny, but part of her wished she felt that way about anything.
“The guardians were originally a band of travelling mercenaries, fighting eidolons for hire. Back then we didn’t have the vault. We forced people to try to reincorporate their eidolons. Sometimes it worked, often it didn’t. But if the person was killed, their soul still reformed and the eidolon was gone, so it did work, in a way. That’s part of why we have such a bloody reputation.”
“Makes sense.”
His grey eyes met hers and her stomach gave a little hop.
“So… did you always want to be a guardian?” she asked.
He nodded. “Always. I was raised by my grandfather. Both my parents were here. Out on patrols.”
“You didn’t grow up here?”
He shook his head. He was sitting so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his arms.
“My parents… they were good guardians, but I think they always wished they could have done something different. They didn’t want me to have to live this life. They died when I was twelve.” He swallowed. “That’s when I joined.”
“Are you even allowed to join that young?”
He shook his head. “No. But I ran away. Found my way here. They told me I was too young and brought me back to my grandfather. I ran away again.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “Much easier the second time. This happened five times. Finally, Oswald let me stay.”
“How did you make it here? What about the demons?”
“I joined up with travelling merchants. Volunteered to work without food for passage here.”
“But… what did you eat?”
“I hun
ted. Found what I could. Usually they fed me anyway.”
“Why did you want to be a guardian so much?”
He glanced at her. “Because… because it’s important. What’s the point of living if you aren’t your full self? I used to hear my parents talking, when they visited. Talking about how they might be the last of the guardians.” He shook his head. “They were relieved. I think they were ashamed of our past. Of all the people we killed trying to force them to reincorporate. But… can you imagine a world with only sorcerers? There would be more and more eidolons. People would become weaker and weaker. Emptier and emptier. What’s the point of living if you aren’t being honest with yourself about your emotions? About who you are?”
“But… what if there’s something you don’t want to be? Like what if you want to kill people?”
He raised his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes and waved a hand. “Just as an example.”
“There’s a difference between knowing and acting.” He paused, looking out across the sparring grounds. “For example… I tend to forget I… can’t do everything. One of my eidolons was that I can’t fix everything. Can’t help everyone. I still lose track of it from time to time. It’s why I’m still an acolyte.” He grimaced. “But just because I know it’s there doesn’t mean I give up on everything. Knowing that about myself doesn’t mean I let it dictate what I do.”
“Huh.” She scratched a mosquito bite on her arm. “Yeah, I get that.” For a brief moment she thought about her three eidolons and what they might be. Where were they, and what were they doing?
They were silent for a few seconds, listening to the birds.
“It’s… cool how much you care,” Arabel said finally, shaking herself out of her reverie. He looked at her, his grey eyes warm, and smiled, his face only inches from hers. She gulped, suddenly realizing how close they were and jumped up.
“I’d better go, Naomi will be pissed if I miss breakfast and pass out while she makes me run laps. Can’t run if I’m unconscious.”
The Eidolons of Myrefall Page 13
