The Spirit Binds

by D. K. Holmberg

  It was a strange thing to witness. It was a strange use of power.

  That wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to do. If that was what the Inquisitors did, then perhaps he didn’t want to train with her.

  He suspected the Grand Inquisitor had always intended to send him away. Where would he go? The last time he’d come here, he’d spent his time wandering through his old home, along with wandering through Master Daniels’ home and his shop. He had no such interest this time, and it didn’t feel as if there was the need to do the same thing.

  He found himself wandering through the streets. It didn’t take long to reach a familiar section of the city. Ephra wasn’t large, but it certainly was large enough that he didn’t know the entirety of it, and he didn’t know everyone within it, either. It was much like the Red Draasin, places he’d never visited—nor heard of. There were many places like that.

  While wandering, he found himself near his old home, and rather than pausing and heading in, he turned away. There wasn’t anything there for him, but… maybe there was.

  When he’d been here before, he hadn’t known about his parents’ connection to the Draasin Lord. He’d known the rumors of them, the stories chasing him when he was younger, but at the time of his visit, Tolan hadn’t believed anything about them. Now he was here, he knew there was something more to those stories.

  Veering off, he paused once more in front of the old home. It was small; at least it appeared small now. When he’d been a child, it had seemed so large. There was a section of the home serving as his father’s workshop, a place where Tolan had always felt welcome. Now he understood what his father had done there, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything he could uncover. When he’d attempted to make bondars before, he’d made mistakes. Having visited with his father—however briefly—he had to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t something he could do. Why shouldn’t he be able to create a bondar?

  The technique would be difficult. It was the kind of thing he didn’t know if he could ever gain the knowledge to do. As much as he might want to delve into the workings of creating a bondar, there was danger in doing so as well. It was a similar type of danger as what the Grand Inquisitor suggested that existed if he were to attempt to spirit shape someone’s mind.

  Heading toward the house, he paused at the doorway. As before, he found it unlocked. Stepping inside, he summoned a small shaping of fire, a twisting of saa spinning in his hand, giving enough light to clearly make out the details in the home. It was even more picked over than it had been before. The interior was completely empty, devoid of any furniture that had once been here. He was surprised no one had come and claimed the home as their own. His parents had been gone long enough that someone should have taken it upon themselves to claim this place. Perhaps there wasn’t a need for housing in the city, or perhaps there was something more practical to it, the simple fact no one wanted to live in a house formerly occupied by those who had been claimed by the Draasin Lord.

  Wandering through the rooms, his gaze swept over the parts of the home, looking for anything possibly remaining. There was nothing.

  Passing through the kitchen, he found the various pots and pans once hanging from hooks were missing. There was no sign of the pottery his mother had painstakingly collected over the years, nor was there a sign of any of the silverware. All of this was an empty reminder of everything they had abandoned. Much like they had abandoned him.

  When he reached their bedroom, he decided to move on. Tolan didn’t even pause at his own bedroom, having nothing there to see. When he reached his father’s workshop, he stopped once again. The bench remained, and unlike other places within the home, there were some tools here.

  It surprised him they wouldn’t have picked over the tools, that they would’ve left those behind when they had taken so many other things, but perhaps the thieves hadn’t bothered to make it all the way to the back of the home. Then again, his father’s tools were for specific purposes, and now Tolan understood what those purposes were, he thought he had a better understanding of why they were here. Who else would have wanted to make a bondar? They may not have known what it was his father had done, but they would’ve recognized the fine detail work that had been required was not something they could re-create.

  The only bondar he had was the ring he carried on a chain around his neck. It was for spirit, and if only he had a similar type of bondar for the other element bonds he might be better prepared. It would be incredibly useful to have one for fire or wind or water or earth. Something small like a ring would be incredibly beneficial, though he suspected it wasn’t just the runes used on the bondar that were important, but it was also the shape. It was something he should have asked his father about when he’d seen him last.

  Fatigue began to work through him, and he debated finding a tavern for the night, but why would he need that? He could stay here. Though he had told the Grand Inquisitor he had nothing left in Ephra, this still remained his home, as strange as that might be.

  Leaning against the wall, he rested his head, and it wasn’t long before sleep claimed him. With it came dreams.

  7

  Tolan awoke to light all around him. Something was wrong. As he sat in the workshop, clutching the bondar for spirit, he couldn’t tell what he detected. Why should he pick up on something not quite right?

  The soft murmuring of voices came near him. As he looked around, he found his father bent over his workbench, as he had been so many times when Tolan had been younger.

  “Father?”

  His words came out higher pitched, and in a voice not his own—or at least, had not been his own for many years.

  Turning in his direction, his father smiled at him. His dark hair was as Tolan recalled from his childhood, no longer streaked with gray as it had been when they had seen each other most recently. Sweat streamed down his brow, and there was a hint of ink smeared on his cheek, something he’d often seen in the years his father worked at his creations, taking notes. Now he understood those notes, Tolan thought he recognized the reason for them. They were his way of documenting his trials with the various bondars. In taking those notes, he was able to get a better understanding of what worked and what did not.

  “This is a surprise. What are you doing here this morning?”

  Tolan got to his feet. Was this a dream? It had to be something like that, especially since when he’d fallen asleep, he’d been sitting in the same workshop, in practically the same location. It didn’t seem to be a memory. Tolan had never taken a nap in his father’s workshop and awoken like this.

  “I don’t know,” he said, stammering toward the end.

  “Your mother might be upset if you’re avoiding your chores.”

  “I’ll get to them,” he said quickly. It was all too easy to fall back into those old patterns, remembering what his father had demanded of him, the same demand his mother had placed upon him. He was expected to keep up with his chores, and they didn’t ask all that much else of him, but they did ask he remain diligent with getting his assignments done.

  Approaching the workbench, he had to wonder if he might be able to uncover something in the dream—or vision, whatever this was. Perhaps having come here would give him an opportunity to understand what his father had been working on, to find some way of grasping the nature of his bondars and how to recreate them. Wasn’t that what Tolan wanted? He thought if he could understand what his father did, the way he worked, he might be able to do the same.

  “What are you making?”

  “Oh, nothing but a few small crafts.”

  Tolan glanced down at the workbench. At one place, he saw a slender length of rod reminding him of the furios. Even the symbols marked along the surface reminded him of one. He reached for it, but his father shook his head.

  “That isn’t done. It takes a little bit more work.”

  “It’s different,” he said.

  His father nodded, pushing the furios off to the side. “There is del
icate work for many of these items, Tolan. Perhaps as you get older, I might be able to teach you this.”

  “Do you really think I could learn it?”

  “I don’t know. Not everybody has the talent with this.” His father flashed a smile at him. “You will, I’m sure. Your mother seems to think you have many talents, and we need to ensure we give you the opportunity to decide how to use them.”

  The comment almost threw Tolan out of the vision, practically intruding on everything he was experiencing. He swallowed, hating that he was getting caught up like this, knowing his father wasn’t really here and, regardless of whatever vision he might be having, none of this was real.

  Despite that, Tolan couldn’t shake that it felt so real.

  He’d had visions like this before. This wasn’t the first time he had anything like this, and certainly wasn’t the first time he had one like this at his old home. It was almost as if something about this place dragged him into these memories, forcing him to have them.

  Tolan looked down at the table, studying the various bondars there. The furios was the easiest to make out, partly because he’d spent so much time using one. There was what had to be a withering, the strange shape giving it the power of the wind. The golan, the earth bondar, was a little bit more difficult to determine, but he recognized the runes worked on it. It looked something like a stone, though with sharp edges, almost as if designed to slide his gaze across it. Then there was nyamin, the water bondar, and the only reason he recognized it was because of the runes placed on it. Otherwise, Tolan wouldn’t have been able to determine what it was. There was nothing about it which fit with anything he’d seen before.

  He looked up at his father. The other man was working at his bench again, a small lump of stone in front of him. Was there anything he could find? Even though this might be nothing more than a relic of a memory, and even though this was probably not even real, Tolan couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there was some way to glean information from his father regardless of the fact it wasn’t real.

  “Do they all have these strange shapes?”

  His father continued to work, sliding a slender, pointed object along the length of the stone he worked on. With each pass, he shaved a hint of stone away, almost as if he were peeling a carrot. “Not all. The shape is important, but sometimes people have specific requests about the design.”

  “What sort of requests?”

  Tolan wasn’t sure if he could simply ask whether or not his father could make a ring or something wearable. If it were possible, then the bondar would be so much more useful. It would be easier to disguise as well.

  “Your mother requested I make her a ring.” He looked up, smiling. “Of course, when it comes to your mother, I’m more than happy to do whatever it is she asks of me.”

  “Why a ring?”

  He nodded toward one of the bondars—the withering, Tolan noted. “If she had something like that, it’s harder to carry. Your mother wants to have my work with her. She says it reminds her of me.” His father smiled. “I think she’s flattering me, but you know me. I’ll take a little flattery any day.”

  Tolan forced a smile. The idea his mother had requested the ring for spirit to be made and his father had figured out a way to do so left him thinking there had to be some way for him to do something similar.

  “Could you make one like that in a ring if she asked?” he asked, pointing to the withering.

  His father turned his attention to it, his eyes narrowing. “That would be difficult. Perhaps not impossible, but for most of these, the person who owns them doesn’t necessarily care about the shape. They simply want what it represents.”

  “And what does it represent?”

  “Oh, Tolan. Now you’re asking questions a little bit more difficult for me to answer.”

  Tolan swallowed, stepping back. In his vision, he was still a child, and the movement took him back barely a step, nothing more than that, and yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off the bondars. If there was some way to get a sense for the power within them, he wanted—and needed—to do so.

  “I think they’re interesting,” he said.

  “They are interesting.” His father lifted the withering. It surprised Tolan that his father would go for wind, but then, he didn’t really know what sort of shaper his father really was. When he had been around him—however briefly—he had the sense he could use each of the elements, and having seen how he moved stone, Tolan suspected he was a powerful earth shaper. That could have been nothing more than his use of a bondar, but it could have been something else, too. “Some view these as a way to connect to the elements. Others view these as little more than a representation of the power of the elements.”

  “What do you view them as?” Tolan asked.

  “A way to understand the world.” His father stared at the withering for another moment before turning his attention back to his workbench, and he began to peel away at the stone.

  Tolan shifted closer, looking at the projects his father had made. There would have to be some way for him to recreate a bondar, but perhaps this wasn’t the way to discover the secret. His father made most of the bondars no differently than the others Tolan had been around, and though they represented considerable power, they also were not all that different than the ones they had at the Academy.

  What about his notebook?

  Tolan made his way toward his father’s notebook, looking down at the page. It was something of a deception to stare at his father’s notes, but he suspected his father would not think him capable of reading it. As he looked down at them, he blinked.

  They weren’t written in the common language of Terndahl. Surprisingly, he did recognize the writing. Having spent as much time as he had with Master Minden, Tolan recognized writings from many different places, and this one was a series of glyphs, much like the more difficult languages he’d tried to interpret.

  Tolan stared at it, searching for a way to understand. His father got to his feet and noticed Tolan was watching.

  “Be careful with that,” he said, smiling at him. Despite the smile, there was a hint of darkness behind his eyes, enough that Tolan looked away, though he knew this was nothing more than a vision. Why should he be scared in a vision?

  His father grabbed the notebook, closed it, and set it on his workbench.

  Tolan stood watching him work for a little while longer. There was a steadiness to his movements, a regularity to the way he peeled away the stone, carving at it in such a way he stripped a little bit at a time. It was delicate work, and he marveled at the way his father persisted.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t, but he’d always known his father was a skilled craftsman and knowing the nature of his craftsmanship did little to change his belief. It was a matter that his father was a craftsman of a different sort, and the nature of his work such that it was a little bit different than he’d believed, but that did nothing to change how skilled he was.

  Another voice sounded from inside the main portion of the house. His mother.

  His father looked up, smiling, warmth spreading to his eyes. “I wonder if she’s going to be disappointed it’s not quite ready? Soon, but it may not be soon enough.”

  “Why?”

  “Unfortunately, things are changing, Tolan. And we are going to have to make a choice.”

  “What sort of choice?”

  His father straightened, taking a deep breath. “The hard kind.”

  The door opened and his mother stepped out into the workshop, glancing briefly at Tolan before turning her attention to his father. As she did, he couldn’t help but wonder how much of this came from a memory, and how much of this came from his imagination. He also didn’t know how much longer he’d remain in the vision. Eventually, he’d awaken, and when he did, he needed to join the Grand Inquisitor, whom he was supposed to meet in the morning.

  Tolan watched as his mother gave his father a kiss on the cheek. She glanced down at the table, frowning slightly. “Is it d
one?”

  “You will know when it’s done.”

  “You understand the urgency.”

  “I understand.” His father glanced over at Tolan and a shaping built, this time coming from his mother.

  He felt the steady rising pressure of the shaping, that of spirit, and it washed toward him.

  Tolan took a step back without realizing what he was doing and panicked. There was no way to escape from this shaping. He didn’t know whether or not he had any ability to protect his mind at this time and doubted he did. Even if he did, what would his mother think of him suddenly shaping?

  That was the wrong way to think of it. This was a dream.

  Wasn’t it?

  Strangely, though it was a dream, it felt so real. It was the kind of dream he felt as if he needed to escape from, the kind of dream where he felt as if it tried to draw him through, where if he weren’t careful, he’d be sucked up into it.

  He needed to awaken.

  Tolan closed his eyes, thought about his sleeping self, and pushed.

  When he awoke, everything was dark. The air had the same musty smell it’d had when he’d fallen asleep. He was alone, the workshop mostly empty, and he was back within himself.

  That had been a dream, hadn’t it?

  If it had been a dream, why had it felt so real?

  Maybe it was nothing more than a memory.

  He’d already learned there were memories he’d had that his mother had wiped away, using her ability to shape spirit to make it so little remained.

  Why that dream, though? Why now?

  Tolan got to his feet, curious as to how late—or early—it was. Could he have been here too long? The Grand Inquisitor was waiting for him, and he worried he’d overslept.

  As he looked around the workshop, he couldn’t help but think there was something here he needed to see, though he didn’t know quite what it was. Shaping a little bit of fire, he called saa into existence, giving a little bit of brightness to the workshop. The tools along the wall were familiar from the dream, and perhaps that was all there was to it. Maybe that was why he’d had that particular dream. His father had shown him the use of the tools, the way he’d worked with them, steadily and slowly sliding along the surface of the stone while peeling shapes free. It was a combination of the runes and the element bonds that were important, but there was more to it when it came to creating a bondar. Somehow, Tolan believed there was an aspect of elemental energy that went into it as well.