ZYGRADON

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Nixtan attended the classes, but none of the other boys who had confronted Ceera, Mrillis and Endor that day in the tower were present. Mrillis thought long and hard about all the reasons why. If they were being punished, forbidden to take the classes, then why wasn't Nixtan being punished?

  Totally by accident, Mrillis glanced at Nixtan when he worked with the Threads, and his augmented sight showed him a glowing core of blue magic residing deep in the older boy. Mrillis studied the other bullies with the same altered sight, and didn't see that shimmering power, like the light from a banked fire. Did that mean Nixtan was closer to discovering his imbrose than his friends? That gave him much to think about.

  Another thing to think about was how much nicer Nixtan was when Endor and the other older boys weren't there. Mrillis didn't know if he and Nixtan would ever be friends again, but he thought maybe there was some hope they wouldn't always be enemies, either.

  Lessons became more interesting, because the scholars focused all their history lessons, theory and discipline exercises on what the enchanters hoped to do with the next starshower. Despite all their preparation and the teams of sentinels studying the sky at all hours of the day and night, their theories remained only theories. Though there were two more starshowers that spring, both fell far out into the Northern Sea, beyond any known land masses. No one had yet devised a way to manipulate the sky web to reach across vast distances to catch the star-metal. They would have to wait until next spring.

  The teachers and scholars were disappointed, but they were honest enough to admit relief. A summer and winter of theorizing and small experiments with local Threads would give them the confidence and skill they needed to battle starshowers next spring. Theories flew thicker than ever during lessons, along with multiple retelling of the battle in the sky.

  Mrillis was at first irritated that so little mention was made of what he and Ceera had done. Breylon took him aside and spoke to him about it almost immediately, before the boy quite had it clear in his head why it irritated him.

  "Do you truly want the other boys to look at you with awe, perhaps hero worship, maybe fear?" the High Scholar had asked.

  Something sad in his eyes made Mrillis stop, with the eager 'yes' hovering on his lips. He frowned, settled down on the bench in Breylon's private garden and hunched his shoulders as he thought.

  The High Scholar chuckled and sat down next to the boy and rested a hand on his shoulder. "This might make things easier, lad. Think: has Nixtan become your friend since you hit him with your imbrose?"

  "No. He's nicer during lessons, but the rest of the time, I think he hates me more than ever." Mrillis shrugged. "Master, sometimes I think Nixtan is so nasty because Endor is there."

  "Perhaps." He nodded. "Have other boys tried to become your friends, since then? The ones who don't like Nixtan much?"

  "No." Mrillis sighed. "The boys older than me aren't very friendly. I think maybe they're afraid I'll be better than them, even though I'm younger."

  "Exactly. It's quite natural for people to dislike and fear anything which steps outside the patterns we expect. Noveni don't truly like the Rey'kil, because they don't have imbrose and can't understand how it flows in our blood and spirits. Despite marriages between Rey'kil and Noveni, partnership with the Warhawk, Noveni scholars coming to study here, and Rey'kil scholars who work among the Noveni, it isn't a comfortable friendship." Breylon sighed. "Sometimes I fear that if the danger from Encindi and star-metal were to vanish, Rey'kil and Noveni would be at each other's throats within a decade."

  "But the Rey'kil would win, wouldn't we? We have magic on our side. Even swords and the best archers can't stand up against that."

  "Not always."

  "Master, sometimes I really don't like being different. I wish I was like other boys and you didn't talk to me like I was older." Mrillis tried to smile, just to fight the awful feeling that he might start crying. He hated that feeling.

  "Sometimes, lad, I wish that were so. But I have learned the Estall always provides us with the right weapon or tool when there is danger or need. You have been born to be a tool or weapon. It isn't fair. Sometimes I fear you have been robbed of your childhood and any innocent pleasures you could have had. Honesty is the best gift I can give you, in recompense."

  "At least Endor and Ceera are my friends."

  "Yes, at least they are."

  Mrillis still struggled with resentment, a wish for praise and admiration, until Endor thought of something.

  "You did it by accident, didn't you?" his friend said, speaking in the moonlight on a hot summer night. Neither boy could sleep, and they had gone to the shore to find a breeze.

  "We didn't know what we were doing." Mrillis sighed and rolled over for the fiftieth time since lying down on the damp sand. He sighed in relief as the sweat evaporated from his skin, but the chill didn't last long.

  "If those donkey-heads knew you tripped over the truth, they'd never let you forget it. Nixtan and Taykal and those others would be on your back day and night, laughing at you." He sighed and rolled over. "Better hope they never find out."

  That cured Mrillis' resentment and hunger for admiration. He wondered sometimes how Ceera fared, if her fellow students in the Stronghold taunted or admired her. Knowing Ceera, he decided she kept their adventures and discoveries a secret, holding it as a treasure, refusing to share it with anyone. He couldn't ask her, though. Letters could be read, and they didn't yet have the strength to communicate over such long distance. He would have to wait to ask her when he went home for the winter.

  * * * *

  The spring after Mrillis turned fourteen, the first starshower of the season came late. It was an unusually stormy spring full of floods, mudslides and illness, and Rey'kil of any strength and talent had been pressed into service helping the refugees, wounded and ill. They needed to recuperate before doing battle with the sky web, and the delay was a blessing.

  When the sky watchers caught the first sign of a starshower, no one told the students on Wynystrys. The boys retired to their long dormitory houses that night with no idea that something important would happen.

  Mrillis and three other boys in their dormitory felt the tingle and buzz in the air, coming through the Threads, and it kept them awake. It didn't take long to realize what was happening. They settled down by the hearth to keep vigil, playing strategy games on maps drawn in the packed dirt of the floor, and waited. They knew better than to do anything more than touch the Threads to feel what was happening. The slightest interference, too strong of a grip, could kill them.

  Several older boys realized something was going on. They gathered around their friends and asked questions in whispers, to let the little boys sleep. Mrillis and Endor played a strategy game with figures Endor had carved. Mrillis wondered how long the night would last. He wondered if Ceera and the stronger girls in the Stronghold suffered the same experience.

  "It's not right," Endor muttered, his hand hovering back and forth over three playing pieces as he tried to decide on his next action. "You figured it out. You should be there." He flashed a mischievous grin. "I should be helping you."

  Mrillis nodded and grinned back, not bothering to answer. Endor could now see the thicker, stronger Threads. That didn't mean he could touch them and tap power for his imbrose, much less share power with someone else. Still, it would have steadied him to have a friend close at hand.

  If he had been allowed to help battle the star-metal.

  Which he wasn't.

  "It was a complete accident," he finally said, when Endor continued in the same vein for another twenty minutes, under his breath so none of the other boys heard. "We were lucky we didn't kill ourselves."

  "You should still be part of it. It's your right. They're stealing all your glory."

  "What glory is there in getting killed?" He smiled, remembering his lessons with Norum on that mad dash across Lygroes five springs ago.

  The scarred, gray-haired battlemaster had stressed a yo
ung man's duty to stay alive to defend the weak and defenseless, rather than the glories of dying a valiant, heroic death. Mrillis respected him for that. A grunt of approval from Norum was more precious to him than flowery words of praise from most of the Warhawk's advisors and emissaries.

  The buzzing at the back of Mrillis' head grew strong enough to irritate. His fingertips tingled, as if dozens of bees clung to them. He leaped to his feet and nearly ran into another boy who had abandoned the useless distraction of his game. The two grinned at each other, teeth bared in shared misery.

  The itching sensation grew stronger, feeling like sand rubbed into burned skin. His larger bones vibrated. He wanted to dig his fingers through his skin, into the muscle fibers and scratch. But he couldn't.

  The other boys watched, some horrified, some pitying, some maliciously delighted. Until they started to feel it too. Mrillis fought the urge to scratch by pacing the room, but soon his feet hurt, and the muscles in his legs. He knew in his head that nothing harmed his bones and flesh. That didn't help make the sensations any less frustrating. He sat, then stretched out flat in the cool, bare, packed dirt floor, finding some small measure of relief.

  "Here." Endor stood over him, a grin twisting his face. He held a bucket of water over his head.

  Mrillis looked up, saw something nasty in his friend's expression and opened his mouth to protest. Icy water splashed over him. He gasped and sputtered and his mouth filled with all the curses he had heard the Warhawk's men and Kathal and Tathal use on their journeys together.

  He felt better. The curses died before they spilled off his tongue. The itching and burning fled his skin. The buzzing and scratching left the center of his bones.

  "Should I thank you or pound you?" he grumbled, as he climbed to his feet. Mrillis didn't bother looking. He could imagine the delighted smirk Endor wore. He busied himself wringing out his shirt, and toed his boots off. They hit the ground with sodden thuds.

  Nobody laughed. Mrillis looked around the room, still avoiding the laughter in Endor's face--and the unsettling feeling that his friend had enjoyed his torment a little. Other boys still curled up in misery, trying not to whimper, or paced the room, shaking out their arms, squeezing their hands, hunched over, anything to distract them from the discomfort buzzing in their bones and nibbling at their flesh.

  Or was it?

  "It's over. The power is going back to a normal level," he blurted, and tipped his head back as if he could see into the sky. He knew, somehow, exactly where the battle with the starshower had taken place. And judging from the buzzing of power through his body, just how much had been fed into the Threads when the star-metal vaporized.

  "Feeling better?" Endor asked, his voice innocent.

  "Much. Thanks." Mrillis sputtered away a few more trickles of water that ran down his face from his hair. He felt a totally different chill, when he wondered if something had changed between him and his friend.

  A moment later, he brushed that feeling away. Nothing had changed. He was simply exhausted and irritated--and soaking cold wet.

  * * * *

  "Legend says that once, when the Rey'kil were small in number and new to the World, magic gathered in pools in the low spots of the land. Vales, they were called," Breylon said. He smiled and nodded, his gaze turned inward in thought. "Some places were changed by the magic that soaked into the ground, so that they became strange. Mystical. Places which wise men avoid. Even after the pools of magic faded into nothing but legend."

  The gathered nobles, enchanters and scholars in the meeting hall waited. No one fidgeted or frowned or murmured to his or her neighbor. Mrillis was heartily impressed. The masters always demanded rapt attention from their students, but never seemed to give it to each other. Until now.

  "The Nameless One again tried to pull the star-metal down into Lygroes using the sky web. Because we were prepared, because so many worked together, the battle to wrest control over the starshower was short and...." He chuckled and turned just enough to meet Mrillis' and Ceera's gazes. "Destructive. Like a tree full of sap exploding in the fire. The most sensitive among us felt the flood of power through the Threads. So much power has spilled through the World, magic has begun to collect in the ancient, legendary places."

  Excited murmurs broke out among the gathering. Mrillis heard speculations from those who understood what it meant, questions from those who didn't, and excited explanations from those eager to share the news. As far as he could tell, the pooling of magic in the ancient vales meant there would be more free magical power for Rey'kil to use. Those who had little or no imbrose might now be able to work healing spells, or light fires with a thought. A thousand mundane, everyday chores would become easier, using imbrose to control errant threads on a loom or find misplaced tools or calm frightened farm animals. Those who had stronger imbrose could do bigger things. Lift huge weights or repair the ancient fortresses. Maybe even look across leagues of distance and find the Nameless One wherever he hid.

  "Now, my friends, we must be careful. We have no idea how long these pools will last," Breylon continued, holding up his hand to get their attention. "The vales disappeared slowly over time, as the Rey'kil increased in number. The wise do not use rare, strong salves on cuts and bruises, or potent filters on sniffles, but save them for wounds and illnesses that could take a life."

  Mrillis felt the ebbing of excitement through the room, though he sat in the front corner with Ceera and Le'esha and couldn't see anyone. He felt something sink in disappointment inside himself. Breylon was right, of course. Mrillis had heard the High Scholar and Le'esha discussing something like this over dinner the night before, so he should have been prepared. Still, it wasn't pleasant hearing the warnings Breylon now spoke.

  "As more starshowers fall down on us, we will feed more power to the Threads and the vales will fill over time. Our studies of the starshowers and battles in the sky have taught us enough; I do believe we may move on to the more valuable and dangerous task awaiting us."

  He stood still, gaze focused on his clasped hands, and waited until the entire room had fallen silent. Mrillis heard the creaking of the thatch overhead and imagined if he listened hard enough, he could hear others' heartbeats, the room was so still.

  "Our good Master Prothis has devised an apt illustration for the problem of the star-metal poisoning Moerta. One room can be filled with light from a single candle, if you have enough mirrors to reflect that light repeatedly. Star-metal attracts star-metal, reaching out to more of itself. That is how the Threads were formed. As star-metal contacts star-metal, it magnifies the power. Instead of two candles, you have the light of twenty, or forty, or one hundred."

  Breylon waited until the murmurs died down again. From the sparkles in his eyes, Mrillis guessed the High Scholar was pleased with the reaction to his news so far.

  "There are no Rey'kil in Moerta to use the power flowing through the land. The Threads, in essence, have become so engorged with power they have tangled. What I and the Council and the Warhawk have agreed to is this: We will send Rey'kil to settle in Moerta, simply to live there, to draw on the power which heats the very air and poisons the ground and warps plants and animals beyond the forms the Estall gave them. This plan will take years, but it will work. As our numbers increase, the levels of power will decrease. As those who live in Moerta learn the patterns of the Threads and understand the disharmonies, they will be able to untangle those Threads and locate the pockets of star-metal in the soil.

  "And when we find those pockets, we will, one by one, destroy them. As we have destroyed star-metal in the sky. That power must be directed to the sky web, which will feed more power to the World. And we remaining in Lygroes will benefit. Ceera, Little Star, what will happen then?"

  Ceera's face went pink, but she hopped to her feet and turned and tipped her head back to direct her voice to the back of the room. "Each piece of star-metal that is destroyed will remove another mirror to reflect the power," she said. "Less light, less tangles
in the Threads, less burning, which means more Rey'kil will be able to tap into the power and feed it to the sky-web, which means less power that harms. And on and on." She bit her lip to fight the grin brightening her face. A few in the gathering chuckled, caught up in her excitement.

  "Exactly. Though we start with mere nibbles at the mountainous task ahead of us, each piece removed from the pile will decrease it in increasing proportion." Breylon rolled his eyes, making fun of the paradox of his words. Mrillis grinned. "What benefits the Noveni will benefit the Rey'kil."

  "And they'll have to put up with us living in their land if they want to stay safe, just as we've had to put up with them living among us all these years," someone called from the back of the room.

  High Scholar Breylon's pleased expression soured and he shook his head. "The division among our people has been our greatest enemy--not the Encindi. We are not separate nations, we are branches of the same family. Look among you--red hair is the mark of half-bloods. If we can intermarry among our three races and produce children, then we are not three separate, distinct creations. We are one family, one creation from the Estall's hands. Unless we learn to look past our differences and help our brothers and sisters, we are doomed. This solution of ours will not last if we remain divided."

  He sighed and stalked back to the massive chair on its raised platform, which lecturers used or the Warhawk sat in when he came to meet with the Rey'kil leaders.

  "My dear friends and colleagues," he continued, and sounded as weary as a man twice his many years. "By the grace and mercy of the Estall, we have been given wondrous tools to protect and heal our land. Let us be grateful and let us be diligent in the work given to us, rather than acting like spoiled children and demanding that we be praised for doing our duty. Those who demand praise for doing what is right and proper, what the Estall requires, will never be satisfied. They are like a dry and thirsty land, always demanding water and never producing crops. Such land is eventually abandoned, avoided, and cursed."