Honor and Blood

by James Galloway

  "Since you've used Druidic magic before, I'm not really going to go into the mechanics of how it works. You don't need to know that, because you've already done it. Druidic magic is like Sorcery that way. Once you use it once, you'll always know how to use it again when you need it. That's one of the main reasons I'm teaching you. What you do need to know is that it works the same way, no matter what you're trying to do. There are no spells, no formulas, in Druidic magic. All you do is come into communion with the All and tell it what you want done, and it does all the work. You're nothing more than a tool for it, an outlet for its power."

  "For everything?"

  "For everything," she affirmed. "Conjuring a gnat or attempting to change the orbit of the Greatest Moon would be no different. The only difference comes when the energy to do what you ask comes through you. If your body can't take it, poof. No more Tarrin." She eyed him speculatively. "You're a Were-cat, and you're also a Sorcerer. I'll lay odds that that means that you're going to be a respectably strong Druid. Your body is acclimated to dealing with alien energy, and your Were affinity for magic increases your tolerance to it. But since I can't evaluate your power, we'll be depending a little on luck."

  "You don't exactly fill me with confidence, Sarraya."

  "I'm sorry, but that's the way it is," she sighed. "Believe me, I wouldn't even be doing this if I didn't feel that your life depends on it. I'm only going to teach you the basics, Conjuring, Summoning, some minor spells of healing and Creation."

  "If the All can do anything, why do you have to teach me anything? Couldn't I just ask for it myself?"

  "And you wouldn't be here long," she replied. "The All is very fickle when it comes to things like that, Tarrin. It always seeks to grant the maximum amount of power required to do something. Because it does that, you have to be very careful in how you envision what you want to do. If you reach into the All and ask it to conjure apples without telling it how many, it'll try to conjure a few square longspans of them. That would kill you. And if you envision your request vaguely, or you're distracted when you make the request, the All takes liberties with your intent. Those liberties usually end up killing you, because they get to be exotic. Exotic is bad in Druidic magic. That's why a Druid is trained exhaustively by his tutor before even trying to use his magic. So he knows exactly what he needs to do to make it work, without killing him."

  "Oh," he said in a slightly worried voice. "So, it can do anything, but you have to be careful to make sure it does exactly what you want."

  "Exactly. I can't stress that enough," she said with a steely expression. "That kills more Druids than anything, Tarrin. They forget that fundamental rule, they get sloppy using their Druidic magic just once, and they're dead. It requires discipline, Tarrin, more discipline that Sorcery requires. Familiarity breeds sloppiness, and that's what gets them. If you can survive the period after you get comfortable with Druidic magic, but before using it becomes second nature to you, you should be alright. That's the most dangerous time for any Druid."

  "I guess that makes sense," he said.

  "Since I don't know exactly how strong you are, we'll stick to the simple things. Conjuring should be easy for you, as long as we don't get greedy."

  "So, there are Druidic spells," he reasoned.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you teach me exact ways to imagine what I want, then there really are Druidic spells. A spell is a standard method of reaching a consistent result. That sounds like what you're about to teach me."

  "Alright, if you want to get technical, then yes, there are Druidic spells," she said, a bit tersely. "I don't like to think of Druidic magic in such confined terms, however. It's degrading."

  Tarrin actually laughed. "Such a big ego for such a little body," he teased.

  She glared at him, then laughed ruefully. "Alright, listen. Conjuring is easy. It's probably the easiest thing we do in Druidic magic, that's why you see it used so often. You've used Druidic magic before, but I think that it was a reflex action, so let's walk through how it works again."

  "Alright."

  "There are two steps to using Druidic magic," she told him. "The first is forming intent, and the second is carrying it out. The first step is the important one, Tarrin. Always know exactly what you want to do when you use Druidic magic. Form an exact image of what you want done in your mind, and don't let any stray thoughts interfere with it. The All will catch any stray thoughts and try to use them to subvert your intent, and that can kill you. So it requires absolute concentration. Form your intent, and make sure that there is nothing else there to change its meaning. Before moving to the second step, always make sure that your image and your intent are pure. If they are, then you carry through with it. You come into communion with the All. It reads the image and intent in your mind, and then acts on what it finds there. It requires no will on your part, no work, no effort. The All looks into you and performs the task it finds there. After it finds your intent, you'll feel the power come through you. That's that feeling of greater you felt, Tarrin. When you're in communion with the All, you become a part of its greater whole. The experience never gets old," she said with a slightly dreamy voice.

  He remembered that. It was a feeling of expansion, as if his mind and soul had gone beyond the constraints of his mortal form, and for the fleetest of moments he felt as if he were touching the soul of the earth itself. It had been a very pleasant feeling, a feeling of security and belonging. Feelings that were sorely lacking in his own chaotic life.

  "And that's Druidic magic," she said with a smile. "It's the simplest form of magic, but it's also the most demanding and the most dangerous."

  "Mother always said that the simpler it is, the more dangerous it can be," he mused. "But she was talking about plans then."

  "It's a wise saying," Sarraya agreed. "Now then, since you're a brand new master of Earthmagic, let's showcase your towering abilities."

  "What?"

  "Let's Conjure dinner," she grinned. "We'll start with apples."

  "Why?"

  "Why not?"

  Tarrin gave her a sideways look. He couldn't answer that one. He laughed ruefully. "Alright, alright. What do I do?"

  "Conjuring is the bringing to you of something not here, so the imagining of it isn't as important as the intent," she told him. "Remember, the All reads both, and it's not always necessary to have both a mental image and the intent of effect. Sometimes intent alone is all you need, for simple things like Conjuring or Summoning. Will three apples to appear, imagine what kind of apples you want, and then commune with the All. If you do it right, they appear."

  "What would happen if I didn't imagine what kind of apples I want?"

  "Then the All would decide for you," she replied. "It would Conjure the three closest apples to your location, and they may not be good. They could be too small, or rotten, or worm-eaten, or not ripe. So you have to tell it what kind of apples you want, and it will find them for you and bring them to you."

  "Oh. What happens when you Conjure something that doesn't exist?"

  "Then it becomes Creation," she replied. "I call what I do with clothes Conjuring because that's a catch-all term for making things appear, but it's not the same thing. I'm actually having them created from nothingness. That's another trick you learn in Druidic magic, but it's a bit more advanced. I'll teach you that one when you get comfortable with Conjuring.

  "Do I have to imagine where I want them to appear?"

  "Yes. If you don't, they could appear anywhere around you. Remember, anything you don't decide will be decided for you by the All, and it tends to get exotic. And exotic is bad. Now then, do it, Tarrin. Imagine three good apples, will them to appear, and commune with the All. Let's see it."

  Tarrin nodded and closed his eyes. He formed an image of three large red apples, perfectly ripe, plump, sweet, and juicy, and then simultaneously willed their appearance in front of him and reached inside himself the same way he did so when he Summoned the sword. He rem
embered how he did it, and found it to be effective. The Cat within seemed to be connected to the All, so reaching within, through the Cat, brought him into connection with that power. He felt the expansion of himself, the basking of his soul in the gentle warmth and power of the All, the wellspring of life from which all things took energy and granted energy. He could feel the All infuse him, coarse through him with its power, actually feel it touch his intent, sample his image, and respond to them. he actually felt the power come into him, come through him, using him as a bridge between the All and reality, but it was a brief sensation that disappeared quickly.

  The All drained away by itself, and three large red apples, glistening with dew, appeared on the sand between him and Sarraya. It also left Tarrin feeling a bit tired. Druidic magic did take some effort after all.

  Sarraya laughed and clapped her hands. "Very good!" she commended.

  "The All disappeared by itself," he said in confusion.

  "This isn't Sorcery," she reminded him. "Once the All finds your will, it does what you ask, and then it breaks the connection. If you want to use Druidic magic again, you have to start over at the beginning. Actually, that's a very good thing. If we stayed connected to the All after the spell takes effect, we'd be vulnerable to it. It's much better that it breaks the connection rather than us. Sometimes we get caught up in the feeling of communion, and that means we lose our discipline. That can be fatal."

  "I see your point," he said seriously, remembering the pleasant sensation that came with using Druidic magic. "That was easy."

  "And that's the danger," Sarraya said seriously. "Druidic magic is never easy, because of the consequences if you mess up. Never approach even the easiest spell with anything other than tremendous respect. Treat every spell as if it were the hardest thing you have ever done. That respect for the power will keep you alive, Tarrin."

  Tarrin nodded soberly. "That's very good advice," he agreed. "I see the truth of it."

  "A Druid that uses his magic impulsively dies quickly. Don't forget that."

  "I won't. I guess that's why you always seem to take a second to prepare yourself before doing anything with it."

  "My, you do pay attention," she grinned. "That's right. I won't even Conjure a grain of rice without stopping to prepare myself for it. Because I give the power the respect it deserves. It's one of the reasons I'm still alive."

  "If Druids train a long time before using magic, why are you going so fast?" Tarrin asked curiously.

  "Because this is an emergency," she replied. "Your survival depends on learning at least Conjuring as quickly as you can, and that's about all I intend to teach you. After you learn to Conjure, I'll start training you in some of the other applications, but we won't be using them."

  "Well, I guess I've learned to Conjure," he said, pointing at the apples.

  "Yup," she grinned. "Let's eat the fruits of your labor and get some rest. No more until after dinner and a short break. The All does all the work, but it does take some effort on your part. You should have felt it."

  "I did," he affirmed. "As tired as I am now, I don't know if I should do that again."

  "I know. I wanted you to feel it when you were tired, to fully understand and appreciate that Druidic magic takes work. The more it takes for the All to do it, the more it tires you out as well. You won't feel it as much when you're rested, but now you know not to tax yourself. It's a better lesson."

  "You're a harsh instructor. You remind me of my mother."

  Sarraya laughed. "A drop of blood makes the lesson stick longer," she smiled.

  "That sounds like my mother, alright," he chuckled.

  Chapter 6

  He stood on a dark avenue. It was dark and colorless, and there was a curious lack of scents around him. He was surrounded by people wearing Arakite robes, young and old, men and women, adults and children. They wore gray robes, all of them, and all of them had pallid, chalky skin. They looked down, at the ground, and would not raise their heads to face him. The buildings were also gray, the stone buildings common in Dala Yar Arak, with their smooth walls and flat roofs and the gardens hidden at the centers of their walled yards. But all of the buildings looked exactly the same, as if a child's wooden toys had been set on each side of a line. There was no disparity among the houses, nothing to distinguish one from another, just as all the people wore the same robes, had the same pale skin.

  Where is this place? Tarrin thought to himself, looking around. The sky was featureless, dark, completely alien, with no moons, no stars, no Skybands, nothing but empty blackness. Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming, I'm in the desert.

  There was no sound. He realized that now, no sound coming from anyone before him. Their feet made no sound, there was no wind, no talking, no clatter of hooves or squeaking of carts. There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, an eerie sound that echoed in his ears, a sound that made him feel unease, even fear. What was going on?

  This has to be a dream, he told himself, looking around, slashing his tail in agitation. Wake up, Tarrin!

  "There is no waking from this dream," a hollow voice intoned from behind him. He whirled around, found himself facing one of the chalky denizens of this strange dream. It was a young woman, a young and pretty woman, who would be beautiful if not for the chalky skin. Her head was down, and a hood covered her hair. "There is no escape from this prison."

  "Prison?" Tarrin demanded. "This is a dream!"

  "What is a dream?" the girl asked in that same hollow, emotionless voice. "Perhaps your dream is a reflection of another reality."

  "Speak sense, woman!" Tarrin said hotly, feeling his anger rise. "I'm in no mood for games!"

  "Do you expect me to fear you?" she asked, raising her head. Tarrin recoiled from her, feeling sudden panic within him.

  She had no eyes. There was nothing but black sockets staring at him, staring into his soul, piercing him with the eyeless gaze.

  "The dead have no fear," she said in a resonant voice.

  "No fear," came a murmuring echo from everyone around him. All of them stopped moving, became still as stone.

  "Who are you?" Tarrin demanded, feeling true fear creep into him. Wake up! he screamed inside.

  "We are what you made of us," she said, her voice turning cold, like a knife. "We are yours."

  "Mine? What do you mean?"

  "We are those who died by your hands," she said, her voice taking on a power of its own, as if that admission released it from within her. "See how many you have? You make sure we are not lonely."

  Tarrin took a step back from her, looking around. She was right. There were thousands of people on the avenue, as far as he could see in both directions. It couldn't be! It was impossible!

  "Liar!" Tarrin accused. "I've never seen you before!"

  Her form seemed to shimmer, to change, to take on color. When it was done, he found himself standing before a petite woman, young and beautiful, with honey colored hair and wearing a simple blue dress that clung to her form appealingly. In sudden horror, he recognized her face, recognized her dress. She had been a servant girl under the Cathedral of Karas. She had stood before him, paralyzed with terror, and he had struck her down mercilessly.

  He had killed her!

  "No!" Tarrin said in a strangled tone, backing away from the apparition. "I was out of my mind! I couldn't control it!"

  "Excuses do not concern the dead," the young woman said in a chilling voice, her color and features returning to their eyeless, fearful state. "Do not deny your truth. A murderer you are, and a murderer you shall always be. Never will we be anyone's but yours."

  "We are yours," the people around him began to murmur. They all turned towards him, ranks and ranks of the eyeless, their vacant gazes piercing his soul like spears. He turned away from the woman, and found himself looking directly into the eyeless face of a child, a little boy with white skin and cherubic features. A child! He had killed a child!

  "No!" he said, closing his eyes and flinchin
g away. "It wasn't my fault!"

  "Deny your truth, but you will never deny us," the woman said behind him. "We are yours, and we always will be. We who fell for no reason other than it suited you."

  The blatant truth of her words drove into him like a sword. "No!" he screamed at her. "I didn't choose to kill you, kill any of you! I had no choice! I had no choice!"

  "There is always a choice," the woman said in a mocking tone. "You have chosen to be what you are. Do not deny it. You have chosen to be evil." The black eyes suddenly flared with a red light, the same light that came from Jegojah's empty sockets, and they were all around him. "Face your choice, Tarrin Kael," the woman whispered to him, a whisper that thundered in his ears. "Face what you have become."

  In her eyes, those red eyes, he saw himself. He saw himself as the monster he had become, a heartless killer who had no regard for those around him. A pure killer, unfettered by moral restraint. The monster he had always feared.

  The girl reached out for him, and when she did so, so did all the others. Thousands of hands reached towards him, seeking him, thousands of red eyes burned him with the knowledge that he had killed them all, killed people he had never seen, had never known. He had killed children. They reached towards him, moved towards him, surrounded him with the unholy accusation in their gazes, whispering over and over again for him to face his truth. Utter panic swept over him. He sought to flee from them, but there was nowhere to run. He tried to touch the Weave, but even the sense of it was gone. There was no Weave to touch. He was surrounded by their eyes, by their hands, by what he had caused to be. They reached for him, and then they touched him. It was the touch of the Wraith, the cold of death, a burning cold that sought to draw the life from his bones. Their hands were all over him, sucking away his life, draining the color from his skin, turning his fur gray, seeking to have him join them in their eternal prison of death.