“Yes,” Theran agreed. “That’s the issue at stake, of course. Yet Eliden is demanding you forgo teaching the youngsters any magic, even the most basic of control, in order to gain his support for the Embassy.”
Jelenel frowned. “He may be one of our Elders, but he is not a shaman. He attempted to demand I seal the children or train them before, but Semar’s Gifts are ill-suited for the shamanic way or the Hawkbrothers. Tialek and Stileth are little better. I am shaman of our clan, and they need another choice. His support would be beneficial, but this can be done without it as well.”
“How well will that be taken?” Keth’ asked.
:She’s calling for help,: Yssanda abruptly said to Theran and Keth’.
“Tialek?”
:She says they’re being restrained. She says flames are burning around Stileth.:
“Flames?”
Jelenel looked troubled. “He has an unusual affinity for fire, and he’s fiercely protective of Tialek.”
:The flames are spreading. He’s lost control. They need us now.:
:Halath, call Jeris and Nerea!:
“Theran, with me,” Keth’ said, and scaled the paddock fence. “Jelenel, Jeris is on his way down; ride with him. D’minth, our horses are there; Nerea will be there in a moment as well. Gather help!” He swung onto Yssanda’s back. She gathered herself for a jump, barely clearing the top bar. Keth’ reached down a hand for the shaman as the man swung up behind him.
:No time for niceties,: she said, breaking into a canter. Keth’ could feel her frustration that the street, such as it was, bore enough pedestrian traffic that she dare not gallop.
The glow was definitely fire, rising in the scrub and grass. It would head this way quickly. Smoke wisped up and the glow brightened as they approached. Finally, they cleared the densest portion of the town, and Yssanda shifted to a gallop.
“We need to build a barrier between the encampment and the rest of Katashin’a’in,” Theran said in Keth’s ear. “The winds are blowing it toward the city. We need to backburn an area to keep the fire from spreading that direction.”
“Can you push the winds away?” Keth’ asked.
“Not until we know where Tialek and Stileth are,” Theran said.
:Where are they?: Keth’ asked Yssanda.
:Near side. You’d burn half of their clan if you send the winds that way.:
:Star-Eyed!: he swore. :They have not moved away?:
:I don’t know,: Yssanda replied. :I only know what it was half an hour ago. They’re cut off from the main group now.:
Other riders and some on foot streamed toward the fire as well. :Halath believes he’s catching up. Nerea and D’minth are farther behind.:
:At least it looks as though we have hands to help.:
Yssanda halted where those who had run toward the fire gathered, talking wildly. Theran slid off. “Go!” he shouted. “Find the children!”
Keth’ nodded as Theran began working. Another shaman was among that group, and he felt the tingle of gathering magic at his back while Yssanda homed in on the two children.
The fire had split when it went wild. From what small glimpse Keth’ caught, it seemed that most of the children’s clan got out of the worst of it, but the inferno still raged. :We will deal with that later,: Yssanda said. :The near-side fire may burn enough to block the larger side from spreading that way.:
They spent a short eternity finding a relatively thin place to break into the fire encircling the children’s group. :Here,: Keth’ finally said. :We will find no better.: They could hear the frantic efforts of the trapped clan members to keep the fire from getting closer.
:Looks that way,: she agreed. :Stay on me.:
He tightened his grip on her back, and closed his eyes to gather his concentration. He pushed at the fire in front of them, imagining a large plow like those he remembered on the farms near Haven. Yssanda, picking up on the imagery he was using to focus his magic, stepped forward slowly. :That’s it,: she said. :Just hold that ‘plow’ in front of us. I’ll do the pushing.:
The ‘blade’ he imagined was three or four times the width of Yssanda, enough to pass through. Even though flames were mostly air, the image, the thought of pushing through several inches of root-thick topsoil strained him immensely. Keth’ shook from the exertion as they broke across hot cinders into the center.
Eliden was there, as were the children and their families. Several had suffered burns, including the Elder. Stileth stood nearest the fire, still raging at Eliden for trying to take them away. The fire around this part of the clan was obviously attuned to the boy; the tops of the ring danced with every gesture he made. Eliden’s attempts to calm him just agitated him more. Tialek clung to him, trying to convince him to let go of the fire.
Keth’ slid off Yssanda, and she pushed the Elder away from the children with her head. :No,: he heard her say as she reached out, pressing her nose against the boy’s face, much like a housecat might. :This is not what you want. You risk Tialek, you risk your family. Let the fire go.:
Keth’ tried to get the people out of the immediate area and did not hear the response. Most turned toward the break in the fire, and it took little effort to usher them out. He felt Yssanda’s relief when the boy began to respond to her efforts. The ring of fire began to calm down and shorten.
:He cannot put the fire out,: she reported to Keth’. :We will have to do that. But at least he will stop feeding it.: Hooves sounded close, now. With her usual recklessness, Nerea rode her mare into the firebreak, keeping low against her back.
:Let’s take them back to Theran. He has a firebreak like yours now, but we still need to put this out.:
Keth’ helped Tialek onto Nerea’s mare, where Nerea held the girl tightly in front of her. Stileth, face drawn from a reaction headache already, barely protested he should stay and help as he was pushed up onto Yssanda’s back.
“You kept the fire from consuming everyone in it,” Keth’ told him. “That’s enough.” It may not have been intentional, but he had done that much.
For all Eliden had instigated the problem, he proved his worth as Elder now. He kept his clan moving toward the safe zone. By the time Keth’ and Nerea arrived with the children, he’d organized them into groups for assisting each other and the fire fighters.
D’minth and Jelenel were conferring with Theran as Keth’ and Yssanda came to them. “Katashin’a’in should be safe now, but the fire is still spreading.” Theran eyed Keth’. “Do you have strength left to help?”
Keth’ nodded. He would suffer the backlash later, though, he was certain.
The shamans worked together to call in a dampening storm on the far edge of the fire. It was risky, for the winds could make matters worse. Keth’s task was to bottle the winds away and force the flames down. To do that, he needed to go back to the fire itself.
A thundercrack split the air, and the rain began, soaking the immediate area before shifting over the main body of flames. Keth’ and Yssanda followed.
They came up close to the fire’s edge, and Keth’ closed his eyes to gather his focus. He trusted Yssanda to keep them far enough away. Keth’ had learned something while fighting a fire in a wood-framed building and from watching blacksmiths working. The rain cloud started drenching the center of the fire but only hissed into steam before reaching the base of the inferno. Keth’ imagined a wall encircling the flames and tied to them. He pulled the deluge to the edges of the fire, which began to hiss and die from the rain and lack of air. It slowly shrank under the suffocation and drenching, but the spell required Keth’ to maintain concentration. He felt Yssanda supporting him.
:That’s enough,: Yssanda finally said. :You’ve done enough.:
Keth’ opened his eyes. The burned zone surrounded them, although the fire was still going. There would, hopefully, be enough of a barrier zone to keep it from growing o
ut of control again. Others could monitor and contain it from this point. They returned to where the shaman gathered. Keth’ slid off Yssanda’s back, and sank to the ground in exhaustion, pain beating in his skull.
Soot smeared Nerea’s face as she slumped down near Keth’. Post-crisis fear flickered in her expression as she stared at the seared grass, and he held an arm open toward her. She shifted over to burrow her face into his shoulder, and he pulled her tight. “We were lucky,” she said softly.
He made a noncommittal, soothing noise. Yssanda had bolstered his true magic and helped calm the raging Stileth down to the point where the fire could be beaten back. The only luck involved had been whatever drove Yssanda to Choose him.
Jelenel approached, looking as exhausted as he felt. “We will return to the discussion tomorrow.”
Keth’ agreed, even though he felt tomorrow might not allow him sufficient time to recover from the exertions.
• • •
“We are all in agreement, then, that the embassy will also serve as a training house for those with Gifts of magic?” Theran asked the group gathered in the building’s main room. Two wore the robes of the Scrollsworn. Several were Elders, and the rest were shaman. Keth’, Jeris, and Nerea watched the proceedings as impassively as possible.
Several guests glanced at the injured Eliden as they muttered agreement. His arm remained bound to protect the burned flesh. He was in obvious pain, despite the best herbal preparations available. Not even he dissented after his lesson in the dangers of an untrained Mage.
“How best should the Shin’a’in be represented?” Theran asked.
D’minth said, “Shaman and Elders, on a rotating basis?”
“From all the clans,” spoke the Elder from one of the smaller clans.
“Of course,” Keth’ interjected. “Perhaps three Elders, each here for a year or two?”
“Staggered, perhaps,” Jelenel said. “Two years for each, rotating, to ensure that there should be one aware of the situations at hand at all times.”
Heads nodded. The representatives debated a while before the rotation was settled. They chose two shaman, also rotating, and from different clans from the Elders. Keth’ hoped that those who followed the traditional paths would find the support they needed as much as those like him did.
The agreements made, the gathering dispersed from the Embassy. Theran stayed behind with the embassy staff.
He said, “It will be a long time before those who think like Eliden are convinced this is the right path, before Shin’a’in accept Heralds and Chosen as their own, instead of distant cousins.”
Keth’ agreed. “I never expected this would be the end of the path. It is only the beginning.”
:Almost profound enough even for me,: Yssanda said teasingly. :But it is our path.:
:Yes, it is.:
• • •
The characters herein were created by Gail Sanders and Michael Z. Williamson for the previous stories “The Groom’s Price” and “The Bride’s Task.”
Never Alone
Dayle A. Dermatis
In all her years, Syrriah had never felt so alone in such a crowded place.
The common room teemed with students, plus Heralds back from their Circuits and some instructors, all here for the midday meal. Voices filled the air, and the smell of spices and roasted meat was ever-present. Most people arrived in pairs or groups, or found friends and colleagues soon thereafter, and settled in on the sturdy benches along each side of the long wooden tables, worn smooth from years of use.
Syrriah, however, sat by herself.
Herald Trainees had served each table with food from a hatch on the far wall. Today’s meal was a thick beef-and-barley stew filled with carrots and celery, with fresh-baked bread and sweet, fresh-churned butter, and apricots and grapefruit for eating now or snacking on later.
:You’re not alone,: came the soothing response from Cefylla, her Companion.
“I know,” she replied. “It’s hard to remember what it was like before you became a part of me. But it’s natural to want human interaction, too.”
There was little Cefylla could say to that, because the Companion knew it was true. Syrriah loved Cefylla with a love unlike any she’d ever had in her life—and her life had been a full one thus far—but there was still the need to forge different types of bonds.
Oh, she had family bonds right here at the Collegium: Her youngest son and daughter were also Herald Trainees. Both of them had asked her to sit with them when she’d first arrived at the Collegium four months ago, aching from the long ride and confused at being Chosen at her advanced age, and had offered various ways to make her feel welcome and included since then.
She smiled at those memories. She and her husband, Lord Brant Trayne, had raised four wonderful children, all of whom had been Chosen, and she was so proud of Benlan and Natalli’s acceptance of her here.
She might be their peer when it came to Heraldic training, but she was still their mother, and she couldn’t bring herself to make their meals awkward. They deserved time with friends closer to their own ages of fifteen and sixteen.
As a middle-aged, widowed woman—a rare adult to be Chosen—she simply didn’t have a group she could count as friends. The other Trainees were polite and kind, but so very young. She was closer in age to many of the instructors and Heralds, but as a Trainee, it wasn’t really appropriate for her to socialize with them.
“It’s an opportunity,” she told Cefylla. “This allows me to sit quietly, unobtrusively, and observe. To watch, to document.”
:That sounds like an excuse,: Cefylla said.
“Perhaps,” Syrriah said, amused, “but it’s not untrue. It also prepares me for solo Circuits, when it’ll be just you and me.”
She’d chosen a table toward the back, farthest from the entrance and the food hatch. The room filled from the front to the back, and rarely did these farthest tables reach capacity. She appreciated being away from the crush; she was often surprised by a rush of internal heat these days. High windows behind her brought in sunlight and the fresh, cool, grass-laden air of spring to counteract the warmth from the two enormous fireplaces. Plus, from this vantage point (it also helped to be taller than the rest of the students), she could, as she’d told Cefylla, observe.
She spotted Benlan and Natalli, each with their own group. She watched the tables where the Heralds sat—today they were relaxed, chatting. Yesterday there had been huddles of discussion, something urgent or at least serious to deliberate.
A boy slid onto the bench on the other side of her table, not quite across from her, more catty-corner. At first glance she thought he was fourteen or so, but then she realized he was delicate for his age, and closer to perhaps seventeen. He wasn’t tall, but he was wiry, with most of his height in his legs.
His eyes flicked to her, and she smiled. A crease appeared between his pale eyebrows as he took her in. She knew what confused him: She was easily old enough to be an instructor, but she wore the grays of a Herald Trainee.
He nodded in return, then served himself and set to eating, with a steady rhythm she recognized from her own children. His body was growing, and he needed food to fuel it. Not wolfing the food down, but an even pace, not really tasting anything.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye while she ate: hair that matched his eyebrows, long-lashed brown eyes, and a healthy glow to his skin that spoke to a love of the outdoors. But she sensed . . . something. A hint of sadness, perhaps? Not grief, though, nothing that sharp or deep.
She knew grief, had known it just barely more than a year ago when Brant had died. They’d been planning to retire, turn the estate over to her younger sister and her family. Then he was gone—dead from pneumonia after helping the villagers repair a collapsed bridge in a wintry river—and it had taken her nearly a year to accept her new life.
She would always mourn his loss.
Then Cefylla had come for her, and suddenly she had a whole new life to contend with.
With this boy, it was something else. He clearly felt as out of place as she did, but . . . he didn’t seem unhappy sitting by himself, yet he was still uncomfortable somehow. Not from her presence, exactly; he’d chosen the seat after she was there, and he could’ve sat farther away. The way he hunched over his food spoke of protectiveness, but he didn’t eat like someone who’d had to defend his food in the past.
“I’m Syrriah,” she said. “I’m from Traynemarch Reach. I’ve been here just four months, and I’m still getting used to things. When were you Chosen?”
He looked up from his food as if startled. She thought she saw some emotion cross his face, but he replaced it almost immediately with a polite blankness.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Aliant. I was Chosen four years ago. It’s nice to meet you.”
He went back to his food.
Syrriah attempted several other lines of conversation, with little result. He did spend a few minutes talking about how he loved to run (that explained his tan), and sometimes his Companion, Zhiol, would join him. She heard the warmth in his voice when he said Zhiol’s name.
She sensed a spark of energy in him then and listened carefully, trying to understand his emotional state. For her entire life, she’d been told she was a good listener, and especially as Lady of the Manor, people had come to her with their problems, to ask for advice or to simply share their burden with someone who would be supportive and sympathetic.
Aliant reminded her of her eldest daughter, Riann, who had just finished her training Circuit and had gone out on her own. Riann’s first years at the Collegium had been the hardest. At home, she’d enjoyed reading, walking in the woods, needlework, and hunting with one of their falcons. But those were all solitary endeavors, and in the letters she’d written home, she’d spoken about how her favorite times in Haven were when she was alone with her Companion in Companion’s Field.
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