“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Larril said.
“You know what you must do? To set things on the proper path?”
Larril consulted his papers. “A carriage. A blue one, with a bird painted on the door. A woman will ask me … Shores, this can’t be right.” He scrubbed his face. “He will never forgive me.”
Noredren shrugged. “A problem for another day. A day that will come, because of what you do here and now.” He began walking toward the open door. Beyond it, the first bit of blue sky broke over the horizon. Noredren could already feel his presence here waning.
“Wait.”
Noredren turned, pretending to rest his hand against the door frame, though it could have just as easily passed through the wood. “Yes?”
“What are you, really?” The Patterner’s voice was dry, his face deeply troubled. “Are you an apoth?”
“An apoth?” Noredren laughed and continued walking. As he did, he began to fade, as if the substance of his body were licked away by an unseen wind. “You do me an injustice, Patterner, comparing me to a mere god.”
* * *
Larril watched him go and dragged his chair over to the window and sat in it. He stared out the window at the moon Aylia. Briefly, he thought he saw it flash a bit brighter, as if something glimmering had returned to it, but realized that it had only been his imagination. He also realized that he hadn’t asked the man’s name, and that it didn’t matter.
Larril purged his mind of all the world’s problems, all the causes and effects and consequences, all the ripples rushing over the world that constantly drowned his thoughts, and just let himself be still for a moment, and simply breathe. He did this sometimes to fight off the despair that constantly wore at him, clawing at his heart. Most times, he could do it and prepare himself for another day of dealing with the curse of knowledge and responsibility. Yet now, he couldn’t completely clear his mind. There was one thing, a memory from his childhood, that kept playing over and over in his head. A rhyme his mother had taught him, one that most children knew:
Mind your manners, ward your heart
Finish your evil before it starts
Banish the hate, don’t let it rise
In your anger, you’ll draw the eyes
Of the five cursed faces upon the Moon
Wicked enough to make hell swoon
He knew, without a hint of doubt, that he had just seen one of those five faces. Yet even as the words chilled him, he knew there was something worse out there, a churning void in the Pattern, around which people and nations swirled, helpless as dust in a storm. He had felt that void for a long time. It, more than anything else, plagued him with worry. All things were connected, and everything, everything, was connected to this deep black pit of nothing. It was as if it were a spider, the world its web, and all the people in it merely flies. The void was a distant thing, perhaps even otherworldly, but he could feel echoes of it nearby. Another force, shaping the world around it.
Tharadis.
Dawn was breaking when the sound of creaking wheels came in through the window. Larril hadn’t slept. He had sat at his desk the whole night, rolling a stone over his knuckles to keep from thinking too much. He leapt out of his chair and went to the door, throwing it open and waiting as the blue wagon came to a stop. A single Shoresman had accompanied it on foot, squinting as the sun crested the horizon.
“I suppose the Warden gave me the authority to decide what is to be done about,” Larril said with a twirl of his hand, “this.”
The Shoresman’s eyes widened in surprise. He nodded slowly.
The door to the wagon opened, and out stepped a woman. She brushed the thick folds of her skirts straight before turning to Larril. With how pale her hair was, he had thought she was old. But when her face turned to his and their eyes met, he realized she was still young. In her late thirties, at the oldest.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, Larril raised his hand. “I don’t need to know what you’re about. If all you need is my permission, then that is all you shall receive.” He made a shooing gesture and turned to go back inside. He could feel the weight of that pale-haired woman’s gaze on his back like a burden. One I shall not soon be rid of, he thought.
He shut the door and leaned against it with his eyes closed, waiting until the wagon was gone before returning to his chair. And there he sat, trying to think of a way to get Tharadis to forgive him for what he’d just done.
Chapter 11: The Fensoria
It was light before Esta felt it was safe enough to leave the woods near the Face. Nedrick lay propped up against a fallen log, still unconscious. She thought he had gotten enough rest and it was time for him to wake up. So she slapped him.
His eyes shot open and he scrambled back in a panic. It took him a moment to realize that Esta was the only one there. Gingerly he touched his cheek, which was already beginning to redden, and cast her a wounded look. True, she had slapped him harder than was needed. But no more than he deserved.
“Don’t worry,” Esta said. “They’re gone. They won’t trouble you anymore.”
Her words seemed to hurt him more than the slap. But he just nodded and rose slowly. She hadn’t seen what was done to him, but he took his time standing. Once he was at his full height, he looked her over. “Are you okay?”
Esta sniffed. “You can’t protect someone after the fact, Nedrick.”
With one hand, he dusted off his backside without taking his eyes off her. “I know that. I just wanted to help.”
Esta shouldered her pack. “You can help me by keeping your distance.” She glared at him, waiting for him to protest.
But he studied her instead, fixing her with an intent gaze. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. With the Rift bridged, our world isn’t so small anymore. Why should we limit ourselves to what’s in Naruvieth?”
She should have been happier at his words. After all, she had been thinking the same thing for months. Ever since the moment the Rift was bridged, actually. But some small part of her had hoped he would’ve fought for her.
But who would he have been fighting? Her own doubts? She stomped away through the brush before he could see the confusion she knew was plain on her face. She didn’t want to think about it anymore right now. She just wanted to get away from him.
The people back in town had already begun their early-morning tasks. More than a few of them rubbed the sleep from their eyes. Esta wondered how any of them could be sleepy after last night, but she imagined very few people knew what had happened with those strange men. She would have to tell the Shoresmen all about it, but that too could wait. After all, those men were dead. They wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
No one seemed to note Esta’s bedraggled appearance, or even the fact that she had spent the night in the woods. But then she supposed it wasn’t all that unusual for her. She had spent many nights out at the Face, and even some down in the lowlands. To the people of Naruvieth, it was just another day in the life of the strange, willful sister of the Warden.
When her mother’s house came into view, Esta stopped. A large, blue carriage, led by a team of four huge draft horses—actual horses—sat directly in front of her mother’s door. Esta wanted to inspect the horses more closely, but something about their presence here unnerved her. A black-and-white bird of prey Esta didn’t recognize was painted on the door, wings tucked close to its body as it dove over a stone parapet. Two children, a boy and girl, sat in the carriage’s drivers’ seats. They wore odd blue uniforms—with trousers tucked into brown leather boots—and stern expressions that looked unnatural for a couple of children who couldn’t have been a day over fourteen. She knew from their style of garb, as well as their unfamiliarity, where they had come from. The Accord Lands, beyond the Rift.
Within the carriage itself, she caught a glimpse of other faces. Smaller, as if they too were children. Hidden in the shadowed interior of the carriage, they glanced at her briefly.
A single
Shoresman stood at the back of the carriage, leaning on his spear as he disinterestedly watched passersby. He straightened when Esta approached.
“Hi, Rod,” Esta said. The young Shoresman nodded with a small but friendly smile. Esta gestured at the carriage. “Mother has visitors?”
Rod’s smile suddenly seemed forced. “Best you talk to her yourself.”
Frowning, Esta thanked him and headed inside.
Her mother sat at the table, holding Nina in a crushing embrace on her lap. Her eyes were red and her breath shuddered, but Nina sat impassively, absently fiddling with the painted raccoon toys tucked into her belt. No, not just fiddling. She was picking at one of the knots on the string that held the raccoons together.
An attractive woman sat across the table from them. Her skirts were blue, but her blouse was a crisp white, at least where it wasn’t sweated through. Her fine hair, so blond it was nearly as white as her blouse, was bound up in a small bun on top of her head. Despite the chill blue of her eyes, her expression was warm, if sad.
Esta stared at the woman for a moment before turning to her mother. “What’s going on?”
The woman’s voice was deeper than Esta expected. “My name is Lora Bale. I’m from a place up north called Falconkeep.” She looked across the table. “I’m here to discuss little Nina’s future.”
Esta’s heated glare did little to discomfit the woman. “Mother,” Esta said, not tearing her gaze from Lora Bale. “Why is someone from the Accord talking about my niece’s future as if she knew anything about it?”
Lora stood. “Come outside with me. I’ve already told your mother, and Nina, everything.” At a quick nod from her mother, Esta followed Lora outside.
“What is this all about?” Esta asked before she had finished going down the steps.
“Do you know anything about Falconkeep?” Lora asked. When Esta didn’t answer, she continued. “Falconkeep is a very old place, built before Andrin’s Wall was. It even predates the sheggam scourge. You see, there have sometimes been children born with special abilities.”
Side by side, they walked down the street, away from the business of town and closer to the quietude of the woods. Soon, the house and the carriage were out of sight, and only a scattering of houses surrounded them. Here, the road was more dirt than stone. Lora stopped and faced Esta. “Nina is a special girl. She is able to do things that other people, even Patterners like Larril, can’t do.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has a rare gift, one that can manifest in ways you or I can’t even imagine. For some children, it’s a special sense or ability. Others can change the world around them without the use of Patterns. They simply will the world to be different, and it is.”
“You mean magic.” Esta chuckled. “That’s crazy. Nina’s just a child.”
“You’re right. She is just a child. A child who can do things that other people can’t, one who is undoubtedly very confused about these things and has no one to help her sort them out. That’s the purpose of Falconkeep and has been ever since its founding. We’re a well-established organization with a long history of dealing with the problems that can arise from this kind of situation.”
Esta felt her skin prickle. “What kind of problems?”
“Have you heard of the city of Rougar?”
Esta nodded hesitantly. She had always loved stories of ancient, far-away places, and had made her father read the stories to her while he was alive. She prided herself on knowing as many of the histories as she did the myths.
But there was one story of the old world that had always frightened her, and that was the history of Rougar. “It was destroyed by some wicked creature called the fensoria. It had terrible power, and toppled towers with a glance. Three thousand people died within a day.”
Lora nodded. “That’s almost right. But it wasn’t the fensoria; it was a fensoria. And it wasn’t a creature at all. It was an eight-year-old boy named Harl who was small for his age and loved blueberries.” Lora dropped her gaze, threading her fingers over her stomach as she slowly paced. “I’ve read accounts from that time, not merely the words of later historians, but those of neighbors and loved ones. That incident was what spurred the creation of Falconkeep. A group of Patterners came together to create a place where the untrained minds of these confused children could be safe to grow and flourish in their abilities. Where they could be safe from the effects of their powers.” She looked up at Esta and leveled her with a hard stare. “It was also a place where the world could be protected from them.”
“Even if this is true,” Esta said, “I don’t see what this has to do with Nina. She hasn’t done anything strange. She’s a perfectly normal little girl.”
“Oh, she is far from normal. She has an ability, but it’s one that hasn’t manifested itself in any obvious way. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know that Nina, just like Harl from Rougar, is a fensoria.”
“I don’t believe you.” Esta took a step closer. “And don’t you think about coming near her again.” She turned to go back.
“If she doesn’t come with me, she will die before she turns seventeen. Regardless of whatever threat she poses to those around her.”
Esta froze.
Lora slowly walked up behind her. “It’s true. For as long as their existence has been recorded, the fensoria share one thing: a short life. Even those with harmless abilities will die before they become adults. The reasons are unclear, however. Some say they become mad, corrupted by their power, and their body gives out, but no one knows for certain. All that is certain is that it will happen.”
Esta had heard stories, usually coming up from the lowlands, of families found butchered, farmhouses burned, loved ones inexplicably swallowed by the earth. In many of those stories, the children that survived such tragedies had often become mad or vanished. People often said such children had “gone bad,” as if they were fish meat left out in the sun too long and not people at all.
Esta had never considered that there was any connection between them. But perhaps there was. And as much as Esta loved Nina, she knew her niece was a strange girl. As if she knew things a little girl had no business knowing. Could it be true?
When Esta spoke, her voice caught in her throat. “And you … can save her?”
Lora came up from behind her, gently gripping both of Esta’s arms in her hands, and drew her close. “I wish I could. But I can ease her pain, give her a place where she can belong—where her powers belong. You see, humans were never meant to have such power. It distorts how they view the world, even alienates them from it. Madness, sadness, despair … all of these things are unavoidable, especially for the ones who destroy everything they touch. Human beings are creatures of reason, and reason is not permitted a place in the life of a fensoria. Only madness is permitted in their lives. Perhaps Nina is stronger than others, but it is as you said. She is just a child.”
Tears fell from Esta’s eyes. Even the prospect of such a fate for her niece crushed her heart.
She shook her arms free of Lora’s grasp. “I still don’t believe you.” She continued walking. “There’s no way that could be true.”
“I am a Patterner,” Lora said. “I have ways of finding these children. That’s why I was entrusted with this task.”
Esta spun back to her. “If you’re a Patterner, then prove it.”
Lora sighed. “Very well.” From a pocket in her dress, she pulled a polished wooden stick, then crouched down and, with a frown, began to etch in the dirt.
Esta felt as if she were watching a master painter at work. The strokes were graceful, yet confident, subtly varying in speed and strength. Lora held her stick delicately, with the tips of her fingers, yet it seemed she was in complete control of her every movement. It was so convincing a show of excellence that Esta thought Lora had to be a well-practiced charlatan.
At times Lora glanced over her shoulder at the line of drytrees about twenty paces behind her for long moments before getting b
ack to her work. At times, she attacked the Pattern she was drawing with a will; at other times, it was a gentle caress. The process lasted but a handful of minutes, but by the time Lora stood with a confident and proud expression on her face, stick held at her side, it felt like Esta had been watching for hours.
Nothing happened.
“Wait for it,” Lora said. “And … now.”
In a sudden rush, all of the spindly, needle-like leaves of the drytrees behind Lora fell to the ground, pushing out a wave of air that nearly knocked Esta off her feet. Lora, however, stood solid. Only her heavy blue skirts and a few strands of hair shook in the blast of wind.
Then, as quickly as the drytrees had lost their needles, new ones sprang into being, unfurling from the gnarly branches like fingers. In the span of three breaths, they were back to their original forms—save for the dead needles piled around their trunks.
Esta stared in awe.
Like any child growing up, Esta had fancied herself an aspiring Patterner. She had even gotten a couple books with Patterns recreated on their pages in exquisite detail. Yet no matter how painstakingly she recreated them, she could not reproduce the effects they were supposed to have. Because as the world changes, so do the Patterns that control it; to understand a Pattern is to understand it at that particular time and in that particular context. Being a Patterner was more than just being a well-practiced scribbler or copier. It required a deeper understanding of the nature of the world, one that was far beyond most people.
Lora’s mouth formed a small smile. “Truth be told, there are few with more talent than me. Perhaps two in the Accord, and your Larril, here in Naruvieth.” She began walking and put a hand to Esta’s back to guide her back to the house. “Ask your soldier friend here," she said as they approached him. "He was there when I spoke to Larril. He gave me permission to conduct my business here. But I’ve only come to ask permission to train and protect your niece. I didn’t come to take her by force.”
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