Seeds of Rebellion

by Brandon Mull

  “You know the prophecy,” the woman pressed. “When the People of the Seed grow familiar with Edomic, their downfall will have commenced.”

  Drake flashed his crooked grin. “I’m no longer among my people. I prefer to conclude that I don’t count. Besides, anyone can see that our downfall has begun. We might as well go down fighting.”

  “Perhaps,” the charm woman mused, stroking her chin, the liver-spotted hand incongruent against the more youthful skin of her face. “Prophecies aside, the wizardborn normally show little aptitude for Edomic.”

  “I’m no spellweaver,” Drake huffed. “It doesn’t come easily. I know a few practical tricks.”

  “How long did it take her to learn?”

  “She saw me call heat to light a campfire one evening. She asked how I did it, and I told her. She lit a candle that same night.”

  “The same night?” The charm woman gasped. “How long did it take you to light your first candle, Drake?”

  “Years of practice. She clearly has an unusual aptitude.”

  The woman fixed Rachel with a suspicious stare. “Where did you study Edomic before?”

  “Nowhere,” Rachel replied. “Never. I know the syllables to the word that can kill Maldor. Otherwise, the first Edomic words I heard came from Drake.”

  “This was how long ago?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “You can light a candle whenever you choose?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Show me.” The charm woman arose, collected a long reddish candle, handed it to Rachel, and returned to her stool.

  “Now?”

  “At your pleasure.”

  Rachel felt a mild surge of stage fright. She hadn’t done this trick under such scrutiny. The woman had made it sound like lighting a candle with Edomic should have been difficult to learn. The skeptical attitude magnified Rachel’s nervousness. She took a breath. She had done this hundreds of times. She spoke the words, focused on the wick, and a flame flickered into being.

  “Remarkable,” the charm woman said. “Blow it out.” She gestured at Drake. “Take the candle to the other side of the room.”

  Rachel handed him the candle, and he carried it to the opposite side of the tent.

  “Light it,” the charm woman ordered.

  “I’ve never tried this from so far away,” Rachel explained.

  “Same idea,” the woman said. “Will heat to the wick.”

  Rachel said the words, concentrating on the wick. She could feel an inexplicable resistance, like the first time she had tried to use Edomic to light a candle. Her attention began to waver, as if some distractive force were willing her eyes away from her target, but she redoubled her effort, pushing mentally, and whispered the words again. Across the room, a new flame was born.

  “That was harder,” Rachel said, wiping perspiration from her forehead.

  The charm woman considered Rachel curiously. “Yet you made it look relatively effortless.” The woman looked at Drake. “What are the chances of Rachel remaining with me as an apprentice?”

  “You would have to ask her,” he replied with a slight frown.

  “Well?” the woman asked.

  Rachel felt flustered and flattered. Did this mean she showed serious promise with Edomic? It would be amazing to learn more, but the timing seemed off. “I don’t think I can. We need to figure out how to rescue Jason, and I need to get in front of Maldor, so I can use the Word. Plus, I need to find a way home.”

  “I can offer you as safe a sanctuary as you are likely to find in Lyrian,” the woman replied. “Study with me for a year, and you will become much more formidable. You learned to call fire with abnormal ease. For most, those words you uttered would convey meaning only. Heat would hear but not respond. If you can continue as you commenced, you could exceed the abilities of any practitioner remaining in Lyrian.”

  Rachel looked to Drake.

  “This is a high compliment,” the seedman admitted. “The charm woman would not make this invitation lightly. Nor offer such encouragement.”

  Rachel pressed her lips together. “Wait a minute. Is this why you really brought me here? To see if she thought I could become a wizard?”

  Drake shrugged innocently. “I was interested in her opinion regarding your aptitude. And we needed to lose the lurker. Both needs aligned.”

  “Only one person in Lyrian could help you become a true wizard,” the charm woman said, “but Maldor does not take apprentices. He crushes any who aspire to learn Edomic. Our best lore on the subject has been lost. Only scant fragments of what we once knew are preserved by stragglers like myself. Still, there is much I could teach you.”

  “What do you think?” Rachel asked Drake.

  “You are in a difficult situation,” the seedman replied. “Maldor wants to apprehend you more than any rebel in recent memory. The torivor proves that. You hope to return to the Beyond, but we have no idea how. You wish to rescue Jason, but we currently lack any realistic chance of accomplishing that as well. Alternatively, if you could arm yourself with greater power … who knows what options the future might hold?”

  Rachel bowed her head. To agree to study with the charm woman would mean admitting some uncomfortable things. It meant that Jason would be in Felrook for a long time. It meant that she would remain in Lyrian for a long time. In fact, an apprenticeship like they were discussing might be the first step toward admitting she would remain in Lyrian for the rest of her life.

  But wasn’t that just accepting the reality of her situation? Jason had been captured. He might be dead. Nobody knew of a way back to the Beyond. The emperor was out of reach. Whether or not Rachel studied Edomic, she was in serious trouble. Her options were limited. If this woman could provide a safe haven while empowering her to have a better chance of surviving on her own, shouldn’t she seize the opportunity?

  Besides, wasn’t she curious to learn what else she might be able to do using Edomic? If lighting a candle brought an exultant thrill, how would it feel when she mastered more ambitious abilities? Didn’t she crave the rush that came when a few words supported by her will set the forces of nature in motion?

  Rachel wrung her hands. Did she want to study Edomic? Absolutely. Maybe too much. Maybe so much that all the other reasons she had in mind were really just excuses.

  “Would you stay with me?” Rachel asked Drake.

  “If the charm woman would allow it,” he replied.

  The woman laughed. “You have changed, Drake. You are completely committed to the welfare of this girl?”

  “My seed went bad,” he said evenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is my final lifetime. I have wasted many. I can think of no finer way to spend it than helping Rachel destroy Maldor. She and the word she possesses represent the best chance we have.”

  “In that case, I invite you to remain with us throughout her apprenticeship.” The charm woman studied Rachel. “There are limits to what I can teach you. Most of my skill is with charms. Such spells require time and patience to weave, along with certain specific Edomic aptitudes that I have not found in another. For all we know, your chief aptitude could involve summoning heat. Only time will tell how far you can take that ability and what else you can learn. But I can certainly teach you some new phrases, help you hone your talents, and advise you about the dangers of Edomic.”

  “Dangers?”

  The woman snorted. “The danger mounts as your ability grows. In short, it is simplest and safest to use Edomic to accomplish tasks you could perform without Edomic. Lighting the candle is a good example. Given the right materials, you could ignite a candle on your own with little difficulty. Edomic is simply more convenient. If you fail to summon a candle flame with Edomic, the modest amount of energy involved tends to dissipate harmlessly.

  “However, if you were trying to summon enough fire to consume a haystack all at once, considerably more energy would be in play. If you lost control of that much energy, unintended targets could igni
te, including yourself. Also, should an ambitious command go awry, the failed effort could damage your mind, perhaps even permanently crippling your consciousness. There can be numerous unhappy consequences when a significant amount of power is involved.”

  “Which is why I keep my commands simple,” Drake muttered.

  “A prudent policy,” the woman agreed.

  “It was harder to light the candle when it was across the room,” Rachel noted. “I had to say the words twice.”

  “Many factors, including distance, can complicate an Edomic command. Repeating the Edomic words seldom achieves the desired benefit, except perhaps by serving as a crutch to help your mind urge the heat to carry out your command. Once you have spoken, exert your will to demand compliance.”

  “It’s weird to think of arguing with heat,” Rachel said.

  “Not arguing like you would with Drake,” the charm woman clarified. “The heat has no intellect comparable to you or me, but it does comprehend Edomic. Ages ago, this world was created by the great master of this language. Edomic is equally understood by matter, energy, and intelligence. Even so, as you have begun to discover, it is one thing for the heat to comprehend your intent and another for it to obey.”

  Rachel scrunched her brow. “I sort of have to push with my mind to get the candle to light. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Very hard to explain,” the woman echoed. “In the past, scholars have sought to master Edomic as a form of communication. This is what many would call the lower use of Edomic. The higher use of Edomic is to speak with sufficient authority that matter and energy comply. Some, especially the uninformed, call it magic. Call it what you like. While scholars communicated, wizards commanded.”

  “What’s the difference?” Rachel asked. “What made the wizards special?”

  The woman shrugged. “None have found a satisfactory answer. Certainly not a teachable one. It has much to do with the will of the speaker. It also has something to do with faith, intelligence, experience, passion, courage, imagination, determination, and many other attributes. Commanding with Edomic also seems to rely on an innate, prerequisite gift that only a few possess. With effort, most could learn to speak at least some Edomic. But no amount of study can elevate a person from speaking to commanding. While training can increase the gift to command with Edomic, apparently nothing can create the raw ability.”

  “And I have it,” Rachel said softly.

  “You certainly do,” the woman affirmed. “Do you intend to learn more? Will you tarry with me for a season to explore your potential?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I’ll do my best.” She glanced at Drake, who gave a nod of approval.

  “Very well,” the charm woman said, clearly pleased. “Our first order of business must be to divert the torivor. In order for you to remain with me, we will have to part ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The charms that protect me from torivors and other servants of the emperor work mostly on principles of avoidance and misdirection. They won’t long protect me or anyone else against intense scrutiny. For all of our sakes, we must mislead the torivor.”

  “How will that work?” Rachel wondered.

  The charm woman winked. “Watch and learn.”

  CHAPTER 5

  LURKER

  Jason hiked along a gray beach of smooth, rounded pebbles. The stones magnified the crashing rumble as waves pounded the shore, and shifted underfoot with each step, rattling softly. Ahead, a wide creek crossed his path, emptying into the sea.

  When he reached the creek, Jason knelt and filled his canteen, then took a long drink. Breathing deeply of the salt-tinged air, he rubbed his tired eyes. He had reached the beach yesterday morning, but had slept only briefly last night, thanks to the nightmare that had instantly overwhelmed him. He had been riding a roller coaster when a massive tornado touched down at the theme park. Everything had gone horribly wrong and had felt horrifyingly real.

  So he had continued east along the northern rim of the peninsula by moonlight, then through sunrise, then under the full light of day. In a few hours, night would fall again. Jason knew he would have to try to sleep, but tired as he felt, he doubted whether he would rest.

  He looked back at the featureless creature, standing silently on the stones. Mr. No Comment—the silent invader of his dreams. Jason had looked back many times while moving along the stony beach. Not a single pebble clicked or clacked as the dark figure trod over them.

  Jason removed his boots and socks, rolled up his jeans, and waded across the cold creek. The dark figure did not follow. Jason sat on the far side and let his feet get mostly dry before putting his socks and boots back on.

  He marched away, glancing back at the dark figure. Soon the creature was more than a hundred yards behind, and it still did not follow. Was it intimidated by water? They had crossed streams before, but nothing as wide as this creek.

  Peering ahead, Jason realized that the seaside stones were getting bigger. Soon the rocky beach would become too treacherous for walking quickly, so he decided to parallel it slightly inland. He glanced back toward the creek, and was startled to find the black figure standing less than ten paces behind.

  How long had he looked away? Four or five seconds? Maybe six? This thing was fast. It had traversed the creek and dashed across at least a hundred yards of pebbly beach without a sound. “Are you showing off?” Jason asked.

  The expressionless figure supplied no explanation.

  After he’d skirted the rocky coastline for an hour or so, the stones dissolved into speckled pink sand, and Jason returned from the scrubby inland undergrowth to the beach. Occasional boulders interrupted the shoreline: tortured shapes pocked with irregular holes. Leafy ropes of translucent seaweed lay strewn across his path in haphazard piles. Spoon-billed shorebirds scuttled in the shallows, taking flight as breakers disturbed their foraging. Colorful fragments of broken shells littered the sand near the water, sometimes crunching under Jason’s boots.

  Back in America, this sandy stretch would have been a popular vacation spot or else coveted real estate for beach houses. He could visualize little kids piling sand while their older siblings rode boogie boards and their parents sorted snacks under big umbrellas.

  Jason continued along the mildly curving beach. Up ahead, a village came into view, situated on a gentle rise not far from the shore. A palisade of upright logs surrounded the settlement, the wood bleached by sun and wind and salt. The village contained perhaps thirty residences, along with a few larger buildings. He felt relieved to see an actual community of people. It made him feel less lost. Too small to be Ithilum, the seaside settlement lacked a real dock, although several small fishing boats huddled in a nearby cove, sheltered by a man-made breakwater.

  Leaning against a misshapen boulder, Jason paused to survey the little village. Smoke drifted up from a few chimneys. Somewhere a dog barked.

  Jason folded his arms. His eyes itched. He had skipped sleeping his first night in Lyrian and had mostly skipped sleeping last night as well. His food was running out, and he wanted something besides granola. Watching the village, it was hard not to picture beds and warm food.

  Towns in Lyrian had routinely brought him bad luck. The people here distrusted strangers, and Jason doubted his wraithlike companion would earn him any extra goodwill. But the village would have resources, and Tark had given him plenty of money.

  While weighing whether to visit the village, Jason eyed the boats in the sheltered cove, then glanced at his shadowy escort. The dark figure had hesitated to cross the creek. What if Jason bought passage to Ithilum by boat? Wasn’t it possible that traveling over the water could help him ditch the creature? As a bonus, he’d probably reach his destination faster, and he’d get a break from walking. Even if booking such a voyage was irregular, he figured that enough money would inevitably convince some poor fisherman to help him out.

  The more he pondered the idea, the better he liked it. If the reaction of
the giants had been any indicator, the dark creature following him would probably keep anyone in the village from messing with him. Maybe somebody could confirm whether the entity was a lurker. Or maybe he would get lucky and the creature would simply wait outside the palisade.

  Jason started toward the walled settlement. He noticed a few men on the shore near the cove, fussing with large nets. A dirt road meandered from the seaside to a wooden gate in the palisade. Jason approached the entrance, the dark figure less than its typical ten paces behind. A pair of huge white fish jaws gaped at either side of the closed gate, showing jagged triangular teeth. Both sets of jaws appeared large enough to swallow a human whole. Or bite one in half.

  Jason neared the gate, which was lower than the rest of the wall. A small wooden guardhouse stood on stilts behind one side of the gate.

  “Hello?” Jason inquired.

  An older man with bushy sideburns appeared in the guardhouse window. He glanced at Jason, then gaped at the dark figure standing behind him. “What evil walks with you?”

  Jason glanced over his shoulder, acting startled. “Yikes! You know, I’m not sure. We’re not together.”

  The man gave Jason a skeptical stare.

  Jason peeked over his shoulder again, as if nervous and perplexed. He looked up at the man. “I don’t like the look of him. Mind letting me in?”

  “Please, pass us by,” the man asked, eyes on the shadowy figure. “We’re simple folk.”

  “He isn’t with me,” Jason insisted. “I assumed he was a local. How about you just open up a little so I can squeeze through?”

  “Don’t share your doom with our community,” the man implored.

  “Sorry, I need to come inside. Orders from the underworld.”

  The man vanished from the window. A bell atop the guardhouse clanged three times, then three times again, then a final three times. Jason heard the man dashing away from the gate, shouting hoarsely. “Run! Hide! Death stands at the gates! Get inside! Bolt your windows! Barricade your doors!”

  The gate was only about seven feet high. Jason hesitated. He was clearly unwanted. But the gatekeeper had looked terrified—much too frightened to make trouble. Surely Jason could find some intimidated villager willing to sell provisions. Maybe even somebody to sail him to Ithilum.