by Lou Hoffmann
LUCKY’S WAKE-UP call, in the form of Thurlock tugging at his toe, came when the morning outside his window was barely gray with the idea of dawn.
“Time to get moving; we’ve got a long day. You’ll be with me for part of it, and you’ll be kept busy for the rest. As I said, I don’t want you to be here on your own while I’m gone. The place is massively warded, but even my magic has its limits, and this is a city full of wizards and people who don’t like me. Some of them might attempt to harm you simply for that reason, and then again some of them also don’t like you. Either way is no good. So get up.”
They ate breakfast in a huge dining hall on the bottom floor of the residence hall. No one else was about, most likely because it was far earlier than breakfast should ever happen (in Lucky’s opinion). He’d bet the staff agreed, as they barely looked like they’d had time to wipe the sleep dust from their eyes. The room echoed like a cavern, and its decor was boring and sturdy in an institutional fashion. Lucky supposed an institutional look was appropriate, as this was part of the university, but it didn’t do much to make him feel warm and welcome. The food was tasty, though—toasted slices of bread with butter, sausages, and a fruity-nutty something very sweet and sticky. Lucky might have preferred hot cocoa to drink, or maybe mocha, but honestly, he was also developing a taste for tea. As soon as he started eating, the delicious smells and flavors woke up his appetite, and he ate two and a half platefuls before sitting back to wonder if he could manage one more piece of toast.
A youth wearing a uniform of some kind under a liberal spattering of mud entered the dining hall and made a beeline for their table, his loose boots setting up a clamor of echoes in the nearly empty space. “Master Thurlock, sir,” he said. “A message from the City Watch Officer of the Day.”
Thurlock took the procured paper, read it, and stuffed it into his eternally deep robe pocket. “Thank you,” he said, an obvious dismissal.
“I… I…. The officer,” the boy finally spat out in a shaky voice, “asked me to wait for a reply.”
At first Lucky thought Thurlock was going to snap at the boy—he had an annoyed look on his face. Lucky’s jaw dropped in astonishment at the thought, though, and Thurlock saw it. He blinked, his expression changed, and then he held out his hand to the messenger—a tiny scroll held between his fingers. “Here you go. And again, thank you.”
When the young man walked away, Thurlock said, “Maybe people would like me better if I always had you around to let me know when I was about to step over the grumpiness line.”
Thurlock stacked his empty plate, teacup, and napkin, clearly preparing to leave, but Lucky had gone back to thinking about whether or not to eat that extra piece of toast.
“No,” Thurlock said, apparently reading his expression. “That’s enough. That message requested”—he emphasized the word sarcastically—“our presence at the Watch headquarters in three hours. That gives us just enough time for an important lesson before we’ll need to scramble to get there on time.”
“Lesson?” Lucky asked. “What kind of lesson?”
“Magic, of course.”
Lucky was about to protest, but he’d decided after the Battle of Hoenholm to pay attention to his schooling the next time he had the chance. He had been thinking of more formal education, classes and books and such, but as he thought about it now, he realized the chances of such happening in the near future were slim, and learning was learning. Thurlock’s lessons in ordinary magic—the kind most people in Ethra could master at least a little—hadn’t been much help to Lucky. But Potent Wish, the Key of Behliseth, and the Charismata—those magics he owned by birthright—Thurlock had helped him a lot with those. He hoped whatever was coming up today would be more of the same.
After a detour to wash the sticky off and grab an oiled leather jacket because it looked like the early morning clouds held midmorning rain, Lucky followed Thurlock on foot to a desolate-looking site about a half mile away but still inside the university’s holdings. He looked around, trying to figure out the purpose of the pockmarked territory, which looked like a bit of the lunar landscape he’d seen in photos while in Earth.
“It was a stone quarry, a few centuries ago. Much of the sandstone that went into the second wave of building here at the university came from this place. It’s attractive stuff, and durable, and has an odd quality of resistance to magical impact. In fact, that was the reason the founders placed the university here in the first place. I don’t know why nobody thought of using it to build with until several hundred years later.”
“Okay,” Lucky said, looking around. “But don’t quarries usually have one big pit? What’s with all the little holes in the ground?”
“The big hole is over that hill,” Thurlock said, pointing at a giant mound of stone shards that had collected enough soil to support some rough-looking brush. “The small craters you see everywhere are from people coming here to practice combative magic.”
“You’re going to try to teach me combative magic?” Lucky had read about those skills, and they were pretty impressive. He’d seen Thurlock—most recently at Hoenholm—using fighting spells in a way bigger than most magic users could have managed. Such skills could be useful, he could see that. But they were performed using common Ethran magic, and if he couldn’t even make a chair move or light a candle….
“Oh, no. I’m not suicidal,” Thurlock said, skipping more lightly than Lucky would have expected over a pair of muddy potholes. “We’re going to study drawing power from your surroundings. I’ve watched your progress as you learn to use your magic, Luccan. Although it doesn’t drain you as much as it used to, it still leaves you pretty low on reserves, most of the time. There is no way to make someone immune to that effect. You’ve seen it happen to me, even here in Ethra where Behl—the source of much of my power—is ever present. But we can learn to draw energy from outside, instead of using only what we have inside us, and it helps, especially when we use magic in a situation where we can’t afford to be unable to respond afterward.” Thurlock scratched his beard, looking thoughtful, then started to speak, but stopped before he got a word out and redirected. “I can just about hear Han telling me to get to the point. The point here is practice, not words, so that’s what we’ll do.”
Lucky nodded. “Okay, but… well… you know I can’t do anything with the kind of magic most people do. Isn’t that energy you’re talking about the same thing?”
“Yes, very observant.” Judging from the way his eyes went wide and his brows arched up, that seemed to surprise Thurlock. “But drawing it and working it into a spell are two different things. As I’ve said, I’ve been paying attention, and I think you can do this. To begin, I’d like you to try doing this the way the rest of us do, for the most part. One thing, though—if you can’t do it this way, please do not consider it a failure. You’re not quite an ordinary magic user, but you have your ways. And if this doesn’t work, we’ll figure out what will. Agreed?”
Lucky didn’t like the sound of that, and he wasn’t sure he should agree, but he was getting wet in the steady rain that had begun to fall, and he thought it would be nice to get the whole thing over with. He didn’t want to waste time or energy arguing. “Sure,” he said, and shrugged.
Thurlock puffed out his cheeks with what seemed like an exasperated sigh. “I guess as agreements go, that will do. All I’m asking at the moment is that you try to sense the flow of energy around you. A good place to start is in the ground where you stand.”
“Um, yeah. Nothing.”
“Well, give it a minute!”
Lucky tried, but no matter how he focused his senses, the ground was just the ground. He did notice he could feel one larger than usual pebble under his left toe, but he didn’t think that’s what Thurlock had in mind. “Sorry. No,” he said, after he thought enough time had passed.
“That’s what I expected. But now let’s try a different approach. You have the Sight, and I think it can help you do the same thing in a d
ifferent way. Call it up now, but instead of having in your mind that you’re examining something in particular or looking for magic or its remnants, think about energy, how it flows in waves and along pathways like water or air currents. What you’re opening up to see is the stuff that keeps the world alive.”
When Lucky dialed up the Sight, at first all he saw were the leftovers from a hundred different, variously aged magics; some seemed warm, some cold, a few scarily dark, but most neutral in character, like scuff marks left accidentally on a polished floor. He shook his head. “I can’t,” he started to say, but he never finished the sentence because as he let his focus slip, he glimpsed something underlying the traces of spells and scattered stone shards, and once he focused on it, he realized it was everywhere around him. Not only was it there, but it was moving, flowing like a thousand tiny rivers of energy. It came together from tributaries, branched out to new directions, collected in eddies. It moved in opposite directions side by side like lanes on a freeway or veins alongside arteries. Where streams met, they skipped over or under like bridges and tunnels, or in some cases joined up to dance in curlicues and patterns plain or intricate as snowflakes. All beautiful, and amazing, and maybe frightening, for Lucky had never dreamed so much energy, so much magic moved through the moments of his life.
Feeling oddly dizzy, he let the Sight go by necessity, then closed his eyes and gulped air in an effort to recover. “It…. Thurlock, it’s too much.”
“Ah,” Thurlock said with a touch of smug satisfaction. “You’ve found the energy that animates this entire world. Good for you, young man. And yes, it can be overpowering. It is, after all, life itself, and we all know how overwhelming life can be. It’s what makes living things live, but also what makes Ethra a living world. Now, we move on… or no.” He peered at Luccan from under his unruly eyebrows. “Let’s have some refreshment.”
Thurlock made some motions and said some words, and the next thing Lucky knew, he was standing under a canvas awning next to a small pit with glowing camp stones in the center of the space. A couple of boulders rested near the fire pit, and a kettle resting on one of the camp stones was already whistling.
“Have a seat, my boy.” Impatience showed up in Thurlock’s tone.
“Sorry,” Lucky said and sat on the nearest boulder—which was surprisingly comfortable. “I was just a little surprised.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Tea and oranges, and perhaps a Twinkie?”
Lucky had long since ceased being surprised over Thurlock’s casual magic, but just at that moment, it made him a touch angry. Or envious.
“Why can’t I just do this kind of thing, like you and every other wizard and witch and magician in the world? Why do I have to be ‘unique’? Because you know what, Thurlock? Unique is kind of a pain in the ass.”
Thurlock silently doled out tea and oranges. He produced a Twinkie from his pocket and passed it to Lucky without comment. He got up and paced the three steps up the length of the shelter and then pivoted on his heel and paced three steps back. His mouth was set in a hard, straight line.
Oh crap. I’ve gone too far, Lucky thought, but he didn’t have time to apologize before Thurlock turned to him, drawing his gaze to his own like a magnet.
“You are certainly unique,” he said in a carefully controlled tone that made it seem he might prefer to fry Lucky rather than speak to him. “Some of us have been counting on that, because here in Ethra we need someone, in these difficult and long-foretold times, who can do things differently. I suppose one could also make an argument that you’re special. But take this to heart: neither uniqueness nor specialness are unique in you. I’m unique—a thousand years old! Han is unique—Dragon-kin. L’Aria is unique—River Song. And more than that, every person you meet has some qualities that are theirs and theirs alone. And each and every life we are hoping you will help us save is a special life. So don’t let your uniqueness or your specialness go to your head. And don’t ever try to use it as an excuse.”
Heat rose up Lucky’s neck and over his cheeks as he blushed in embarrassment. Thurlock had never before scolded Lucky so angrily. Knowing he’d sounded ungrateful—if not outright selfish—and too mortified to continue to meet Thurlock’s gaze, Lucky studied the glowing camp stones. “I-I’m sorry, sir.” The right words to follow didn’t come, but in the end it didn’t matter.
“I already know you’re sorry, Luccan. Your apology is accepted. I’d appreciate if we could go forward now with less focus on bemoaning our natures and more on doing what we can with what we are and what we have. Yes?”
Lucky nodded.
“Good. Then hold your head up, young man. You’re not guilty of anything everyone else doesn’t slip into now and again, and—though I know I can’t say these following words with quite the same comfort that would come with them if it was Han speaking—believe me when I say, it will be all right.”
This time Lucky looked up when he nodded.
Thurlock nodded back and then even smiled a little. “Okay, so. Finish your Twinkie and let’s move on.”
After Lucky finished his Earth junk food, and the tea and oranges were gone as well, Thurlock dismantled the shelter and the fire, banishing them to nothingness or who-knows-where.
“This next task will be a little more difficult, Luccan. You’ve seen the energy, now sort it out. See if you can follow backward along the streams of energy and trace them to their source. Try to find the energy that belongs to living things; separate it from the energy that belongs to the rocks and soils and the planet herself. Try to comprehend how they are different.”
Lucky tried. He looked at the different streams of energy, tried to follow them to their sources, but in no time, he had a confused map in his mind and could no longer even tell which way was “back” and which was “forth.” His head started to spin. He finally said, “I can’t.”
Lucky had disappointed himself, but to his surprise, Thurlock clapped him on the back as if commending him.
“That’s all right, and it’s enough for the time being…. Let the Sight go and relax.”
It started raining harder, turning the bare ground of the yard behind the hall into puddles with spots of muck. When they reached the back door of the residence hall, Thurlock spelled his own sandals clean, but let Lucky clean his off the ordinary way.
As he stood on the rough mat and scraped mud off his soles, Lucky said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, Thurlock.”
The wizard waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense, my boy. We had a few hiccups, but you did very well for a first lesson. I have no doubt you’ll pick it up soon. Right now, we need to make ourselves presentable and head over to the Watch headquarters.” He held the door open and Lucky followed him inside and through the kitchens and dining hall. The people here seemed much friendlier to Thurlock than the people in the streets had been, and that made Lucky inexplicably happy. He smiled at each person they passed, savoring the smiles he got in return.
Another courier intercepted them before they stepped into the lift box. Thurlock took the note and sighed heavily, then conjured another tiny scroll to send his reply with the messenger.
“Well, we have to go to C.O.W.W. when we finish up with the Watch. At least we’ll get all this reporting nonsense over with today, and then we can move on to what’s actually on the itinerary for this trip.”
Chapter Nine: The Watch: A Friendly Interrogation
LUCKY FOUND new clothes waiting for him back in his room, either magicked there by Thurlock or laid out by some mysteriously invisible employee of the residence hall. Perhaps in the city, people dressed a little differently than at the Sisterhold—or at least they did if they were going to have to appear before C.O.W.W., which stood, Thurlock said, for the Council of Wizards and Witches. He’d been provided a voluminous calf-length black khalta in a fine, shiny fabric and a tailored white shirt. Over it, instead of a tunic, he was to wear a gold-thread-embroidered black vest that reminded him of something he’d seen in a news pho
to of the late Earthborn singer Michael Jackson. It wasn’t a look Lucky favored, and he figured he was going to fry in the summer heat. He liked the new sandals, though. Soft black leather, thick soles that would keep his feet out of mud and muck, and sun-metal button fasteners for the straps that laced up to his knees.
“You’re forgetting something,” Thurlock said.
Lucky looked at him blankly.
“Your blade, Luccan.”
Ciarrah! Wondering how he could have forgotten, he ran back to his room and quickly threaded the dragon-hide sheath into his belt. Amazing, he thought, noticing how much more comfortable his new clothes seemed once he had Ciarrah with him.
Thurlock wore robes, of course, but his were a little fancier than usual too—edged and embroidered with silver thread, belted with a thick chain of closely interlocked sun-metal links set every so often with gold-hued gems. The ties for the hood were heavy tassels, many threads of thick silvery twine. Even more unusual—for Lucky hadn’t ever seen Thurlock wear anything at all on his head except the straw hat he’d fastened the Key to on the first day they met—he wore a thin circlet of sun-metal with a gem set over his left brow.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Lucky said.
“Not quite.” Thurlock took hold of Lucky’s vest and pinned the brooch Han had given him—the one with his emblem—near his left shoulder. “There, done.”
“Why the fancy clothes?”
Thurlock said, “When in Nedhra….”
And in his mind, Lucky completed the proverb, “Do as the Nedhrans.”
Thurlock said exercise would help limber up his mind, so they took the stairs down—and there were lots of steps. So many flights Lucky couldn’t count them all. But then when they got to the bottom and, breathless, he asked how many floors, Thurlock said there were only twelve. And he didn’t seem to be out of breath at all.
