“The second option,” the man gasped.
“Very well.” Konner released his grip. When the man had pulled his gloves off and folded his hands in front of him, Konner unstrapped his knife sheath, slipped the knife back in it, and put it in the inside pocket of his coat. They exited the alley together. “What is your name?” Konner asked.
“Ash.”
Konner’s voice was cold, even as his steps remained smooth and casual. “You seem to be under the impression that if you are truthful, I may ruin you. You do not understand the situation. No matter who you are or what you have done, I can ruin you with as little energy as I expend in ordering breakfast. Your only hope at this point is to tell me the truth and pray that my efforts will be directed to your benefit rather than your harm. Your name.”
The man looked up, seeming to consider the question. Finally, he spoke. “Jerash Sheaver.”
“Jerash Sheaver,” Konner said, “tell me how you obtained the ability to use magic to steal and deceive.”
“I don’t know.”
Konner spun around to stand in front of the man, who skidded to an anxious stop. “I thought I was clear!” Konner stormed. “The truth, and every detail!”
A deep breath or two was required, but then Jerash began to talk. Konner led his companion along quiet, residential streets, and their steps slowed as Jerash retold every detail of the day he had killed his wife. He followed with the tale of the weeks he had spent traveling on foot to the city where they now walked, and of the months since, living on the streets.
When Jerash stopped talking, Konner asked, “Aren’t you concerned someone will travel here and recognize you?”
“I expected to be caught soon after I fled,” Jerash said. “I barely slept for the first week. I can only guess it took some time for them to discover her body. Now that a year has passed, and I am so far from home, I hope I am safe.”
“I can see why you’ve changed your name, and I’m perfectly happy to call you Ash,” Konner said. “Tell me, can this phenomenon you’ve described be replicated?”
“I—I don’t know. I still don’t even understand why my gift changed.”
Konner stared at Ash. “You don’t strike me as an imbecile. You must understand.”
“At first I thought it was because my hands are gifted, and I used them . . . on her. But then I realized that could not be so.”
“Because there have been hundreds of touch-blessed men and women who have committed murder through the years,” Konner said.
Ash nodded. “And of course my gift was not active at the time. So perhaps it had something to do with the kiss. I—I breathed her last breath.”
A smile of awe filled Konner’s face. “It’s beautiful. At birth, you were given breath that gave you magic. Through death, you were given breath that gave you power.” He turned his head toward Ash, who nodded.
They stopped in another shadowed alleyway. Konner asked, “If I told you to use your gift to break a man’s neck, to grab him so quickly he had no way of anticipating it, could you do it?”
In a moment, Ash’s hand was grasping Konner’s neck, not tight enough to prevent airflow, but with enough pressure to send fear coursing through the older man’s veins. Konner forced his face to remain calm. Ash pulled his hand back.
“Perhaps with your history, a neck wasn’t the best example?” Konner asked. Ash turned his head to the side, but not before Konner saw the fury in his eyes.
Konner turned his attention to Ash’s hands, grasping them and examining the stormy, gray light they emitted. He raised his gaze to Ash, not trying to hide the wonder he felt. After a moment, Konner said, “Your face looks pained. How does it feel?”
Ash stared in the banker’s eyes. “It feels like fire.” He pulled his hands away and shook them, releasing his magic.
Konner said, “We will attempt to find ways to make the pain more bearable.”
“What do you mean by ‘we’?”
“We.” Konner pointed at Ash, then at himself. “Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.” He relaxed his face and stance, taking on the posture of a nonthreatening businessman. “You have one more choice to make. I will allow you to walk away, free and unharmed. You can live on the streets and use your gift to barely exist, as you have been doing.”
“Where does the ‘we’ come in?” Ash asked—and Konner knew he had him.
“Your second option is the ‘we’ option.” Konner stared into Ash’s eyes. They were haunted. Weary. Desperate. “Ash,” Konner said, his voice warm, “The first step will be to get you off the cold streets, to give you a home where you no longer need to fear discovery. You will live in a warm, comfortable guest suite at my home.
“But you need more than physical provision and safety. You need purpose. I see your passion. You may have lost sight of it, but it is dormant, not dead. So once you’re full and warm, we will work together to explore your gift. We will discover how to share that gift with others. I know it’s hard to envision the future right now, when you’re cold and hungry. But, Ash, hear this. In the coming days, you and I will change this nation in ways you cannot even imagine.”
Ash’s eyes were wide and intense, his body taut. Konner knew that look; it was the same look a young woman had when she listened to her new lover speak. It was belief, and it was hope.
Konner asked, “What is your choice?”
“The second option,” Ash said for the second time that evening.
“Very well.” Konner, suddenly businesslike, strode back the direction they had come. Ash walked alongside him. They proceeded in silence, and Ash’s eyes grew wide when they entered the front gate of Konner’s large, stone home, the most opulent on a street full of luxury. Konner stopped and pressed a strong hand onto his guest’s shoulder. “Jerash Sheaver, I require absolute trust. If that is ever broken, or if you ever again lay a threatening hand on me, you will learn the true meaning of regret. Is this understood?”
Ash swallowed. “Yes.”
Konner strode to the door, knocked, and waited for a maid to answer it. “I will send a servant in to take you to your bath, and another to bring you food. Tomorrow, we begin.”
The next afternoon, a maid brought Ash into Konner’s study, where the banker was sitting behind his desk. Konner pointed between two leather chairs on the other side of the desk. “Stand there,” he commanded.
Ash stood in the indicated spot. Konner examined him. A barber had come that morning, and with his hair short and beard shaved Ash was an uncommonly handsome man. Konner had also sent his tailor that morning; when Ash’s custom wardrobe was complete, he would be even more striking. People would follow this man.
“Have a seat,” Konner said. Ash sat ramrod-straight. “I’m glad they’ve cleaned you up,” Konner said. “I know my clothes aren’t a perfect fit, but you’ll have your own soon.” He smiled and said, “No need to be nervous, Ash. We came to an understanding last night, and I want you to be as comfortable with that as I am. Please, relax.”
Ash’s shoulders dropped, and he nodded, looking his host in the eye. “Thank you, Mr. Burrell.”
Konner’s smile widened. “Please, call me Konner.”
“Yes, sir—Konner.”
“Let’s get to work, shall we?” Konner opened a thin, leather-bound book. “I use bank ledgers as notebooks,” he said. “They remind me that details are crucial to successful plans.” He picked up a fountain pen. “I would like to talk about gray magic—unless you know a better term for it?”
“That term makes sense.”
“You are the only living expert on gray magic.”
A brief grin brightened Ash’s face. “I’m not a well-informed expert.”
“That will be remedied as quickly as we can manage. I would like to start by writing what you do know about gray magic, even if it’s a short list.”
Ash talked, frequently interrupted by Konner’s questions. After twenty minutes, they had a list three pages long. It covered everything from th
e physical sensations associated with using gray magic, to a detailed description of the events preceding and during Ash’s gray awakening—another new term, but one that seemed to fit.
Next, they discussed the questions they must answer. To achieve a gray awakening, did both parties have to be gifted, as Ash and his wife were? Could an ungifted person receive a gray awakening? Or bestow one? When he had entered the questions in his ledger, Konner said, “Excellent. This is a good start.”
“A good start for what, sir?”
“I told you yesterday,” Konner said. “We will change the nation of Cormina, together.”
Ash didn’t respond, but his face reflected his questions. Konner leaned forward. “Ash, what do you think the world was like in the days before magic was tamed by Kari and Savala?”
Ash’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know a lot of details, but I remember learning that society was devastated by war,” he said.
Konner grimaced. “That is the way they frame it in textbooks, isn’t it?” Then he talked about the ancient epics—the heroes and villains and, yes, the wars. He highlighted the freedom of those ancient days, the brute strength of individuals, and the dramatic rise and fall of mighty societies.
Ash’s eyes were wide, his breaths coming quickly. Konner smiled inwardly. He wasn’t stupid; he’d known the day before that Ash had agreed to join him more for the food and lodging than anything else. But that was changing already. These legends were intoxicating, and an ember had been lit inside of Ash, a desire for power. With careful words, Konner could stoke that craving into a roaring flame.
Konner then stood and walked around the desk, sitting in the chair next to Ash. He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Ash’s. “Magic is the greatest power available,” he said, “and because magic is always good, we have driven ourselves into a rut of stagnation. The outcome of anything truly important is predestined by this terrible, magical goodness.” Konner placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. His voice was warm. “On the day you received your gray awakening, everything changed. Do you see it?”
“I don’t know.”
Konner was patient. “With you—and others like you, for there will be more—everything will change. The power of magic will no longer be constrained by goodness, a hollow ideal that comes from a distant god, if he exists at all. You will be free to discover whether there are standards more important than goodness. You can explore strength and ambition and creativity.
“It is time to write our own epic. We will not attempt reform; it is too late for that. Instead, we will tear down and then rebuild our nation, so we can live in a world that once again welcomes those who value real, visceral humanity.”
Ash was nearly breathless as he asked, “What do we do first?”
Konner smiled again. “We must discover how gray awakenings are achieved.” He gestured to the ledger. “We will perform various tests to answer these questions. Each time we are successful, we will add a gray-blessed member to our team.”
“I suppose the more powerful the person is, the more value they have for our cause?”
“We will seek people with exceptional giftings,” Konner affirmed.
The younger man spoke slowly. “This may sound ridiculous, but years ago, I heard rumors of a girl. No one seems to know where she’s from—some small town. They say she was born facing the sun, and her entire body glowed when she received her blessing breath. The story sounds like a myth, but if it was true . . .”
The very air in the room seemed to go still. At last, Konner spoke. “I have heard the same. I, too, assumed it was a baseless rumor. But if the story has spread to your hometown . . .” His jaw hardened, and his gaze met Ash’s. “We will discover whether this girl exists,” he said. “If she does, we will find her. Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes,” Ash repeated. He smiled broadly, and in the wildness of that grin, Konner saw not a potter on the run, but an ancient hero from the legends of old.
Chapter Eight
Remember, magic should be fun.
-From Training Sun-Blessed Students by Ellea Kariana
Three days later, Tavi again strolled through the woods. She told herself that the strange Meadow boy probably hadn’t come back that way yet, or perhaps he was hunting, and he most likely wouldn’t come at all. Why would he want to befriend a thirteen-year-old girl?
Having convinced herself that she probably wouldn’t see Tullen, Tavi tried to keep her walk leisurely and peaceful—but instead, knowing he could be waiting around any bend in the trail, she found herself stuck in nervous anticipation.
This is ridiculous, Tavi told herself. If he’s here, fine. If not, even better. I’ll enjoy the forest alone, and then I’ll go home and study. Maybe I should head home now. She had nearly decided to do just that, when she heard a voice ahead calling, “Tavi of the Town, come see what I have found!" She smiled broadly, and then tried not to smile, resulting in an expression she was sure qualified as a grimace.
Tavi found Tullen standing at a tree, using a small knife to remove a misshapen growth from the trunk. She watched him for a moment before saying, “You know no one actually calls me ‘Tavi of the Town,’ right?”
Tullen was still focused on his task. “Of course,” he assured her. “But it has quite a ring to it.” He turned to her and winked.
After putting his knife away, Tullen pulled and twisted until the odd growth popped off the trunk. It was cream-colored, speckled with light brown splotches. “You’re in for a real treat,” he said. “This is antlerfruit. Observe these points protruding from it, like antlers. It’s not a fruit at all; it’s a fungus. But once I peel this hardened skin off the outside, you’ll find the inner portion to be delicious.”
When he had peeled it, he cut off a small piece and handed it to Tavi. It was spongy and moist, and she looked at it suspiciously. “I’ve seen these, but I’ve never been tempted to eat one.”
Tullen grinned. “I know everything out here that’s edible. Trust me on this; after your first bite, you’ll be searching for antlerfruit daily.”
Tavi took a small, cautious bite and chewed once. Immediately she spit it out and dropped the rest of the piece on the ground. “That’s what you eat when you’re out here? It’s bitter!”
Tullen cut a bite for himself and put it in his mouth, savoring it. “That’s what makes it so irresistible!” he exclaimed.
Tavi shook her head. “You know, we could get real food back at the house.” She caught herself. “Of course, I know you probably can’t stay there, but we could get a snack—”
Tullen interrupted, “They’ve given me permission to stay with your family. In fact, my mother is relieved I’ll no longer be struggling to get enough sleep on the forest floor. I didn’t realize until now that her biggest concern when I hunt is not that wolves will eat me, but that their howling will keep me awake at night!”
Tavi laughed. “You must not have mentioned Jona’s snoring to her!”
They began to wander through the trees. Tullen said, “The hunting has been good today. I’ve caught several rabbits and squirrels.”
“Where do you keep them before you head home?”
Tullen replied, “When I make a kill, I clean it. Then I place the meat and skin in large, ceramic pots I store in the river. The cold water keeps it from spoiling.”
“How do you carry it home?” Tavi asked. “Doesn’t it get heavy?”
“That’s the beauty of my gift. When I run, my body feels almost weightless, as does anything I carry.”
“That sounds amazing,” Tavi said wistfully.
“At home, I often take my siblings on my back when I hunt,” Tullen said. He gave her a mischievous smile then took a few steps so he was standing directly in front of her, facing away from her. He patted his back and said, “Let’s go, Tavi of the Town.”
She caught Tullen’s enthusiasm, and almost before she knew what she was doing, Tavi had hopped onto his back. She grasped his shoulders, and he held her
legs, her feet sticking out in front of him.
Tullen took two deep breaths . . . and then he ran.
In just a few seconds, trees were flying by in a blur. Tavi gasped, and then a sound emerged from her—half laugh, half squeal, and all joy. Tullen followed that by his own cry of, “Whoooooyaaaa!” His sun-blessed feet somehow knew how to effortlessly leap over roots and holes and when to slow so he could avoid branches and other obstacles blocking the path.
“This is glorious!” Tavi cried. Then she leaned closer to Tullen’s ear to say in a low voice, “I’ll try to be quieter so I don’t scare away all your prey!”
Tullen’s voice was loud and carefree. “No need. Tomorrow, we hunt. Today we fly.” And his feet moved even faster, leading Tavi to squeeze her arms and legs tight, as her heartbeat quickened. Their laughs and screams filled the cool air of the forest.
It seemed Tullen could run forever without getting winded. When the initial thrill had passed, he spoke. “Tell me about your family.”
“It’s big,” Tavi replied. “I have six siblings.” Her fingers counted them off, tapping against Tullen’s shoulders. “Misty is the oldest, and she helps Mama at home. Zakry is married and lives in town. Jona works at a nearby farm. My sister Tess is a monk outside Savala. Seph and Ista are still in school. Then there’s me, the baby.”
“That may be a large family in Oren,” Tullen said, “but not in the Meadow. At last count, I had over one hundred siblings.”
“What?” Tavi’s head spun, her chin knocking against Tullen’s ear. “Sorry about that—but over a hundred? How many wives does your father have?”
Tullen roared with laughter, jostling Tavi. He explained, “He has one wife. At the Meadow, all of those in the same generation are called brothers and sisters. All but three of them are actually my cousins.” He turned his head to glance at Tavi. “What is your father’s profession?”
“He’s a Savani shepherd.” Tavi realized she had no idea what the religion of the Meadow was, if any. “That mean’s he’s a member of the clergy. Do you . . . do you worship Sava?”
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