Facing the Sun

by Carol Beth Anderson

  “That’s amazing.” Tullen squeezed her hands. “Now I want you to choose which gift you will hold onto. You’ll let the others go.”

  “My mind,” Tavi replied.

  “Your mind,” Tullen repeated. “This time, instead of sending all your other magic into your mind, I want you to release the magic from every area except that one. Let it go.”

  “How?” Tavi asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tullen said. “Just try.”

  Tavi closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. There was no change. Tullen let her try for a minute or two, then suggested, “This may be a good time to use your relaxation exercises. Try to breathe the magic out.”

  Tavi inhaled, tightening every muscle she could. Her face contorted into a dramatic grimace, and she squeezed Tullen’s hands. She then let out her breath in a whoosh. Her muscles relaxed, and all the glow seemed to be pushed out of her body, dispersing into the air. Tavi opened her eyes and found Tullen watching her with a small smile. “I tried to hold onto my mind gift,” she said, “but it left with all the rest.”

  He squeezed her hands again before releasing them. “I know it didn’t end quite how you planned,” he said, “but you were outstanding. How do you feel?”

  “A little tired,” Tavi admitted, “but good. That was so much better than before.”

  “Let’s sit for a few minutes before we go home,” Tullen said.

  Once they were seated, backs propped against trees, Tavi spoke. “I activated my magic, but I don’t know how.”

  “You had just told me how hungry you were, and then you described your sister’s pickles,” Tullen said.

  “So do I have to be hungry to use magic?” Tavi asked.

  “I doubt it,” Tullen said. “We need to look at what was underneath that hunger. I think it was desire. You were so focused on your desire for pickles.” He laughed.

  Tavi shook her head. “That makes no sense, though. In practicum, I want my gifts to activate; I couldn’t desire it more, but they never do.”

  “I’m not sure why, but when someone’s activation is tied to desire—as yours seems to be—they generally need to desire something besides magic. One of my sight-blessed friends back home thinks about how much she wants silk stockings, and poof! her eyes act as magnifying glasses. When you want your magic to activate, Tavi, try thinking of something you want—even if it’s a pickle!”

  “I can try it, but it seems so odd,” Tavi said.

  “Well, you are an odd girl,” Tullen said, and Tavi stuck her tongue out at him. Then he gave her a serious look. “I have a question. You really don’t know what your speech gift is?”

  “No.”

  “You displayed it today. When you asked me to talk about my awakening, I felt compelled to answer. I had to focus my efforts to stop answering your question. I had no intention of talking about myself while your gifts were active, but when you asked a second time, I once again found myself responding.”

  “I forced you to answer me?” Tavi asked.

  “No. Rather, you made me want to answer. I could refuse, but only with a strong act of will. And that was with you using it accidentally. I imagine if you were putting more power behind it, I might find it impossible to resist.”

  “That could be a useful gift,” Tavi said.

  “And a dangerous one,” Tullen rejoined.

  “Dangerous? I can’t use it to do anything Sava deems unacceptable.”

  “That’s true. But recall how you feel when Sall senses your emotions. He has good intentions, but sometimes it still feels like a violation. You don’t want your friends to worry you’ll coerce them with your words.”

  Tavi nodded. “I’ll be careful.” She grew thoughtful, then said, “I’ve been confused about what happened yesterday. I could have brought the whole school down on top of us. How is it that Sava allowed my gift to be used in that way?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “I think your magic would have stopped itself even if Narre had not intervened. I can’t imagine Sava allowing you to cause major destruction through your gift. Perhaps there was some higher purpose for the quake. Or perhaps it was neither good nor evil and was therefore allowed.”

  Tavi shook her head. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it right now. Let’s go eat lunch.” They both stood and walked toward the house. “It’ll need to be quick so I can get to the midwife house in time,” Tavi said, looking again at the position of the hot sun above them.

  Tullen halted as Tavi continued to walk. “You still want to train at the midwife house?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Tavi asked, stopping and turning to him.

  “We accomplished more in one morning, using Meadow methods, than your midwives managed in a whole week!” Tullen said.

  “Your training was very helpful,” Tavi said with a voice that, while quiet, was full of tension. “That being said, the midwives are using methods they have developed over hundreds of years. You can’t tell me that’s worthless.”

  “I didn’t say it was worthless! It just doesn’t seem to work very well for you.”

  “My friends are there! We’ve been training together for years. I won't leave them!”

  “Well, then bring them out here instead; I bet they’d appreciate being rescued from that drudgery too,” Tullen retorted.

  “Or perhaps you could come to the midwife house with me and see what you’ve missed,” Tavi cried. “At the very least, they might be able to do something about your arrogance!”

  “It’s not arrogance, it’s truth!” Tullen shouted.

  Tavi stepped right up to Tullen and stared at him, breathing hard. He returned her stare. After several seconds, she closed her eyes. When she looked at him again, she had reined in her anger. “Are we done yelling at each other?” she asked. He gave a short nod, and she continued. “Listen, Tullen. I don’t want to admit it right now, but obviously I’m learning things from you.”

  “I’m learning things from you and your family too,” he said defensively.

  That surprised Tavi. “Like what?”

  Tullen’s face softened into a smile. “Like the value of welcoming new people into your home, even a stranger from a different place. That’s not something that would happen in the Meadow.”

  “I could write a list a mile long of what I think should change in Oren,” Tavi said. “Including a lot of the midwife training. Be honest—couldn’t you say the same about the Meadow?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then maybe we should try to share the best of what we’ve learned with each other, instead of fighting about which place is better,” Tavi said. Her voice turned harder, and she looked at Tullen pointedly. “And I don’t want you to ask me again to stop training with my friends and with the midwife who gave me my blessing breath.”

  Tullen narrowed his eyes. “So you only want me to share my opinion if it agrees with yours.”

  “That’s not what I said!” Angry heat flooded into Tavi’s face.

  “Actually, it is.” Tullen smiled, but Tavi was having none of it.

  “Pardon me if I don’t enjoy hearing my friend disapproves of me!” she said.

  Tullen’s voice was calm. “I don’t disapprove of you. I do think the way the midwives train you is stupid and ineffective.” Tavi drew back and stared at him, her mouth open. “Why does it bother you so much for us to disagree on this?” he asked.

  Tavi’s face fell, anger replaced in an instant with sadness. “Let’s go eat lunch,” she said softly. “We’ll talk inside.” Tullen threw his hands in the air, but when Tavi walked toward the house, he followed her.

  Inside, Tavi didn’t say a word as she made lunch. She tried to sort her emotions as she washed a handful of carrots and prepared a plate of cheese, sausage, pickles, and biscuits. Tullen had the good sense to give her silence and space—perhaps he wasn’t so simpleminded after all. When she
brought the food to the table and sat across from him, she was ready to speak.

  “It bothers me when we disagree,” Tavi said, “because it reminds me you have another home, far away, very different from this one.”

  Tullen frowned in confusion. “Yet you’ve known that since you met me. It’s never troubled you. What’s the problem now?”

  Tavi stared at him, trying to be patient. She couldn’t expect him to understand if she didn’t explain, so she took a deep breath and pushed forward. “As we’ve spent more time with each other, I’ve realized something about you and how I see you.” Tavi paused. Why was this so hard to say? It didn’t help that Tullen’s eyebrows had risen, and he was watching her expectantly. She couldn’t stop now.

  “I’ve always seen you as a friend,” Tavi continued. “And I still do, but now . . . it’s more.” This was silly, she needed to spit it out. “You’re—you’re like the gifted older brother I always wanted but never had,” she blurted.

  Tullen’s eyebrows moved up even further. “Oh!” he said. “I thought you were heading somewhere else entirely with that. But yes, Tavi, I feel the same way! You’re like my little sister. Absolutely.”

  Tavi gave a small smile and tried to get the conversation back on course. “Thank you. I’m glad. But I don’t think you get it, Tullen. When we disagree on the right way to do something, it reminds me that your other home, this place I’ve never even seen, is real to you. It’s full of your real family and other people you care about.”

  Tullen interrupted. “That’s true, but I care about people here as well. You, and your family, and Narre, and Sall.”

  “I know that!” Tavi cried. “I mean—thank you; you’re important to us too—but please let me explain.” Tullen looked bewildered again, and Tavi rushed onward. “A day will come when you won’t be able to jaunt off to the forest around Oren once or twice a week anymore. Maybe your family will ask you to hunt only near the Meadow so they can see you more often. Or—you’re seventeen; you’re nearly an adult! Eventually you’ll get married, and then you won’t be able to keep coming here.

  “I got upset today because I was reminded that one day you’ll have to stop running back and forth. You’ll have to choose where you want to be. And I’m so afraid . . .” Tavi stopped as her eyes filled with tears and her throat developed an instant knot. She tried to swallow it down. “I’m so afraid you’ll choose the Meadow, and I’ll lose my big brother.”

  Through her tears Tavi watched Tullen. He let out a breath, and said, “Tavi.” He stopped, shaking his head. “I love being here. But yes, the day you’re speaking of will come. The Meadow is my home. My parents live there, and my siblings. I have three grandparents still alive, and an entire community of people who care for me. I—I want to spend time here, when I can, but—” Tullen stopped and pointed toward the forest. His voice was quiet and sad as he said, “I’ll always be your big brother, but the Meadow is my home.”

  Tears slipped out of Tavi’s eyes and traced warm paths down her cheeks. “I know,” she whispered. “But you’re always welcome here, Tullen. For as long as you want.”

  Tullen’s eyes didn’t leave Tavi’s. The food sat untouched between them. Finally he spoke. “I want to enjoy these days,” he said. “I do think about how things will change, but then I turn my mind to today. Because our todays can be full of runs through the forest and time with friends and Misty’s pickles.” Tavi couldn’t help a laugh, though it was combined with a sob. Tullen continued. “Can we enjoy today, Tavi?”

  Tavi swallowed again and attempted a brave nod. “Yes.”

  Then her friend, her brother, stood, and walked around the table. “Stand up,” Tullen instructed, and Tavi did so. He held his arms out, and when she walked into them, they surrounded her, one hand resting on her back and the other on her hair. She lay her head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.

  After a moment, Tavi put her arms around his waist, and said a word so quietly, she wasn’t sure he heard it: “Today.”

  Later that evening, something about her conversation with Tullen nagged at Tavi, but she couldn’t place it. The next morning as she watched Tullen sprinting into the forest, toward his family, she figured it out.

  Tavi had told Tullen he was always welcome at her home, but he hadn’t said the same to her. He couldn’t say it to her, or to any outsider. Tullen could be a guest, but never a host. And Tavi had to wonder at his devotion to a community that would refuse to accept the people he had grown to care for.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I know little about Sava. I only know he is the giver of life, magic, and all that is good. I am content with this knowledge. It seems to me it would be dangerous for one person or group to claim they know all that can be known of Sava.

  -From Savala’s Collected Letters, Volume 2

  Camalyn walked down a busy street in Savala. It was dinner time; people were entering numerous pubs along the road for hot meals and cold ale. Her destination wasn’t so indulgent.

  People stared as she passed. She’d been wearing this costume for weeks now, and it stood out—but not in the way she was accustomed to. Rather than relishing the jealous glances of women and lustful leers of men she had for years accepted as her due, she was now relegated to a mere curiosity.

  Camalyn walked with her head high, but in reality she wanted to run into the little boutique down the street and convince the shopkeeper to give her something—anything—to replace what she was now wearing. Her body was covered from neck to ankles with a formless, black robe. It didn’t even have a waistline. Black wool gloves covered her hands. Thank goodness autumn had arrived with its cool air; at least the clothing was weather-appropriate.

  Camalyn’s feet were shod in sturdy, black leather boots. They were the most comfortable shoes she’d worn in years, but they were also supremely ugly. She knew no one was looking at her shoes though. The stares were directed at her head. A heavy, black scarf covered her hair, and one end wrapped around her lower face as a veil. This was what marked Camalyn as a Karite.

  At last she reached the small Karite temple. As much as Camalyn hated this place, there was a sense of relief when she entered and was surrounded by other women attired just as she was. The men even looked similar. Instead of robes, they wore black trousers and tunics, but they wore the same gloves, boots, and headscarf as the women did. They looked ridiculous, and it was impossible to tell if they were good-looking, or even to tell them apart. Children were there too, and all but the youngest were dressed the same as their parents.

  “Camalyn!” Green eyes crinkled above a veil as a woman approached and gave her a warm hug.

  Camalyn forced herself to return the hug but briefly panicked. Was this Lora or Endoria? She always got them confused; they were both middle-aged, plump, and annoyingly cheerful. So she settled on, “Hello, it’s so good to see you!”

  Camalyn made her way through the tiny foyer of the temple and into the meeting room, which held just eight long pews. She headed for her regular spot—fourth row, right side, on the center aisle. As Camalyn sat, she allowed herself a small shake of the head. She didn’t believe in Sava, didn’t really care about Kari or Savala, didn’t expect to go to either Senniet or Kovus when she died. How had she gotten to the point where she had a regular spot in a Karite temple?

  That was a silly question; how she’d gotten here was clear. She’d followed Konner’s instructions, all of which made perfect sense, as annoying as that was. He wanted her on the Cormina Council, and despite her initial hesitation, Camalyn loved the idea. It would give her a prestige she had never thought she would attain. But if she were to be voted onto the council, she needed a way to hide her gray magic. It was one thing to conceal the gray glow around her mouth from shopkeepers when they were in the thrall of her silver-tongued speech; it would be another thing entirely to ensure that entire groups of people didn’t pick up on the evidence of her gray gift.

  Camalyn wished it was as easy for her as it was for
Ash. He simply wore gloves. Aldin’s solution was even more straightforward; he just had to keep his shoes on. In public, Sella only used her magic under the cover of night so no one would notice the dark shine in her eyes. But Camalyn, Konner insisted, needed a veil. So she had traded her gorgeous hats (she hadn’t even worn the peacock one!) for this heavy, thick scarf. She wanted to strangle Konner with it.

  She had to admit, however, it was a good plan. With Camalyn’s speech gift, she could convince others that the religion of Cormina needed reform—and that would be her platform as she ran for council. So Konner had been coaching Camalyn on how to play the part of a devoted Karite, newly widowed, who had just moved to town to live with an elderly aunt.

  An aging Karite shepherd ambled to the front of the room and stood, her stooped body still, until everyone in the room was quiet. She read from a small book of ancient Savani poetry, her voice shaking but clear.

  Camalyn tuned out the shepherd; she had read every bit of Savani poetry, proverbs, and prophecy twice in recent weeks. She had also spent countless hours scouring any books Konner could find on the Karite sect of the Savani faith. Karites worshiped Sava as the only true god as did all Savani faithful. But the Karite devotion to Kari, whom they called the First Midwife, nearly qualified as worship. They even prayed to her.

  According to tradition, Kari had given birth to a son, over a millennium ago. It had been a difficult birth, the baby finally emerging face-up. When he had failed to take a breath after his birth, Kari had breathed into him. He had been filled not only with life, but also with a golden glow in his chest followed by his hands. His mother had named him Savala, in honor of Sava, whom she credited with saving his life and filling him with the mysterious light.

  Later Kari had become a midwife and, through various circumstances, she had learned the connection between a child’s position at birth and the ability to receive magic through a blessing breath.