by C. Night
Rhyen was crestfallen. “So I really don’t have an affinity.”
“Everything is always so absolute with you,” Cazing muttered. Then, taking in his apprentice’s gloomy expression, he sighed and said, “I don’t know. You might have an affinity. You see, all magic comes from the gods. There are the seven High Gods, and they gifted the main Elemental affinities to humans—Water, Fire, Air, Earth, Life, Death, and the Heavens. But don’t ever underestimate the power of the Lesser Gods, Rhyen. They also gave their affinities, and some of them were very powerful indeed.”
“Like what?”
“Persuasion. War. Healing. All sorts of Elements. And a magic wielder potentially can have an affinity from any one of them, so long as their blood can be traced back to the original wielder.”
“But I thought you said the blood was too diluted nowadays?”
“It is! For most, who only have a drop or two of magical blood, and their capabilities are so slight that even if they had an affinity, it wouldn’t make much difference. But you are strong, Rhyen. You are very, very powerful. If I had to guess, I would think that you could trace back your blood to many Elements. Which means that you could have any one of them as an affinity. Or a mixture of two or more. That is why I can’t say for sure whether or not you have an affinity, or if you do, what it might be.”
Cazing’s forehead creased as he looked over his apprentice thoughtfully. The master hesitated, then added, “I think it is extremely possible that you do have an affinity, Rhyen. As you use magic more and more, I think you will eventually be able to puzzle it out. But for today, I couldn’t care less about it. Let’s just focus on learning to wield, shall we?”
Now that Rhyen understood the reason for focusing on levitating the plants, he accepted Cazing’s tasks without questions. But he was very excited when it came time to move on to other objects, such as rocks. Cazing might have been skeptical, but Rhyen flew those as easily as anything else. He simply shrugged his shoulders back and cleared his mind, then found the proper word (in this case, “lift”).
Cazing was clearly pleased with his apprentice’s progress. Always having to do with the air, Cazing had Rhyen fly a multitude of objects, ranging in composition, through the air in various formations. Rhyen did everything his master asked of him easily, on the first try, without hesitation. Rhyen’s confidence grew to the point of pride. He loved using magic—the intoxicating feeling of wielding was reward enough for completing the tasks his master set for him. And while he knew to expect feeling his Opposite when he finished channeling, he found it relatively easy to ignore it when he rolled back his shoulders and cleared his mind.
At the end of the week, when the two were trooping down the hill back to the Tower, Cazing surprised Rhyen by giving him the next day off.
“What for?” Rhyen asked, alarmed. “Have I done something wrong?”
Cazing chuckled. “Good gods, Rhyen, this is not supposed to be a punishment! It’s supposed to be a reward. You’ve done brilliantly this week, perfecting magic on the first try that took me a year to complete. But never forget that while you have to use magic to live, you also need to rest and recover your strength.”
Rhyen frowned. That meant he wouldn’t be able to satisfy his desire for the magic until the start of next week. But, as he stomped down the hill, he realized his muscles were tight and his body exhausted. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to relax,” he admitted.
His master smiled triumphantly. “Exactly! You’ll see, Rhyen, you’ll feel great and rested when next you wield.”
Chapter 14
Rhyen woke early, of course. As long as he could remember, he had always been the first one awake—at home in Yla with his family, then in his dormitory at the Academy, and at Rode’s, and now in his apprenticeship. No matter how many hours of sleep he got, Rhyen always woke feeling refreshed and full of energy. He wasn’t tired, but he was very stiff, and he groaned as he clambered out of his bed and down the ladder to the kitchen.
“Magic is exhausting,” Rhyen muttered, feeling very sore in every muscle in his body, as he tried to coax last night’s coals into a blaze. When they reddened, he carelessly flung a few logs on top and turned to the cabinet to rummage for some bread. He speared a few pieces onto a poker and turned round to face the fireplace. He saw that the wood was barely smoking. He clucked impatiently, clutching his poker. Rhyen wished the fire would blaze.
No sooner had he thought this than the fire raged upwards, exploding the logs into splinters that flew in every direction. Rhyen yelled as they peppered his face. Smoke poured from the fireplace and filled the kitchen, and the heat was unbearable. The poker turned red hot in Rhyen’s hands and he dropped it on the rug, swearing and sweating. The rug smoldered and caught fire, and Rhyen staggered back against the wall, terrified. The kettle that was sitting on the table filled with the dregs of last night’s tea began to shriek.
He opened his mouth to shout for Cazing, but smoke and ash clogged his throat, and he choked, clutching his throat with his blistered hands and gasping for air. The fire was growing all the while. There was now a bonfire-sized flame shooting out of the fireplace, and no way for Rhyen to escape. The flames cut his path to the door and windows.
And then, at once, the fire went out. Rhyen slid down the wall to the ground, coughing. He couldn’t catch his breath—his lungs weren’t responding to gulps of air he was shallowly inhaling. His head started to swim, and yellow dots faded in and out of his vision. Rhyen’s eyes were teary from the smoke, but he could make out Cazing sprinting toward him.
“Rhyen!” His master shouted, fear in his voice. “Are you all right?” Cazing worriedly put a cold hand on Rhyen’s forehead. “Rhyen? Rhyen!” Rhyen’s breath continued to escape him, and Cazing faded out of sight completely, his voice echoing distantly.
* * *
When Rhyen opened his eyes again, his first sight was of Cazing, eyebrows furrowed with concern as he surveyed his apprentice. Rhyen coughed for some time. His throat was tender and scratchy, seared as it was by the fire. His lungs burned with every breath he took, and his eyes streamed, stinging still from the smoke exposure. Cazing held a glass to his mouth, and Rhyen gratefully took in some water. It soothed his throat some.
He coughed again and croaked, “The house—”
“Who gives a damn about the house? I’m worried about you, Rhyen.” Cazing’s eyes were wide, and Rhyen was touched at the concern apparent in them. “How do you feel?”
“Awful.”
Cazing rolled his eyes. Rhyen was glad to see him do it as it meant that Cazing was back to his old self and that his wounds must not be too dreadfully serious. “That’s super helpful, Rhyen. I should be more specific—what hurts? I don’t know how to help you until I hear your symptoms.”
“My lungs are on fire. My eyes and throat, too,” rasped Rhyen. Cazing tilted some more water in his mouth. Rhyen swallowed. “But otherwise I’m all right.”
“And your face?” Cazing pressed. “Your hands?”
Rhyen screwed up his watering eyes. “What? My hands are fine…and what’s wrong with my face?” he asked, gingerly reaching up to touch his cheeks. He didn’t feel his fingers, but instead felt a soft material. He blinked and held his hands up in front of his eyes. They were wrapped completely in some sort of white cloth. “What the hell?”
“Your hands were badly burned, Rhyen. I did the best I could for them, but it was a magical injury.”
“A magical injury?” Rhyen coughed.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Rhyen thought for a second. How long ago did this happen? He was on one of the couches in the great room, and there was nothing but blackness showing in the window. “How long was I out?”
Cazing smiled grimly. “Two days.”
Two days? Rhyen leaned back into the pillows Cazing must have piled behind him and saw that the ceiling was blackened. He felt a
surge of guilt and tried to remember what had happened. It had been morning; he had been trying to make toast. The wood wasn’t catching… Rhyen opened his eyes abruptly. “I wished the fire would hurry up!”
Cazing nodded his head sadly. “I thought it must have been something like that.”
“But I wasn’t trying to do magic!” Rhyen spluttered. “I didn’t mean to do anything!”
“I know. Trust me, Rhyen, I do.” Cazing made Rhyen drink more water.
“But then what happened?”
Cazing sighed wearily. Rhyen noticed that there were deep, dark purple circles around his master’s eyes. “You’ve used magic on purpose now, Rhyen. You channeled it through you. You might remember doing magic accidentally as a child, having it burst through you randomly?” Rhyen remembered, as if pulling the memory from the very farthest recesses of his mind, the time he had caused Yla’s well to geyser into the sky to save a little girl. He nodded, and Cazing continued. “You didn’t mean to do the magic then—it just burst out of you. When magic did escape, it happened sporadically. But more than a week ago you purposely channeled that magic. You’ve opened yourself up to it. From now on, my dear boy, the magic will always be trying to escape out of you—and you’ve opened a direct pathway for it.” Cazing sympathetically smiled at Rhyen. “This is the way of magic. You will always have to be cautious. Even the most idle thought can erupt in magic, if not controlled.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Rhyen apologized. “I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to set it off.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. How could you have known? You’ve only just started learning. The blame rests on me, and me alone, Rhyen,” Cazing said seriously. “I should have warned you. I’ve failed you. And you could have died because of it!”
Rhyen shook his head, which caused a violent spurt of coughing. Cazing gave him more water. The old sorcerer closed his eyes as if in pain. “No, I’m afraid I have. I’ve never taught anyone magic before. I take for granted what you do and do not know.” He sighed. There was quiet for a moment.
Rhyen blinked his eyes rapidly. “How can I do this? How can I keep my guard up all of the time? What if someone had been hurt?”
Cazing patted Rhyen’s shoulder reassuringly. Rhyen winced. “It won’t always be this hard, Rhyen. As you learn to control your magic, you will build up a sort of muscle memory. I told you this, remember? You will develop a strength that will unconsciously keep the magic at bay. When you are a stronger wielder, you will not have to think so much about being ‘on guard’—you will do it naturally, like breathing. Well, maybe that’s not such a good example right now,” Cazing added as Rhyen had another coughing fit.
Rhyen smiled weakly. But then he laughed bitterly. “I was always so excited that I had magic, Master. But now it seems like a terrible burden.”
Cazing smiled wanly. “There are some perks. For example, I’ve healed your burned hands with magic. And removed fifty-six fragments of wood from your face, neck, and arms that would have otherwise festered. Having magic is not all bad.”
“No, I guess not,” Rhyen agreed, surveying his bandages. “But is it worth it, for so heavy a price?”
“You’ll have to decide for yourself,” Cazing shrugged. “But now, you should get some more sleep. Your lungs are severely blackened from the smoke, and your throat is scorched from the heat. Now that I know exactly what you were thinking when you caused the fire” (Rhyen shifted guiltily), “I might be able to speed up the healing process for you. But you need to sleep most of it off.”
Rhyen shook his head. “I’m not tired, sir. I can help you clean up,” he added, glancing guiltily at the ceiling.
“You will do no such thing!” Cazing thundered. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on Rhyen. “Now… sleep.”
He spoke the last word with disciplined calm, and at once Rhyen’s eyes got heavy. He laid his head back. He used magic on me, Rhyen thought with sleepily indignation, and almost immediately he drifted into a deep slumber.
* * *
It took a long time for Rhyen to heal. For the first week after he exploded the fire, Cazing kept him asleep, allowing him to move back upstairs to his bedroom only when his lungs had healed enough to make the journey. And for almost a month after he was returned to his room, Cazing kept him inside the Tower and away from wielding.
Once Rhyen’s more grievous wounds—his burned hands and face and his seared lungs—were on the mend, he found he was bored being stuck in the Tower. The snow, which had piled up during the first week of his convalescence, began to melt, heralding spring. He wanted to be outside, maybe go for a ride on Cinnamon, and Rhyen all but howled when Cazing forbade it.
“But I’m fine, Master,” he practically shouted. “Going outside isn’t going to kill me!”
“You seriously damaged your lungs, Rhyen. You’re not going outside and catching a cold or something when they are in this weakened state.”
“It’s not even cold! It’s spring!”
“Sorry, Rhyen, you’re staying in.”
Following this exchange, Rhyen came down with a bout of headaches, which ailed him one after another and lasted for a days. Cazing seemed unconcerned about this, saying Rhyen was merely suffering from “cabin fever.”
Eventually, though, he did feel better, and his body was almost as good as new. He was allowed outdoors again, which pleased him greatly, but Cazing wouldn’t hear of him wielding. While outwardly Rhyen acted disappointed and pleaded with Cazing to let him wield, inside he was grateful—he was ashamed to admit it, but he was afraid to channel the magic again. Even now that his body was restored, his mind was still wounded. Before the accident he had been so confident, had been able to do anything Cazing had instructed. Now he tried to maintain the demeanor of an able wielder, but inwardly he cringed and avoided thinking about magic. He was terrified of what he had done with the fire, and was afraid to do magic again, fearing what he might do next.
The desire to do magic, though, was intoxicating. It was an uncontrollable urge, and Rhyen felt his Opposite swell in his mind, overtaking him. He knew if he could just wield once more he would feel better and the craving would subside—and with it the anger—but he couldn’t summon up the courage to try, even if his master would allow it.
One day he knew Cazing would ask him to wield again, and at nights he slept poorly, dreading when that day would come. It happened in mid- to late spring. Rhyen was reading over his breakfast when Cazing descended the ladder. “I think you’re well enough to wield now, Rhyen.”
Rhyen stared at him with wide eyes. “Awesome,” he replied shakily, trying and failing to disguise his horror.
To his great surprise, Cazing sat down across from him and with a kind expression said, “I know, Rhyen. After something like the fire, wielding becomes terrifying.” Rhyen ducked his head, ashamed. Cazing shook his vigorously. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Rhyen. It happens to us all.”
Rhyen pushed his oatmeal around in his bowl. “Even to you?” he asked quietly.
“Even to me.” Cazing agreed. He poured himself a cup of tea and topped off Rhyen’s mug. “When I first started learning magic, I accidentally wielded without meaning to.” He stared down into his cup, a faint mocking smile etched on his mouth.
“What did you do?” Rhyen asked numbly. “It probably wasn’t as bad as setting the Tower on fire…”
Cazing chuckled. “Maybe not. It was definitely more embarrassing, though.”
Rhyen looked up with interest. His master shrugged. “I was in the village.” He looked up under his eyebrows at Rhyen. “There was this girl. She was very beautiful. And I was trying to impress her.” Cazing shook his head at the recollection. “Anyway, I was just learning magic, and I was doing a few simple things to impress her and a bunch of her pretty friends. I wasn’t much older than you.”
Cazing ran an embarrassed hand over
his face. “They actually were pretty impressed with my levitating a rock and doing other tricks like that. And the beautiful girl that I nursed a passionate longing for, she oohed and awed and clapped with the rest and told me how amazing I was.” Cazing leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I must have blushed as red as a robin, because the girls all started giggling and clutching at each other. And the girl I loved teased me, saying ‘if your head gets any bigger you’re not going to be able to fit through the door!’ We were at the pub, you see. Well, she hadn’t ever spoken directly to me before, and I replayed her words like music in my head. But I was so focused on her and what she had said that I accidentally…” Cazing trailed off.
“Accidentally what?” Rhyen urged, grinning. He was caught up in the story.
“That I accidentally wielded and somehow made my head start growing. And it grew and grew, wider and wider like a full moon until, sure enough, I couldn’t fit through the door!”
Rhyen roared with laughter.
Cazing joined him. “Rhyen, I caught sight of my face in the glass over the bar, and I’ll never forget—my features were all distorted and stretched, my nose was about a mile long. It was terrible! And at the time I had a few unsightly blemishes, and they were blown up for the whole world to see.”
Rhyen kept laughing. Cazing grinned at him. “Glad to see you’re so sympathetic.”
Rhyen managed to choke out, “What’d you do then?”
Cazing pinched the bridge of his nose. “I turned bright red, and I tried to run away because I was dying of mortification. But when I ran at the door, my big old head just bounced off the frame, and I couldn’t get out. And I panicked, so like an idiot I kept trying, and I just kept bouncing off the doorway.”
