by C. Night
Rhyen howled and banged his fist on the table.
“And the worst part was that I was far too frantic to fix it myself! I couldn’t get a grip and focus. It felt like half the village was in the pub, and they were all laughing. All of them except Vara, the girl I was in love with. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was trying her best not to laugh and to keep a straight face.” Cazing rolled his eyes. “She ended up going to the Tower to get my mistress, who came as haughtily as possible, sniffing through her long nose and wearing an expression of the highest disdain. My mistress set me straight, and I left the pub as fast as I could.”
Rhyen’s laughter died away, but he was still smiling when asked, “What happened with Vara?”
Cazing grinned and scratched his chin. “Believe it or not, we were sweethearts after that. She walked with me back to the Tower, and we had a good laugh over it all. And then when we got to the Tower I offered to walk her home, even though we’d just come from the village. But she let me, and we were together after that.”
Rhyen looked down. “At least it ended well.”
“Yes. She was amazing. My mistress didn’t approve, though.”
“She didn’t like her?”
Cazing shook his head. “No, she thought Vara was a great woman. But my mistress thought sorcerers should keep to themselves and stay unattached. In many ways, she was right.”
Rhyen smiled, thinking of Cazing with too big a head, bumping into the door frame. “Were you able to wield after that?”
“Not for awhile. I was too embarrassed, and every time I went to channel I lost my focus. It became frightening to even consider doing a simple task, because I kept failing. My Opposite got to be pretty overwhelming, as did the lust for magic.”
Rhyen swallowed, and admitted, “I’m afraid to use magic again, Master.”
“I know, Rhyen. That’s a normal feeling, after what happened. But it is imperative you keep trying. It might take awhile to get your confidence back, but you need to try. Never forget, Rhyen—you have to use the magic, or it will consume you, and eventually you will die.”
His apprentice nodded, slowly, yet resolutely. “When do we start?” he asked finally.
* * *
It was summer before Rhyen was completely confident again in his wielding. Cazing watched his progress closely. One day, long after Rhyen had conquered his fears, his master sat across from him. The sorcerer regarded his apprentice seriously.
“Everything all right?” Rhyen asked after waiting in silence for a while.
“Yes, actually. I think you are ready for more complex wielding.”
Rhyen grinned. “Really? Like what?”
Cazing smiled at his apprentice’s enthusiasm. “Like wielding without speaking. I want you to sharpen and hone your focus. With practice and discipline, you can make yourself focus enough so that you no longer need to speak for most spells. This is the case with magic that you perform regularly. I don’t need to speak for most things anymore. But if I’m doing something complex or that I’m unfamiliar with, I need to find the right words to help me concentrate, because if I don’t have the proper focus, I might misuse the magic.”
Rhyen was too excited to be bothered by his master’s somber tone. He stretched happily. “Excellent! When do we start?”
Cazing looked seriously at Rhyen. “Not so fast, Rhyen! I know you’re excited, but performing magic without speaking is very complicated. You really have to focus, or you’ll end up doing something unexpected and often terrible. The worst magical accidents occur when you wield without speaking.”
Rhyen guiltily thought of his exploding fire. “Such as the incident with the fire?”
His master nodded. “Yes. And that was when you weren’t even meaning to wield. Imagine what would have happened had you been actively trying to channel and had lost focus? This is what makes magic so dangerous. Once you learn to use the magic, if you become lax about concentrating, you might do dangerous, terrible things, on accident. You might be trying to light a candle, but without the proper focus, you could burn your house down, or light someone on fire.”
They were both quiet. Rhyen remembered the fear that had followed his accident. He had been unable to wield properly for months. “Don’t worry, Master,” Rhyen said, smiling, “I’ve already learned my lesson.” He had been intending to reassure Cazing that he would be diligent and stay focused. But Cazing looked angry.
“This is not a joke, Rhyen! Even old and experienced sorcerers make mistakes. And you’re just learning to control your magic. You need to be aware that you as a wielder have responsibilities, and if you do not take those seriously, or do not take your powers seriously, you could lose control!”
Rhyen frowned, pulling his brows together. “I understand, Master. I do. I’ll keep my focus. I don’t want to hurt myself again—or anyone else, for that matter.”
Cazing glared at him. Finally he huffed, “Good.” He sighed, and his voice became less gruff. “Then as long as you comprehend what I’m telling you, today we’ll start levitating objects without speaking.”
They went to the hill, as they always did, and Cazing brought with him an assortment of plant objects. Rhyen let his mind grow cold and numb, and when his head was clear, he looked expectantly at his master.
“All set, then? Right. It’s exactly the same as wielding with speaking, only without the words. Just concentrate and focus on what you want the object to do, and then direct it—silently—with your mind.” Cazing held out a twig in his palm. “Start with this.”
Rhyen shrugged his shoulders, relaxing, working on maintaining a clear head. He exhaled slowly, and pictured the twig propelling upward. He paused, imagining the twig hovering in the sky. After a moment’s contemplation, he discovered the right word—soar. Rhyen zoned in on the little stick, and resolutely thought soar.
The twig twitched slightly, but stayed in Cazing’s palm. Rhyen widened his eyes in surprise. He felt the anger welling in his mind, supplemented, as always, by the need to wield. Rhyen shrugged again, willing the cold numbness to seep across him. It took a few minutes, but eventually he triumphed. He nodded at his master. “I’m going to try again,” he said quietly. Cazing inclined his head in agreement.
Rhyen pictured with all his might the twig, high in the air. He silently commanded soar. This time, the stick remained motionless. Rhyen sighed sharply and half held up his hands, looking confusedly at his master.
Cazing did not share in Rhyen’s surprise. He stooped forward and set the twig on the grass. The light brown of the wood contrasted with the dark, vibrant green. “Try again, Rhyen. Do exactly the same thing.”
Rhyen closed his eyes to keep from rolling them and cleared his head. When his focus was complete, he opened his eyes and thought soar. The twig shot into the sky like a cork from a bottle. Rhyen gasped and opened his eyes wide, willing the stick to settle and hover just above his head. At once the twig obeyed.
Rhyen smiled and held out his hand. He concentrated on letting it fall gently to his palm. “That wasn’t so hard that time,” he said, his voice gravelly from concentration.
“I thought as much,” Cazing replied. He pulled his pipe from his pocket. “Do you want to know why?”
“I was more focused?” Rhyen guessed.
“No. You were just as focused before. But I thought this was as good a time as any to demonstrate to you something. Magic is easier to wield against the natural than the unnatural.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it is harder to channel magic against another wielder.”
Rhyen stared at Cazing. “Why would I want to channel against another wielder?” He asked slowly.
“Someday, I think, you will.” Cazing answered in a strange voice. He was looking intently at Rhyen, measuring him. Rhyen steadily returned the gaze, although he was worried. What could his master possibly
mean?
Cazing turned away and went on briskly. “You can do magic, even complicated magic like wielding without speech, when you channel it against something natural, like the earth. It might be slightly difficult to wield against an ordinary human, someone who is void of magical blood. But it will always be a struggle to wield against another wielder.”
“What do you mean, ‘against’?” Rhyen clenched his fist. The stick dug into his callused palm. “Why would I do anything against someone else?”
“When you try to do magic, like levitation, you are pushing the object off the something it rests upon, right? So when you levitated the stick off the ground, you were pushing it off of, or against, the earth. That is natural. But magic is unnatural in humans. So when you tried to levitate it out of my hand, you were pushing against my unnatural palm. And that is why you couldn’t lift the twig.”
Rhyen shook his head to clear it and opened his palm. He focused on the stick, thought soar, and, just as he commanded it to, it rose into the air. He let it fall back into his hand and glared at Cazing. “I can raise it out of my own hand.”
Cazing nodded. “But you are you. Wielding against yourself does not have the same effect as wielding against another.”
“But what about humans without magical blood?” Rhyen pressed.
“They will not affect you as much, though it is always harder to wield against a live creature than anything else. But it is the unnatural that truly poses a threat to your channeling. Only other wielders.” Cazing closed his eyes. “It will be easy if you wield against a magician, because you already far exceed their level. Soon it will not be hard to wield against a witch or wizard. But you will be matched if you go against another sorcerer. You had a difficult time moving the twig at all when it was in my hand, and I wanted you to do it. It will be so much worse when you are channeling against a sorcerer who is also channeling against you.” He opened his eyes and regarded his apprentice.
Rhyen rubbed his face. He felt his hold on his Opposite slipping. This was one riddle too many. He tried to control his anger. “And I ask again—why would I want to channel against another wielder?”
Cazing opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He seemed to be struggling to find words. He put a weary hand over his eyes. Finally he responded, “Regardless of whether or not you want to, I’m certain you will have to, someday.” He paused. “And as your master I want to prepare you for when that day comes.”
Rhyen appraised his master through narrowed eyes. There was something strange about the way Cazing was acting, as though he knew something about Rhyen, but was not sharing his knowledge. Rage boiled in Rhyen’s mind, threatening to break loose in an angry tide over him. “What are you not telling me?”
Cazing did not meet his gaze. “Nothing. I’m only trying to prepare you for every eventuality you may face as a sorcerer.”
Rhyen watched his teacher closely, but Cazing was occupied with refilling his pipe. Gradually, as the silence stretched between them, broken only by the pleasant calls of the birds that flitted overhead, Rhyen’s anger subsided as he worked to control his Opposite. He felt the chilled numbness take over his emotions and clear his mind.
When he spoke again, it was in his normal voice. “What shall I do now?”
Cazing raised his eyes. He smiled encouragingly. “You keep practicing. Look, I’ve brought similar objects. Today we’ll work on more silent spells…”
Chapter 15
Wielding silently kept Rhyen occupied through the rest of the year. It was deep winter again before he registered that time had passed him by. Several blizzards crashed through Avernade that year, and Rhyen and Cazing were resigned to the Tower. Rhyen wielded daily now, doing small bits of magic silently around the place. He could light fires and candles as well as his master, but he had to admit that the thrill of the candles bursting into light as he walked into a room began to wear off as it became a normal event. Rhyen would never have thought that he’d have considered wielding an ordinary experience, but the more he did it, the more used to it he became.
Rhyen frequently questioned Cazing about magic, always pushing for more answers. He was especially more prone to do this when they were confined to the Tower for days at a time. Cazing at first had been proud of Rhyen’s thirst for knowledge, and he had often said, “You’re a true scholar.” But after a winter of being barricaded in the Tower and deluged with queries, the old sorcerer had taken to rolling his eyes and answering gruffly. Yet Rhyen knew his master far too well to take his exasperation seriously, and he could always tell Cazing loved to talk and answer his questions.
One night, Rhyen curiously broached a subject that had long been gnawing at his thoughts. “Master, what is your affinity?”
Cazing clucked his tongue. “Why are you so obsessed with affinities?”
Rhyen shrugged. They were lounging in the great room. The enormous fireplace was completely filled with burning logs, courtesy of Rhyen, since he had taken it upon himself to magically light the fires every day. The great blaze was so large that they were quite comfortable, even though the temperature outside hovered many degrees below zero. The horses had poked their heads in—the door to the stables was in two pieces, and they kept the bottom closed, to prevent the animals from coming all the way inside, but often Rhyen opened the top slat. He thought the animals might like the warmth from the fire, although the stables, lined as they were with hay, were quite cozy too. But really he wanted the door opened for the company. The two wielders often went down to the village for a pint or two at the pub or the inn (depending on what food was being served on what nights), and had grown accustomed to the companionship of the villagers. But the blizzards had raged for almost two weeks outside, and it had just been the two of them. Though very fond of his master, Rhyen had grown somewhat lonesome, and he stood between the horses now, smelling in their sunshine scent and rubbing their necks as they nodded over him.
Cazing stretched, groaning. “Have you not guessed yet?”
Rhyen turned to face him. “Guessed your affinity? No. I haven’t thought about it.”
The sorcerer made a face at Rhyen as he reached for some cake. “Well, maybe you should.”
“Or you could just tell me…”
Cazing shook his head. “Seriously, Rhyen, it might be good for you. If you can puzzle out my affinity, it might help you to figure out yours.”
Rhyen raised his eyebrows. “That actually makes sense.”
Cazing snorted. “Glad you think so.”
Rhyen leaned back against the stable door. Cinnamon put a wet nostril to his cheek. He absentmindedly stroked her long face. She was on his right, and Brefen on his left, nipping at his shirt. He was thinking about Cazing and the types of magic he often did.
Rhyen considered what might be his master’s affinity well into the night, and the whole of the next day. As he was filling the kettle from the faucet over the sink, Rhyen suddenly remembered the spigot in Cazing’s quarters at the Academy. He recalled Cazing telling him, on their journey to Avernade, that he had pulled the water from a nearby well.
“Where do you pull this water from?” He called over his shoulder.
“The stream,” Cazing called back lazily.
“Do we not have a well here?” Rhyen asked, watching the water pour from the facet.
“We do. But ever since I mastered wielding, I’ve just drawn from the stream that runs north of the Tower. The well is a bit further off, and to the south. I remember clearly as an apprentice having to hoist buckets up over the hill.” Cazing laughed. “Count your blessings, Rhyen, that you don’t have to do that!”
Rhyen smiled. This knowledge solidified his theory. He turned off the water and walked to the great room. He set the kettle over the fire and turned to face his master. A triumphant smile played across his face. “Your affinity is Water!”
Cazing raised his eyebrows. He regarde
d his apprentice. “What makes you say that?” he wondered.
“I’ve got my reasons.”
Cazing put aside his book and propped his feet up on the ottoman. “Let’s have them, then.”
“The spigot in your office back in Ikha—you told me you drew that water from the well. And even here, you draw water from the stream. Then I remembered that our water skins never seemed to run dry as we crossed the desert. The water went further than it should have done, and lasted longer. It was magic!” Rhyen began pacing. “And you even showed me how to draw water from the desert air. But you yourself told me that the desert lacked humidity. So, while it is plausible to consider getting a few droplets of water during the desert night, the fact that we got sizable puddles indicates that magic was involved.”
Cazing inclined his head. “Well reasoned. Go on.”
Rhyen smirked and continued. “You love potions, which is basically magic mixed with water. You also are a skilled healer—”
“What makes you say that?” Cazing interrupted.
Rhyen matter-of-factly replied, “You healed me when I accidently blew the fire up last year.”
“So?”
“You said that it is always harder to do magic against another wielder. Yet you healed me, a wielder, and from a magical injury! That is how I know you are a skilled healer. I also know that our bodies are made up, in part, of water, and that water is the basis for blood—so it stands to reason that, if your affinity is Water, you have more control over the water in the blood, which means you have an easier time healing people.”
“Then maybe my affinity is for Healing?” Cazing countered.
“I don’t think so. Healing is the gift of a Lesser God—it falls under Water already. And you have more control over water than any healer I’ve heard of.” Rhyen answered dismissively. He ploughed on.
“And finally, I’ve seen you light fires out of wet wood. You have control enough over the water to pull it out of the wood, dry it, and make it flammable. You even pulled the water out of these books!” He gestured at the shelves that stood around the great room. “They were wet with mildew when we arrived, but no more. Your skills go far beyond the Lesser Elements—you can do anything with any kind of Water. I have no doubt, Cazing. You are a Water wielder.”
