Early in the mornings, she would rise and go into the backyard to practice. Papa owned a spacious estate in the heart of Fairmont, including a high-walled garden where all sorts of flowers bloomed. It was there that she explored her gifts. It was only a year ago that she had written about her efforts to uncover these mysteries:
When I close my eyes, I can see the magic. And life. Plants are dim, but people are brighter. Papa glows very brightly, more than anyone else. I've heard of watchers and how they have a special sight. Am I a watcher, then?
But she was not a watcher. She was much more than that. She could float above the ground, closing her eyes and concentrating on the surrounding air to drift above the grass. What a wonderful feeling! Unfortunately, although the energy required was moderate, the mental effort of controlling the air currents exhausted her quickly. She wondered how high she could go, but feared a fall if distracted.
Fire was easy—pure energy that required little mental control. She would simply channel her strength and burn something. An overt act, absent of any skill or challenge, using fire seemed more like screaming than practicing the fine art that her magic was becoming for her. Besides, it would be difficult to hide the evidence of such efforts. Smoking, blackened things left quite an impression on folks.
Cutting was difficult. She would try to cut the branch of a small tree or a flower and would invariably destroy it. She could damage things, but she would bruise them badly or turn them into a sloppy goo in her hand rather than executing a fine cut. Everyone remarked on Papa's legendary work in the laboratory and on the battlefield, and Kayna envied the skill he held regarding this talent. She once considered asking him to train her in cutting, but had dismissed the thought. It was preferable that he didn't know about her ability in this area.
Kayna closed the journal and sat back in her chair. She wanted to learn more about her magic but didn't know what else to practice. In the past, she would sit in the garden for long periods of time, closing her eyes in a semi-meditative state, trying to explore what other talents she might have. She found it like stirring through a pot of soup while wearing a blindfold, feeling the bumps of potato or carrot or meat against the spoon. The talents were down there, but she couldn't quite get them on the spoon to taste them. Or perhaps it was like trying to wiggle her ears as a child. She couldn't quite make them move. She would work her eyes and jaw but was at a loss how to find the muscles that worked those ears. Then one day she found her ears, and they wiggled. The same would happen with her talents; she just needed to find them.
It was with this idea in her mind that she stood from her chair and left her room to go downstairs. Papa was gone, his rooms empty, but perhaps he held some clues therein. She descended the staircase into the foyer, then down the long hallway. She came near to a maid who was sweeping the floor, but the woman moved out of the way as Kayna passed by.
The hallway ended at two tall wooden doors. She tried the handle, only to find that the doors were indeed locked.
She knelt to look inside the keyhole. The lock mechanism seemed old and simple. She wouldn't be able to open the door without a key and forcing it would surely invite Papa's anger. He'd never struck her, but she didn't want to tempt his wrath. Papa was capable of things far worse than a slap across the face.
She walked back down the hallway and went outside. It was nearly dark, and the cool air was welcome after being inside most of the day. She moved slowly around the side of the house toward the windows of Papa's rooms. The windows were too high to reach, especially for someone as short as Kayna. But she was not limited by her height.
She looked about to make sure she was not being watched, then closed her eyes and summoned the air, just a little at first. It billowed her dress and blew her hair back, then she lifted a foot and felt the air become solid under her toes. She stepped down on the firm air and strengthened the summoning, then began to rise toward the window, holding her hands against the side of the house and walking them up the wood siding to keep her balance. When she arrived at the window, she reached for the sill and tried to lift the panel of glass. It didn’t move. She peeked inside to see that the latch was fixed in the locked position. There would be no opening it from here.
Still using the air to support her, she moved laterally, looking at each of the latches. The second window was locked as was the third. But the latch on the fourth window was only partially moved into the lock position.
The wind faltered under her, and she realized that she had let her concentration slip. A fall from this height would do little more than twist an ankle and dirty her dress, but it would be unpleasant, so she closed her eyes and refocused the summoning, then looked again at the window.
If she pulled on the window, would it move? She tried, straining with all her might, and the window wiggled a bit but held fast. She looked through the glass at the latch again and noticed that the flat edge of the latch handle was wide. Like a sail.
She focused on the handle and summoned air, but this time, she commanded the air inside the room. She told it to blow up against the latch handle and focused it tightly, pulling up on the window as she did so. She strained and summoned and focused. And hoped.
The window slid open suddenly, and the surprise of it caused her to lose focus. The air left her, and she fell several feet to the grass below where she landed awkwardly on her backside. She stood immediately and brushed the leaves and grass from her dress. She was unhurt. Then she looked up at the window and smiled.
The air carried her up again, and she slipped into the room, closing the window behind her. Papa's bedroom was large and there were paintings on all the walls. She walked into the next room, his attached study, looking behind her to make sure that she wasn't dropping bits of grass or leaves from her dress. He had never allowed her in his study, and she felt a bit of a thrill as she committed the secret intrusion. She saw a big leather chair sitting prominently next to the window and imagined Papa sitting there, reading his important papers by the light of the sun.
She looked about the room and saw cabinets under the many bookshelves that adorned the walls. New tomes graced the shelves. She grabbed one to take a look. The pages were crisp and clean, with the smell of new paper, as if they had never been opened. She replaced it and grabbed another new book and perused the contents. Something about anatomy. She replaced it carefully.
Under the bookshelves were display cases, with velvet cushions and glass tops so that one could see the contents but not touch them. One case displayed a collection of pretty knives. Another had beautiful coins. A third had fine jewels: blue, red, purple, and several in varying shades of green. Some were cut, others were jagged and raw, but all were beautiful.
Papa collected things. New things. Pretty things. And he locked them up in places where he could see them but where nobody could touch them.
A wood table stood against the wall near the leather chair. On it rested three tomes and a map of the Great Land. On one end of the table, a silver goblet sat next to an amulet, its gold chain hanging off the side.
Kayna picked up the goblet to inspect it. Bronze wire was pounded into the sides of the metal in an odd pattern, and wine stains were evident inside. She set it back down and reached for one of the loose tomes. There were no words on the spine, but a peek at the contents quickly revealed it to be an account of council proceedings. Politics. Boring.
She put the tome back in its place and looked at the map. It depicted troop locations and notes about barbarian incursions. She recognized the scribbles in some parts as Papa's handwriting.
Her eyes scanned the room for something of value, but there seemed to be nothing of interest here, so she sat in the big leather chair with a huff. As she looked around the room again, the chain hanging off the table caught her eye. She leaned forward to grab it and dragged the attached amulet across the table until it fell into her lap.
The amulet was made mostly of silver, an ornate symbol in gold filigree on the face. The symbol looked like t
he runes on scripture scrolls or the icons hanging on the walls of the church. She remembered it now, a gift given to Papa by the archbishop a few months ago. She had attended the church service with him; he insisted that she be there. The old priest had preached about how Dei was the light of the world and brought heroes to protect the people. He mentioned Papa and his work to keep the barbarian invaders from destroying the Great Land and bestowed a special ordination on him as a protector of the faith. As the archbishop did so, Papa stood next to him on the stage, grinning proudly while the cleric draped the amulet around his neck.
She focused on the gold symbol on the front of the heavy ornament. It didn't seem quite right.
She sat in the leather chair to contemplate it further. Amulet in hand, she closed her eyes and held the symbol in her mind. Somehow, she knew that a squiggly line on the bottom was too ornate and the top bore too many dots. She pictured the rune how it should have been, and it snapped into her mind, hungry and longing for energy.
At first surprised, she calmed herself and fed it a bit of her power, only to feel the symbol come alive. She opened her eyes. Her hand glowed with a bright, scintillating multicolored light. There was no heat, only a tingling sensation as the colors danced about, making designs upon the walls of the study.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her face flushed with the thrill of it. Fearing she might be discovered, she shut the image out of her mind, and the light winked out. She whirled to look out the window, hoping she had not been seen. There were no onlookers beyond the high garden walls and her gaze turned back to the faulty symbol on the amulet's face. The symbols were keys that unlocked her magic.
I must have them all.
18
Sanctuary
On the Road to Eastway
Nine Days after Announcement
Nara woke to the sound of someone rustling about the camp. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, yawning, then noticed Mykel doing the same. She then remembered his wound.
"Lie back down, Mykel. You're hurt!"
"I'm fine," he said, lifting his shirt. "I healed it when I woke up."
She moved her hand across the skin of his belly. Dried blood crusted in a few spots, but all that remained was a long pink scar. He could heal himself whenever he wants. And not just fingers!
“Wow, you really are a gifted, Mykel."
He gave a wide smile.
"Good morning," a strange voice said from behind them.
Their heads spun to face it. A woman with short silver hair at their campfire sat stirring something in a pot over the crackling logs. A patch covered one eye.
Bylo rose from his bedroll. “Who are you?"
"My name is Anne."
"I met her last night," Mykel whispered to Nara.
"I wasn't asking your name," Bylo said to the woman.
"Your questions will be answered soon enough. For now, have something to eat. Then we should go."
"We're not going anywhere with you," Bylo said, continuing his protest.
The woman looked away, staring at nothing for a moment. "Of course he's afraid," she said. "In your supreme wisdom, you swept him and the children up in a maelstrom and left me to deal with it."
Who was she talking to, by Dei? Was the old woman cracked? Nara looked to Bylo for direction, and he shifted nervously.
The woman turned back to Bylo. "You're being chased, young man."
Young man? Bylo was old. She really was crazy.
"If you don't hide yourselves better, he'll have you all."
"Who will have us?" Bylo asked.
"Does it matter? You're slow. Complacent," the woman said. She nodded her head toward Nara. "And you'll lose your girl if you're not careful."
Lose me?
They had all been on the edge of anxiety since escaping Dimmitt, and the ambush last night had rattled them even more. Now they had to contend with another stranger?
"We're just fine without your help, thank you," Bylo said. "And I don't appreciate you coming into our camp and starting a fire as if you belong here."
"You should stay off the roads, and it would do you even better to come with me," the woman said. "It's entirely up to you, of course. But if you'll let me, I'll see you to safety. And I'll see the children trained." She stirred the pot again, and some liquid spilled out onto a hot rock, then sizzled and evaporated into the air. "Oh, look what I've done."
"Train them?" Bylo asked.
"Yes, Bylo. Without training, they will not survive what is coming their way."
"You couldn't possibly know what is coming their way. Besides, I'm going to hide them myself.”
“And where is that?”
“Well, I… Somewhere.”
“Exactly.”
Bylo bent over and began to stuff belongings into a pack. “We don't need your help."
The woman sighed and moved away from the fire. With her stick, she drew a symbol and looked back at Bylo and Nara. Bylo dropped his pack and came closer to see what she was doing. The woman finished the scrawl, then motioned to the dirt and drew a straight line down the middle of the symbol, bisecting it. Nara watched Bylo as recognition grew in his eyes.
"Is that enough for you?" the woman asked.
"What is it, Bylo?" Nara asked.
The woman kicked the soil, obscuring the rune.
"The human rune," he said, slowly. "From the scriptures of Cataclysmos. Phyili. Separated twins.” He looked to Nara. “Maybe we should listen to her."
The woman may have been crazy, but her knowledge of their circumstances seemed to have quieted Bylo. Strangely, Nara felt a burden lift. A burden of loneliness, or perhaps one of vulnerability. With just the three of them, traveling for days, they had been easily attacked, easily harmed. Now, they had a bodyguard, of sorts. And an old crone who seemed to offer help. There was comfort in having someone else who knew about their troubles, as odd as these circumstances were. Someone who could provide direction, and maybe some answers.
A few moments later, Gwyn walked into the camp. "I gathered some berries for the oatmeal." She turned to Mykel. "You're looking healthy today."
Mykel lifted his shirt to show her. "I'm full of surprises," he said and took in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. Nara chuckled. Boys.
He turned to Nara. "What?"
"Nothing," she answered. "I'm just happy that you're okay."
"Amazing thing," Gwyn said. "Never heard of a gifted who could heal himself."
"Feeling well, son?" Bylo asked.
"Yes, Bylo, I am."
Bylo looked at the strangers, then raised an eyebrow at Mykel, wordlessly inquiring about their new visitors.
"They seem okay," Mykel said as he kneeled to put another log on the fire.
"You're awfully trusting today," Nara said, quietly. "That's different."
Mykel stepped back from the fire so that he could talk privately, and Nara followed. They moved far enough away so their conversation could not be heard by the others. "I've had a rough time recently," he said. "Maybe I'm looking at things a little differently."
"Or maybe you have magic now. And you heard someone talk about training you and started thinking about swords and fighting and got all excited about being a big, tough warrior."
Mykel cracked a smile but said nothing.
"Thought so," Nara said.
"I can heal myself now. Does that mean I'm still cursed?"
"I really don't know what the church will think, but they are crazy if they think the power to heal could ever be a curse."
"Maybe they won't want to kill me anymore?"
"They'll never find you, Mykel. I won't let them."
"If I can learn the sword, they won't get either of us."
Nara chuckled. "I don't doubt you one bit, Mykel Aragos. You're the most stubborn person I've ever met."
Nara turned back to the fire to see Gwyn pass some berries to Anne, who poured them into the pot and continued stirring. No words were exchanged, and there seemed to be an awkward tensio
n between the two women. Nara watched from afar, wondering about them.
"Had you two already met?" Bylo asked Gwyn and Anne.
"Last night," Anne said. "It was an interesting conversation, wouldn't you say, Gwyn?"
Gwyn flashed an awkward look.
Nara wondered about the appearance of the two women in such a short time and whether they were in cahoots with each other. Anne definitely had a sense of authority about her. Had she pacified Gwyn somehow and taken her into her confidence? Then she remembered how Bylo had been subdued by a few scratches in the dirt and decided not to dwell on it any further. Strange times, but no stranger than they had endured lately, and these people might actually help them, as Mykel hoped.
"I have a place near the abbey at Eastway," Anne said as Nara and Mykel stepped back toward the fire. "Where you can hide, rest, and contemplate your next move. If you want to follow, I'm leaving soon. If you want to risk your lives on these roads, so be it."
Nara looked at Bylo, shrugging her shoulders and giving him a questioning look. Bylo turned away and sighed. He was clearly undecided on the matter.
After they shared the berries and oats, the woman grabbed the cooling pot and dishes, then walked away. "I'll clean up," she said. "There's a little creek this way."
Once the woman was out of earshot, Gwyn spoke up. "I don't like her."
"We're grateful for your help, Gwyn," Mykel said. "We really are, but I don't think this will be your decision."
"She is a bit off," Nara said. "Did you see her talking to the air? But she's interesting. And if she has some sort of hideout, maybe we should join her. Couldn't be worse than wandering in the wilds and getting ambushed again."
Mykel turned to Bylo. "You keep saying that someone is following us. The church or the authorities. We were going in this direction, anyway. To Eastway, right?" Mykel turned to Gwyn suddenly as if he just realized that he had said too much.
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