Fire in the Mist

by Holly Lisle

  Suddenly, there was a clatter from the front of the hall, and heads lifted dully. Faia turned to look too, and saw a barbarian in exotic attire beating on an empty wooden mug with a spoon. It was not until the barbarian began to speak that she recognized the woman as Medwind Song, the tall, red-garbed instructor who had brought her to the university, then stuck her with Yaji.

  Song shifted from one foot to the other, then cleared her throat.

  "I know you felt the disturbance this morning before antis—I understand that all of you are upset."

  Disturbance? Faia wondered. What sort of disturbance?

  "I just wanted you to know that the Mottemage herself is tracking down the source of the Sending. She feels that the mindscream was a random impulse, and was not directed at us—that it was, most likely, an accidental projection from some young woman who suddenly opened up to her getlingself, and was overwhelmed and frightened by the experience. None of us feel that you have anything to worry about—and we think we will be able to find the person responsible and bring her under control so that this won't happen again. Until then, please try not to let this incident disrupt your studies."

  Getlingself... , Faia thought, getlingself... What by-the-Lady could that be?

  The instructor returned to her seat, and the students resumed eating. The silence had been broken, though, and gradually, they began to talk in whispers. The noise level in the Greathall rose.

  Yaji, sitting opposite Faia and determinedly ignoring her, turned to the girl sitting to her left and said, "I don't believe what Song said for an instant. Do you?"

  The other girl tried to pretend Yaji was not speaking to her, Faia noticed. Then she changed her mind and shrugged. "I guess I might. I remember when I turned twelve and my getlingself woke up one day. I was sick, and wanted water so badly—and I wanted it so hard the water came to me. It scared the life half out of me."

  Getlingself... Lady's Gifts, Faia decided. Why couldn't they just say Lady's Gifts?

  "Of course it did," Yaji agreed. "My question is, did it scare the life half out of everyone else in the city at the same time?"

  "Well..."

  "No," Yaji interrupted. "It didn't, of course. So that story they're giving us to keep us quiet and happy is just that. A story."

  Faia could not suppress her curiosity any longer. "What are you talking about? What happened this morning?"

  Yaji's eyes riveted on hers, and other girls along the table turned and stared.

  "What do you mean, what happened?! Didn't you feel that awful mindscream this morning? That torture?" Yaji's voice was shrill enough that other students down the table and from several other tables turned to see what was going on.

  "No," Faia admitted. "I did not feel anything. What was it?"

  "Nobody knows, Faia," Yaji said, the tone of her voice replacing Faia with stupid in her answer.

  Faia winced. "When did it happen?"

  "It happened after the get-up bell, right before the call to antis. I can't believe you're supposed to be so talented, and you still missed it."

  "Well, I am sorry, but I did not feel anything."

  Down the table, Faia heard the whispers.

  "Wasn't she supposed to be such a mighty hill-mage?"

  "I guess what I heard she did to that village was just a fluke after all, if she couldn't feel that."

  The students snickered and cast superior glances over her head at each other.

  Faia felt the heat of embarrassment in her face and on the back of her neck, and knew that she had blushed for everyone to see. Gods, but I hate this place, she thought. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying.

  She choked down the cold grains and slippery white paste from her bowl, wishing she could simply disappear. The other students eventually tired of staring at her and shifted to other topics of conversation.

  Faia tried to ignore the chatter, but found she could not.

  "Did Amelenda decide to sleep this morning instead of eating?" one student asked her seatmate.

  The other sounded confused. "I don't have any idea. She's your roommate. Why are you asking me?"

  "Didn't she spend the night with you?"

  "Of course not. Why would you think she did?"

  The first girl wrinkled her forehead in worried concentration. "She didn't come to our room last night, and I knew you two were doing a project for Communications—I just assumed—"

  "Ame was supposed to come over last night to work on it, but she never showed up, and I thought that she decided to work on her Divinations—" There was a pause. "She promised she would be over one bell past nondes. She was very emphatic about it, because I wasn't there the last time she came over to work on the project. I just thought when she didn't show up that she was getting even."

  The absent Amelenda's roommate sighed. "What an awful idea. Amelenda wouldn't do something like that. She's too serious about her work. What do you suppose she's doing?"

  "She's pretty discreet. I know she's been studying the Mottemage's wingmounts. Maybe she has some private project she's working on to win her a place on staff when she graduates."

  The girls gave each other worried looks and changed the subject.

  Friends, Faia thought. I wish I had one. She pictured Aldar, and for a moment, regretted leaving him in Willowlake.

  He is better off away from me, though. He has family.... She shoved that line of thought away before the tears that welled up in her eyes had a chance to run down her cheeks and cause her further embarrassment.

  She bit her lip in sudden irritation. Why do you not just sit and feel sorry for yourself, Faia? I am certain there is no one in the world who has ever hurt before, no one who had ever been lonely—

  Her tears dried up, but her appetite was still gone. She pushed the cold, lumpy mess of food away from her and sat staring at the joints in the ceiling stonework until the bells began their clamor announcing first class.

  Mottemage and barbarian instructor strode across the green toward the classrooms.

  "Did they believe it?" Medwind Song glanced over at her superior.

  "Of course not. Would you have? On the other hand, they'll at least think that we have some idea of what happened—that, perhaps, we even have matters under control. That fact alone will buy us time and will prevent a panic."

  "Was it our missing student?"

  "Unknown. It was someone with magical aptitude—otherwise the mindscream would not have carried with anything like that force. But Enlee? Who could say."

  Medwind looked at the Mottemage, eyes dark with worry. "Or Amelenda. She was missing at breakfast this morning, and her roommate doesn't know where she is."

  Rakell's face went white. "No," she whispered. Amelenda was one of her favorites, and her prote[aage[aa, and the student most likely to carry on with the work the Mottemage had done with wingmounts.

  Medwind said softly, "It may be nothing. It may be Amelenda has a young man... or got an emergency call from family—there are a hundred explanations."

  "And one of them is horrible."

  "Don't think the worst." Song rubbed her temples and sighed softly. "Meanwhile, what should we be doing?" she asked.

  "Gods, Medwind—I wish I had an idea. Any idea."

  Medwind closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Whatever it was that had her scares me. I've never felt such evil. Such concentrated, purposeful, strong evil."

  "Nor have I." The Mottemage glanced at her friend with worried eyes. "Except in my nightmares."

  "Funny you should mention—" The barbarian shook her head and looked away.

  "Nightmares?"

  Medwind shook her head, but said nothing. Rakell knew her prote[aage[aa well enough to understand that to the Huong Hoos, nightmares meant more than they did to the civilized people of Ariss. She also knew Medwind wouldn't be willing to talk about it. She didn't pry. "You'll have to go on with classes today, you know, Med. Nothing can change. We daren't let the students suspect how bad this is, or how close to
home."

  Medwind nodded grimly. "Something out there slaughtered one of my most promising students, if not two. You knew Enlee was missing?"

  The Mottemage nodded affirmatively.

  Medwind's voice grew bitter. "And I'm going to sit in a drafty class discussing Fundamentals of Plant Mutation to flighty First-Circles." She jammed her clenched fists into the pockets of the barbarian tunic. "I'll do what I can," she finally muttered.

  "What else is there?" the Mottemage asked.

  "You can't read, you can't write, you don't know the standard spell signs, you don't know any of the basic wards or entry-level procedures—and you have access to power that leveled a village. What in the seventy abominable saje-hells am I supposed to do with you?"

  "I do not know." Faia stared miserably at her feet.

  "It was a rhetorical question." Medwind sighed. "I know where I'm going to place you. There's going to be a riot when I do it, and you can expect to have most of your classmates furious with you, but you'll be going into the advanced classes."

  "Why will that cause problems?"

  "Because, dear, you can't read. You can't write. You don't know the basics. You just happen to be a conduit for energies that could run bronzeshod over your classmates. They're struggling to gain power. You are trying to find a way to control more power than they'll ever have. Don't expect them to like you for it."

  Faia stared at the instructor with frustration. "I did not ask for this."

  "No. But you got it. Stop whining and be an adult, Faia. A lot of us ended up with our lives going in directions we hadn't intended."

  Medwind studied a sheaf of papers. "Since you're joining us halfway through the school year, I'm going to do something I usually don't. I'm going to assign you to take all your classes with one person, which will save you from having to learn the schedules and instructors, and will give you someone to study with whose schedule exactly matches yours. I'll put you with Yaji."

  "No!" Faia blurted. "She cannot stand me!"

  "Nor are you terribly fond of her. I already noticed. However, she's good—perhaps one of the few of your peers who has the potential to keep up with you. She isn't living up to her potential, but your presence may be the goad she needs. And she can easily familiarize you with the basics."

  There was a light tap on the door, and Yaji came into the cluttered office. Her eyes fixed with unconcealed loathing on Faia. "I'm sorry," she said to Song. "I'll come back later, when you aren't so busy."

  "I wanted you here now," the instructor said. Faia noted the cool control in her voice, the "I'll have no nonsense" tone.

  Not a woman to cross, Faia thought. And not a woman to annoy.

  Yaji, however, seemed impervious to the ice in Song's voice. "I'd rather wait until you finished with her before we talked about whatever it was that you wanted to see me for."

  Medwind Song's eyes narrowed, and her face grew a wickedly sweet smile. "Just by sheerest coincidence, what I wanted to talk to you about is Faia. Not only is she your roommate, but now she's going to be your class-partner as well. You'll show her what you know of the basics of our system of magic—and in return she'll show you the things she knows. And the two of you will be in every class together so that you can keep up with each other. I think you'll find this arrangement very stimulating—don't you, Yaji?"

  There was a long silence.

  Song's smile vanished. "Well?"

  Not even Yaji could miss the threat in the instructor's voice that time. "Yes, Frelle Medwind," she muttered.

  Yaji stared over at Faia, and Faia had the urge to back away from the raging fury in those eyes. I would as well throw myself in the lake right now with a stone around my neck. That is where I am no doubt going to find myself anyway, and I shall save Yaji the trouble of mussing one of her outfits dragging me there after she has killed me.

  It is going to be hell to sleep in that room tonight.

  Fifth class. Fifth cold, stone-walled, slit-windowed room. Fifth long-winded instructor expounding nonsense words like "Keplef theorem" and "wall of impulse" and "cellular resistance" with the air of a god imparting the secret of fire to freezing primitives. Fifth hour of blank-faced students muttering "Yes, Frelle This," and "No, Frelle That." And this time was the worst. This time it was that pompous little helke bitch Frelle Jann.

  Faia squirmed in her seat and resisted the urge to yawn. To her left, Yaji made little scratch-marks on pale green sheets she called drypress. To her right, the high slit window displayed a tantalizing glimpse of hot late-spring sunshine and allowed passage to the faintest suggestion of perfumed almost-summer breezes. Faia's eyes fixed on the slit. She could almost feel herself outside, playing her rede-flute and watching new lambs harassing their mothers and chasing each other over the hillside. She could feel the heavy wool of her erda pillowed beneath her head, and hear the whisper of meadow grass under her back as she shifted her position; she could smell clover and wildflowers and mountain air. She relaxed into the dream. It was comforting, familiar, and somehow very real. If she concentrated, she could even bring to mind the ripple of a stream. Carried to her on the breeze, she could hear the soft murmur of laughter from a long way off....

  Laughter?...

  She started, and returned her attention to the class. Every face was turned to her, and every eye watched her with malicious amusement, and a touch of calculating anticipation. And they laughed.

  "So she's decided to rejoin us. How nice," Frelle Jann commented. "Perhaps we should each thank her for gracing us with her presence." There was more laughter, which trickled off to nearly nothing. There were a few snickers, but even these died down as the class waited to see what the frelle would do.

  "Come up to the front of the class, Faia, and, since you feel you know this material so well that you don't need to pay attention, I'll let you demonstrate some of it for us."

  The faces of her classmates glowed with unholy joy.

  Wolves, Faia thought, who have spotted the sick sheep, and are waiting for an easy shot at the kill.

  They had enjoyed her lack of education at every opportunity. All day she heard "You mean you can't read?" and "How can I teach you if you can't write?" and "What do you mean, you haven't heard of Loink's Basic Formula for Circle Cleansing? You can't do a first-level pentacle without it," and "What do you mean, what's a first-level pentacle ?"

  She had ignored the whispered jokes told just loud enough that she could hear them, about farm girls too stupid to move out of the way of running horses, too foolish to know not to buy kellinks from Ranmeers— She hadn't said a word. She'd pretended not to hear.

  Walking to the front of the class, though, she could not pretend anymore that she was not hurt. She was. So what if I am not one of them? So what if I do not have their education or their money or their fancy clothes and fancy manners. I'm somebody. I can do things, too.

  She was overcome by the urge to show them. She wanted to prove that she was as good as any of them, so that they could never laugh behind her back again.

  Frelle Jann stared coldly up at the tall farm girl when she reached the front of the classroom. She leaned forward and whispered upward, for just Faia to hear, "I'd like for you to remember this in future, Faia. We have these classes to teach talented mage students the elements of magic. Not to provide ignoramuses with a chance to cloudgaze out the windows. If you haven't any more attention than that, you can go work in a kitchen cleaning pots. You'll never be a mage." She raised her voice so that the rest of the class could hear. "Take this apple, Faia, and repair it so that it is edible again. We've been discussing the formulas in class—since you seem to know so much about them, you shouldn't have any trouble."

  Faia held in her hands the withered, dried remains of an apple. It was a sorry, wormy red windfall apple, one of last autumn's. She had, in her young life, seen more windfall apples than anyone had any business seeing. Fix it? she thought. Fix it? Surely she's joking.

  Faia repressed a smile of unholy glee. T
hey thought fixing an apple was some sort of wonderful demonstration of magic? That was what all these hot-air formulas and equations and long-winded talks were about? No one had said anything before about apples.

  She turned to face the class, and held the apple in her outstretched hand. She centered, pulling energy from the earth below her and from the air above, and visualizing the apple as one of her favorite huge tangy green Highland Susskinds. She could taste it, feel it, hear the crunch when she bit into it, smell the pure autumn smell of it—she could see it sitting pale yellow-green and glossy in her hand. She looked at it from all angles, and when she had it fixed in her mind, she closed her eyes and let the energy she'd drawn into herself feed carefully into the withered brown fruit.

  When she heard gasps, she opened her eyes.

  A perfect Highland Susskind rested in the palm of her hand.

  Her dear instructor's jaw rested on the floor.

  So the stupid hick from the highlands can do a few tricks they cannot, in spite of their fancy schooling. That ought to show them. Faia grinned viciously, took a bite of the apple with a cheeky toss of her head, and remarked loudly to no one in particular, "Been doing that since I was six."

  :I felt that! Did you feel it too?:

  :Yes, Sahedre. I feel the song of the magic, too.:

  Sahedre was elated. :Yes-s-s-s! Gods, yes! A body with the power I crave resides here. I glimpse her only at odd moments, but here she hides. Sooner or later, I shall trail this magic back to its maker, and then I shall have her.:

  :If she has the power, Sahedre, the second protested, perhaps she will resist you.:

  :Aye, she might. I shall see that she does not want to. First, though, I must find her.:

  * * *

  Yaji walked beside Faia after nondes. They were heading back to the dorm, and Yaji was uncharacteristically quiet. She had been, Faia noted, ever since Frelle Jann's class. Faia saw no purpose in spoiling a good thing.

  Yaji took a deep breath, started to say something, then stopped. Her fair brow furrowed, and she glanced at Faia from under her lashes.

  What is this? She looks like she is just dying to ask me some question, Faia decided, and it galls her lily-soft hide to even think of it. The hill-girl pretended that she had noticed nothing unusual in her roommate's manner. No sense in making things easier for the detestable Yaji.