The head old guy—I don’t know how to explain this—he was staring at me just as intently as the rest of the old guys, but he was doing it softer somehow. Him and Carn, if it was Carn. I thought, I’d tell you if I could, and the old guy’s expression changed briefly, as if he’d heard.
He said, ʺErn. Believe me. It doesn’t just happen. The Academy has been here for eight hundred years and no dragon who has lost an eye has ever crossed into the Firespace again. Or if they have there’s no record, and there would be a record. Or rather, the only hint of a record is from the tale of Erzaglia and Sorabulyar, which I told you about yesterday, and which you, interestingly, had heard of, although it’s an old obscure tale that no one tells any more. We don’t teach it at the Academy.ʺ He added gently, ʺErn. I can see how much you hate this. But think about how important this is to us, to our dragons—to all dragons, maybe—to Hereyta.ʺ
I could feel my face getting hot. That was unfair.
ʺNo, it’s not unfair,ʺ said the old guy as if I’d said it aloud. ʺI love Hereyta myself. She was the leader of the king’s guard for twenty years, did Dag tell you that? The king loved her too. I’ve hated seeing her crippled. Seeing her carry her authority—as she does still carry her authority—among the other dragons, when she can no longer Fly.ʺ
I could see Carn shift in his chair, and heard him sigh, a scratchy sigh from his damaged throat.
ʺI’m willing to believe,ʺ the old guy went on, ʺthat perhaps it’s something about her specialness, her uniqueness, that made it possible, what happened; that it also has to do with her being partnered with a cadet whose empathy with dragons is so extraordinary that he was jumped a year. We only have about one jumper a decade at the Academy. But I also know, as sure as dragons Fly, that it wouldn’t have happened without you and Sippy. I can’t believe it’s all just a peculiar accident that the only two-eyed dragon who’s entered the Firespace in any history we know went there while carrying a young man and his foogit. Ern. Think. Try.ʺ
And I did try. I closed my eyes and—Sippy having emerged from under the chair and put his head in my lap—buried both hands in his topknot and thought as hard as I could about those few moments after Hereyta leaped up from the ordinary earth and her wings beat us up and up and up in a spiral into the sky. And Sippy struggling out of his harness and out of my arms—and I still didn’t understand how that happened; I know I’m clumsy so I’m really careful—and over the edge of Hereyta’s wing. And how I went after him . . . and the heavy floosh of the air as I dove and the sort of counter-floosh as Hereyta plunged after us, veering up under us again in a way wholly incredible . . .
. . . wholly incredible . . .
. . . like the sudden wash of heat and the pink haloes around the trees on a clear cool autumn afternoon. . . .
I was suddenly staggering against Hereyta’s side, her wing, I had my arms around Sippy, we were supposed to be dead (or about to be dead) and we weren’t, but then how had any of this happened, starting with Ralas telling Dag to take Sippy and me with him. . . .
I could remember the pink trees, hearing Setyep and Dag comment on the bizarre breath of summer wind, knowing I wasn’t imagining it, knowing that it was something the two dragons and Sippy had done among them—but it was remembering like you might remember watching your wizard stop someone from bleeding to death. They could do it, you couldn’t. When it happened to you you were just standing there saying, Huh? What?
But thinking about wizards made me remember Ralas. Ralas who was here. What was Ralas doing here? It seemed as unlikely as Sippy and me flying on a dragon. Or a two-eyed dragon getting into the Firespace.
As if this was my answer I said to Ralas, ʺWhat are you doing here?ʺ
Ralas smiled her funny, wry smile and I realised how glad I was to see her, whatever she was doing here, and however much it was her fault that I was here. ʺMay I speak?ʺ she said to the old guy.
ʺI invite you to do so,ʺ he said courteously.
ʺErn has been my apprentice these three years,ʺ she began and I burst out, suddenly completely unaware of anything else, where I was or what was going on, anything but the words she’d just said: ʺYour apprentice? I’d die to be your apprentice! I’m not your apprentice!ʺ
There was a tiny pause. Dag shifted in his chair. Ralas turned to look at me. I had never seen her disconcerted, but she was disconcerted now. ʺErn? Of course you are. I settled with your parents right after your twelfth birthday. . . .ʺ Her voice tailed off. She must have seen it in my face that this was completely news to me. She blinked once or twice and I could see her mind going back to what had happened. ʺYour mother was worried about tying you so young, that’s true, even though as the third son you might be expected to be apprenticed to a wizard. But I pointed out that you were already interested in the work and that I wasn’t merely willing to have you but wanted you as well. And that since you were already trying to learn as much as you could, why not let you? Why not accept that you’d chosen your path and begin to help you along it?ʺ
I shook my head again, but the shaking just seemed to make my head hurt. Sippy moved his head on my knee as if to say, What’s wrong? Can I help?
ʺYour mother,ʺ Ralas went on slowly, ʺas a stipulation to their agreement, said that the apprenticeship was to remain secret, and part-time only, till you turned sixteen. I agreed to this. It meant I could begin teaching you, which was all that mattered to me; and I did not see that anyone needed to know beyond those of us involved. It never occurred to me that when your mother said the apprenticeship should remain secret that she meant it should remain secret from you too.ʺ
I thought bitterly, she just wanted someone to deliver candles a few more years. And then I thought, no. I thought about all the food she kept trying to stuff in me and how she worried that I stayed a runt. And I thought about . . . about Dag saying that I needed to believe that I’d done Sippy’s leg wrong. Mum was like that too. Nothing she did was ever really right; everything she did she thought she should have done better. She’d’ve seen me doing the same thing.
She was trying to let me grow up a little more. Apprenticeship was serious. You didn’t apprentice twelve-year-olds because it was too difficult for twelve-year-olds. Even a twelve-year-old who already knew what he wanted to do. Especially a twelve-year-old who passionately knew what he wanted to do and equally passionately believed he’d be hopeless at it.
If I’d been being fair I’d’ve admitted three years ago that someone like me probably wouldn’t be apprenticed till they were sixteen—it wasn’t really true that everyone went at fourteen. It depended on the kid. But even if I’d been taller than Dag and brighter than Kel and didn’t worry about everything all the time (just like her) my mother probably still wouldn’t have let me be apprenticed early. My dad might’ve. He didn’t think about things like maturity. He would’ve just thought, the boy wants to be a wizard, here’s a wizard wants to apprentice him, great. I remembered now that Mum’d had a funny spell of going around the house muttering, ʺTwelve is much too young to be apprenticed,ʺ when I was twelve, which I’d thought pretty strange. I wasn’t worrying about being apprenticed then—and at twelve I looked about eight—but I was already worrying about it for when I was fourteen.
But my parents knew that I spent every spare minute with Ralas and by letting Ralas apprentice me they were also doing their best for my future. And—this was even harder to admit—my mum was right about making me wait. If she’d let me go even at fourteen I’d’ve believed that I had to learn everything in the first six months—I had too much to prove because I was the youngest and the least of the three of us brothers. And I realised with something like amazement that it was the last three years of giving people stuff that would help them feel better—of learning more stuff and learning to read people better—that was teaching me patience.
Even my parents didn’t know that I didn’t just want to be a wizard, I wanted to be . . .
Ralas had turned back to the others. I missed
what she’d begun saying but I heard: . . . ʺthe strongest gift for healing of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s one of the things that’s kept me there, in Birchhome, because as we all know healing is not a popular form of wizardry and while I’m not the best teacher he could have I’ll do to start with—and there are not many who will teach it at all.ʺ
ʺBirchhome,ʺ said one of the old guys who hadn’t spoken before. ʺWe did wonder.ʺ
ʺWhy shouldn’t I want a bit of peace and quiet for a change?ʺ Ralas said briskly and I stopped thinking about myself long enough to want to know what she was talking about. Nearly everybody who had ever met her wondered what she was doing in Birchhome. Now that I was her apprentice maybe I could ask her what she’d done before. ʺI suspect one of the reasons his parents wanted a secret apprenticeship is because they know healing is the area of wizardry Ern is drawn to, and a three-year head start would help ground him in the difficult field he’s chosen—or that has chosen him. Fortunately Ern’s healing gift is nearly matched by his stubbornness.ʺ She turned her head and smiled at me, and there was no wryness in it at all.
Apprentice. I’d been Ralas’ real honest-to-wizardry apprentice for three years. The rest of what she’d said still pretty much went past me. Gift? Me? Keeping her in Birchhome? But if I was going to have a gift, it would be for the wrong thing. Except that I wanted to be a healer. Badly wanted it. And she was right about this much: I was stubborn.
I could feel a huge stupid smile breaking over my face. I turned to look at Dag and a great grin spread over his face too, and suddenly he looked about twenty years younger. I hadn’t realised how old he’d been looking, from the day he’d showed up at our parents’ house and told us about Hereyta and his First Flight—the smile looked like what had happened on that First Flight was finally sinking in. And maybe a little bit that he could stop worrying about me. He was our mum’s son too, after all.
ʺI don’t have any idea how Ern did what he did for your dragon,ʺ Ralas went on. ʺAnd I doubt that Ern does either. I don’t think it’s only his well-known aversion to being the centre of attention that’s making him uncooperative today. But I will tell you also that when he turned up at my house with Sippy as a broken-legged pup and I’d seen what he’d done I realised that my suspicion that he was a healer was truer than I’d guessed . . . and I was also very interested in why he’d been given a foogit as his familiar. Foogits used to be quite popular as familiars hundreds of years ago, but I know of no wizard who uses one now. And a wizard who specialises in healing and furthermore uses a foogit . . . Ern will need all the grounding he can achieve, and all the stubbornness he is capable of.
ʺMost of us do without familiars altogether, which I think is rather a pity. And I thought of the tale of Erzaglia and Sorabulyar the moment I heard about Hereyta. I had no sign to send Ern and Sippy back with Dag to the Academy but it seemed the obvious thing to do. It seemed too obvious to need or ask for a sign.ʺ
I muttered to myself, or to Sippy, as you might mutter an old familiar charm when recent events were too wild and strange for you, ʺI didn’t do much of a job for you, really. I messed up your leg.ʺ
Ralas said out loud, so everyone could hear, ʺYou did not mess up Sippy’s leg. Sippy’s leg wasn’t just broken, it was shattered. He should have been dead of fever before you got him back to me. He should at least have lost the leg. He’s not even lame on it any more. It’s a little scarred . . . but I’m a little scarred, and I don’t feel the healers who saved my life messed me up. And you were eleven. It was after that I went and asked your parents to apprentice you to me—and of course I had to explain why I was so interested, although I tried not to emphasize healing too much. I won’t have you long—I’m still only an all-sorts wizard—ʺ
A muffled grunt from the old guy who’d commented on Birchhome. ʺ‘All-sorts’ in your case covers a bit more than usual.ʺ
ʺAs you like,ʺ said Ralas, unperturbed. ʺWhatever my skills are, they will serve to get Ern started. Which they have done.ʺ
The original old guy said carefully, ʺWe—the Academy—are quite interested in Ern’s future ourselves.ʺ
ʺLet me have him three more years,ʺ said Ralas, as if what the old guy had said was only what she was expecting him to say. ʺTill he’s eighteen. I can cram quite a lot in in the next three years,ʺ and she smiled a conspiratorial smile at me before turning back to the old guys. ʺWe might—I would hope to—begin to find out why or how Ern’s gift could shape itself to Hereyta’s need. It was not an ordinary sort of healing—which makes me wonder—hope—if perhaps it might be the beginning of a new discipline of healing—one which might even make that crucial branch of wizardry respectable at last.
ʺWhen your messenger came of course his parents heard something of what had happened during First Flight, but it was clear to all of us that as his master I should come to the Academy and contribute what I could to the discussion. I can, if you wish it, begin to prepare them for the future. But they will hardly turn down a place at the Academy for him once he turns eighteen.ʺ
They’ll think there was some huge mistake, I thought. A new discipline of healing! And a healer with a foogit! I’d better stay short and goofy-looking. That’ll be the easy bit.
The old guy who’d mentioned Birchhome said, ʺI’m sure you have recognised me, Ralas, as I have recognised you.ʺ
Ralas nodded, and her smile, at its wryest, appeared and disappeared. ʺYes. Even among those who stood at variance with me, you were—er—conspicuous, Cladharg.ʺ
Cladharg turned to me then. I managed to meet his eyes for about three seconds and then I looked at the table. ʺRalas was apprentice to my master for a year. She’s only an all-sorts wizard, as she describes herself, because that was her choice. My master begged her to stay and let him train her to be a Seer.ʺ
ʺThe ordinary world needs good wizards too,ʺ she said. ʺNot only the kings and queens, the councils . . . and Seers for the academies.ʺ
There was a little silence that bristled with unspoken words. Then Cladharg said, ʺWe will not agree now any more than we did thirty years ago.ʺ
ʺNo,ʺ Ralas said pleasantly.
ʺBut you are willing to see your own apprentice come here?ʺ
ʺThat is up to Ern. But I think what has already happened indicates that he has work to do here.ʺ
ʺAnd you also think he might shake us up,ʺ said Cladharg.
ʺI am looking forward to it,ʺ she said demurely, and he laughed, a proper loud crack of laughter, and something in the room cracked too, and after that we were all more comfortable with each other.
I started to open my mouth and then closed it again, but the first old guy said, ʺErn. It is time you said something. This is your life we are prescribing for you. What did you want to ask?ʺ
ʺNot about my life,ʺ I said. ʺI—ʺ I stopped. Not yet, I thought. I can’t think about that yet. ʺBut I’d like to know who you are.ʺ I glanced quickly around the table and then back at the first old guy. ʺI don’t even know your name. I mean, I should know, that morning in the food halls, but . . .ʺ
The first old guy said gravely, ʺBut you have had many things on your mind and you have been introduced to nearly an entire Academy of new people. It is very discourteous of us not to have identified ourselves in the beginning—that I have not ere now is the worst of all. I’m afraid we have been too interested in what you could do for us—what you have done for us already.ʺ
One of the other old guys who hadn’t said anything yet said, ʺWe believe we are looking at our future, and that we are already the past.ʺ He didn’t sound unhappy about it though.
ʺIt was the story of Erzaglia and Sorabulyar that told me to send Ern and Sippy to you,ʺ said Ralas. ʺThe past remains vital.ʺ
ʺThe past holds the present and hands it to the future,ʺ said the first old guy. ʺI am Storkhal, First Commander of the Academy—ʺ
I blinked.
ʺThisʺ—the old guy who had just spoken for the first time—ʺis Sfector, First Dra
gonrider. This is Mjorak, First Professor of Practise; Nonoran, First Professor of Theory; and Cladharg, who is First Seer.ʺ
I started missing the names; everything had been way too much for way too long. Even Sippy seemed content to sit quietly with his head in my lap as if he was feeling it too. First Commander of the Academy! But I was listening again in time to hear Storkhal say, ʺAnd Carn, Five-Crown Sukaj Colonel of the Inban Regiment—ʺ
Carn interrupted in his harsh voice: ʺStorkhal, stop it. I’m a minor tutor here, that’s all. But I’m guessing Ern has heard my name, and can himself then guess why it is I begged a place here today—and why I was granted one.ʺ
I said the only thing I could think of to say: ʺHereyta is lovely.ʺ
ʺYes, she is, isn’t she?ʺ said Carn, and smiled his wonderful, contagious smile again.
But Carn was the last. I’d missed some names, but I checked back in my mind for the sound of Storkhal’s voice rising and falling through the introductions, and I didn’t think I’d missed what I’d been—what I should have been—listening for. I remembered the day Dag and I had arrived at the Academy and met Eled, and Dag and Eled had looked at each other and said, We’re supposed to do without wizards. I swallowed. ʺNo First Wizard,ʺ I said. And then, ridiculously, I added, ʺNo First Healer.ʺ
ʺNo,ʺ said Cladharg. ʺThere was once a First Wizard; perhaps there should be again. There has never been a First Healer. Perhaps that is an error. I look forward to beginning that discussion in three years.ʺ
ʺOh, but—ʺ Dag burst out, and then turned to the First Commander and said, ʺZedak, my apologies.ʺ
Storkhal was wearing his amused look again. ʺNo, please go on, Singla Dag.ʺ He sounded as if he knew what Dag was going to say. I know I did.
ʺYou’re not going to send him away for three years? What about Hereyta?ʺ
ʺThat is up to Ern, and his—your—parents, and Ralas,ʺ said Storkhal. Now he was using his smooth voice. I only knew what Dag was going to say, I hadn’t thought about what it meant. I looked at Ralas and then at Cladharg. Ralas was looking disconcerted again—the second time I’d seen her off balance in all the years I’d known her—and I’d known her all my life—only half an hour after the first time. Cladharg, on the other hand, had the look of a man undergoing a revelation he wasn’t sure he approved of. ʺErn and Ralas are welcome here as soon and for as long as they wish to stay,ʺ added Storkhal.
Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits Page 29
