by Ann Macela
Not a helpful answer—on the other hand, all he cared to think about at the moment. He knew the ability to share it was important, from the way people were talking about it, but he still wasn’t sure why. He didn’t question her further; he was tired of showing his ignorance to everyone.
Johanna suggested he work on maintaining several lightballs at once, so Jim put the sharing problem out of his mind. By the end of the practice, he thought he was making real progress, and to be sure, he asked, “Give me some idea of where I am, can you? I’m really in the dark here.”
“I teach mostly teens we’ve identified as having Defender and Sword potential—to see if they truly do have those talents and get them started. They are already well versed in the basics, so I’m not used to pure novices,” Johanna replied. “Right now, given your displayed potential and how far we’ve come in a few short hours, I’d put you at about third grade. Give us another week, and you’ll be up to seventh in the very basic spells. Maybe higher, since you concentrate so well.”
“Got any notion about what my specific talents might be?”
“No, I can’t help you there, Jim. I’ve never worked with someone who discovered their abilities so late. Most kids have a good idea about theirs by high school, and if they’re Defenders, sometimes even earlier. Furthermore, your talents, if they involve hunches or police work, are way beyond my experience. We’ll get you to some of the masters who specialize in identification.”
“Okay,” he said and tried not to be discouraged. Hell, he didn’t know what he could do. Why should anybody else?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After their session, Johanna led him to yet another building on the Center’s grounds and deep into the basements, where the walls glowed so brightly he thought he was getting a permanent squint. They met up with Whipple there.
The big wizard had a funny look on his face—sort of a combination of glee and warning. “Brace yourself, Tylan,” he said. “You’re about to meet the family.”
“What? Whose?”
“Irenee’s mother and brother flew back from New York this morning when they heard about her test. Or that’s what they said. The real reason was probably to meet you.” He winked at Jim, then looked over his shoulder. “Here they come now.”
A striking older woman with dark red hair streaked with silver and a man about his age who looked a lot like Hugh Sabel came along the corridor.
“Oh, there you are, Fergus,” the woman said. She gave Whipple a kiss on the cheek before turning to him. “You must be Jim Tylan. How do you do, Jim, I’m Irenee’s mother. Please, call me Catherine.”
Jim kept a straight face, said the requisite greetings, and shook hands with the two Sabels.
“We were so happy to hear the news about you and Irenee. We’re looking forward to getting to know you better,” Catherine Sabel said with a smile. “I’ve never met a wild talent before.”
Jim could tell she meant every word, but he also knew those green eyes of hers didn’t miss a trick. He was suddenly scared to death. What if she wouldn’t accept him as her daughter’s mate? Where was Irenee when he needed protection?
He told himself he could handle the situation. He’d act like he was undercover, where a word or expression would give away his position. What went on between him and Irenee was nobody else’s business.
Irenee’s brother, Dietrich, grinned. “You need help against the onslaught of being thrust into the Sabel family, come see me. We men need to stick together. Mom and Irenee together can be overwhelming.”
“Oh, Dietrich,” Catherine said, “don’t give the man a false impression. We’re perfectly nice people. Pay no attention to him, Jim.”
“No, ma’am.” Thinking furiously, he managed to add, “If Irenee takes after you, I’m sure you’re nice people.”
Catherine beamed at him, and Dietrich grinned some more. “Good answer,” he stage-whispered.
Jim decided to keep an eye on both of them. The brother was no slouch either.
Thank God, Whipple, rescued him. “Come on, we need to get to our seats. Jim, you come with me so I can explain what’s going to happen.”
They all went through some wooden double doors, carved with glowing runes and glyphs like the ones in the building where he was training. Instead of entering a small stone room, however, they emerged on a balcony with auditorium-style seating overlooking a huge elliptical arena floor at least twenty feet below. The ceiling could easily be sixty or seventy feet high. Jim knew the elevator had descended quite a distance—how far underground would be a pure guess.
The oval arena—at least one hundred by one hundred fifty feet—had stone walls, ceiling, and floor. The lighting consisted both of candles and torches on multibranched wall sconces and of electric spotlights in recessed tubes. If it wasn’t for the comfortable modern balcony, all the place needed to look like a medieval castle hall were heraldic flags and shields.
It was no playground, however. The very air reeked of extreme gravity and enormous but dormant power.
The entire arena glowed in rainbows of color with silver and gold mixed in. Jim blinked and, using what Johanna had taught him about dimming spell effects, managed to stop squinting. He found that if he concentrated on people or specific objects, most of the shine receded into the background and was more like bright sunlight.
A shallow two-tiered balcony—they were on the lower level—stretched around the entire structure, and a smattering of other practitioners occupied some of the seats. Shining glass separated the balconies from the arena itself.
“This is our testing and competition arena as well as our largest auditorium for presenting awards, performances, and lectures,” Whipple told Jim after they sat down in the front row next to the center aisle. Irenee’s mother and brother took seats across the passageway and were soon joined by Hugh. They were in the middle of one of the long sides of the oval.
“As you can undoubtedly see, the entire complex is heavily spelled,” Whipple said to him. “We use it to test high level practitioners and for competition between Defender teams and between individual Swords. For protection from spells, the electric lights have covers, and racks with more complex lighting are hidden in the ceiling. We record all tests from behind specially spelled windows.”
Movement below captured Jim’s attention before he could ask any questions.
Through several doors on the arena floor level, a number of practitioners entered in a swirl of colorful robes: purple, reds, greens, copper and silver, dark blue, yellow, and black. Five of them were Swords—John Baldwin, and three Jim didn’t know, but the way their black robes were shimmering, they had to be high level. The fifth was, of course, Irenee. Despite the raised hoods, he had no difficulty at all picking her out.
“The two in yellow are healers,” Whipple told him.
“Can somebody get hurt in this test?” A little breeze of apprehension ruffled his hunch antennae.
“It is possible,” Whipple said, “but highly unlikely. They’re part of our usual standard precautions. They’ll be monitoring everyone, especially Irenee. The amount of energy she expends will help us determine her actual level.”
About ten feet out from the walls, an oval line engraved into the floor suddenly glowed silver and gold. A translucent curtain of colors spread from it to the ceiling. Two points lit up in the floor along the line from one end to the other, each about twenty-five feet in from its closest end.
“The test will take place within the ellipse and behind its shield, which John just activated,” Whipple said. “Irenee will be inside a pentagonal shield or fortress of her own creation at one of those light points, and a Defender team will be in a similar shield at the other. Normally, a team consists of five Defenders and two Swords, and the Defenders stand in the points of the pentagon with the Swords on either side of the middle. We’re using another Defender team, not our own, and we’re adding a third Sword, who will stand in the center and direct the team’s spells. It’s Kendra D
egen in the middle, incidentally—amazing power, by the way. John is in charge of the entire test, and he’ll be over to the side at the midpoint.”
“Wait a minute,” Jim said, feeling a stronger, colder breeze. “It’s her against all of them?”
Whipple held up his hands. “Take it easy, Jim. It’s simply a test. Basically, they’re going to throw spells at each other, measuring Irenee’s limits, power, strength, and endurance. Irenee hasn’t had time to learn and practice new spells, so she’s been working on the ones she knows, to increase their strength. If she’s gone up from ten to twelve, and I think she has, her power has increased at least twofold and possibly more.”
The wizard put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “Your part is to sit and watch calmly. The balcony is spelled so we’ll be able to hear what happens on the floor, and they can’t hear us. The spell doesn’t, however, stop your emotions from getting through. It’s obvious you two are already attuned to each other. Take my word for it, you could disturb her concentration if you react negatively to whatever happens down there.”
Catherine spoke from across the aisle. “We’ve been through these before as she progressed through the levels, and there’s really nothing to worry about, Jim. These Defenders are experienced testers. No one will let anything happen to her, or to the other participants. I’m not telling you it will be easy for you to watch, especially since you’re new to all this, but she’s safe.”
Jim heard the truth in their words, and he struggled to ignore his unease. What had he been thinking at lunch about protecting her? Here she was going to put herself into a situation, the mere thought of which worried him? More than worried—it outright scared him, even though he really wasn’t sure what “throwing spells” meant.
The only Sword spell he’d actually seen her use was the puff-of-wind thing. The lightning bolt or whatever she’d cast at Ubell’s pursuing thugs had only been a flash in his rearview mirror. The results had been spectacular, however. Were the Swords going to throw stuff like that at her?
He began to wish he’d asked a lot more questions about everything—swords, spells, what they could do and what they couldn’t. That way he might feel better prepared for this test. Assuming he could have figured out the questions to ask. His overloaded brain had all it could do to keep up with what had happened so far.
Whatever came, he knew one thing. He had no choice. He had to sit here and watch her test calmly like Whipple said. She needed, they all needed, to know what her powers were. Besides, Irenee would be absolutely furious if he disrupted the proceedings, and he would look like a fool to her family. Jim slumped back in his chair. “Okay, I hear you.”
The electric lights in the arena were turned off and their covers were closed; the ones in the balconies were dimmed. The candles and torches in the wall sconces came alive with flames, making the scene below even more like a fantasy movie—or was it a horror show?
Baldwin did something with his hands, and the oval in the floor and its translucent curtain glowed brighter. Jim heard a distinct hum and felt the particular tension he was coming to recognize as the presence of magic. This arena, however, held no little drop of energy like he produced from his bucket, but an ocean of power.
Irenee, at one end of the ellipse, and the team at the other both pointed to the floor, and pentagons with similar walls sprang into being. The team’s were violet with silver streaks. Irenee’s was a mix of blue and indigo with only a few violet swirls.
Inside the pentagons, the combatants settled into place. Finally everyone was still.
Baldwin walked to a point midway between the two fortresses and stood close to the edge of the oval with his back to the balcony where Jim sat. A silver pentagon shot up around him.
“We’ll start with a level-six fireball and trade shots, each time increasing in strength by half a level. Irenee, alert us if you think you’ve reached your limit.” Baldwin looked to Irenee and to Kendra. Both nodded. He raised his hand and dropped it. “Begin.”
The magic-energy level soared, and in response, Jim’s center danced an excited jig in his chest. A crackling sound, then a whoosh filled his ears when a red ball of flame blasted from Kendra’s hands straight toward Irenee. Her walls dissipated the energy with apparently no problem, and he relaxed a little bit.
Maybe this wasn’t going to be too bad; his lady could obviously take care of herself.
Irenee shot back, and the duel was on. After ten blasts from each side, Baldwin raised his hands, and Irenee and Kendra lowered theirs. “I think we’re up to about level eleven, right?” Everybody nodded. “Any problem, Irenee?”
“No,” she answered, her voice ringing with total confidence. “I haven’t had to strengthen my shield at all, and I have plenty of reserve energy”
“Okay, let’s try the same thing again with lightning. Color your bolts to indicate level, starting from eight. Stop on eleven and a half. Ready? Begin.”
Again an exchange. Where the fireballs had been relatively silent, lightning brought its own sound effects when green, blue, and indigo bolts flew across the oval and exploded against the pentagons.
Jim cringed as booming cracks of thunder rebounded off the stone walls and the protective glass in front of him vibrated. When the spells ceased, the resulting silence rang in his ears.
“She’s doing very well,” Whipple told him. “As you can see, the spells can pass through the walls of their caster’s fortress, not those of their opponents. People and objects can pass through the walls in either direction. If Irenee was not as strong as she is, Kendra’s bolts could destroy her walls. We won’t let that happen, of course.”
“Right,” Jim muttered. His center stopped dancing and gathered itself into a tight fist.
On the floor, Baldwin spoke again. “Irenee, how are you?”
“Fine. My energy levels are still high. I think my last bolt registered eleven and some.” She sounded like she was having great fun.
Jim, on the other hand, was being tortured. It was harder than he’d ever imagined to have to sit there and watch Irenee be attacked. The fireballs had seemed “soft,” but when the lightning hit her pentagon, he felt like a true sword had struck him, with a hard, sharp jolt. His heart rate increased, he breathed faster, and his muscles tensed like he himself was in the fight. The “listtle” breeze of apprehension making his antennae shiver turned into a stronger wind. He gripped the armrests to anchor himself.
“Irenee, push a bolt as much as you can. Kendra, don’t reply,” Baldwin ordered. “Go.”
Irenee stood still for a moment, then with a flourish pointed her finger at the other citadel and cried, “Fulmen!”
An indigo bolt with many violet swirls streaked across the ellipse and shattered on the walls of the Defenders’ shield.
“Looked like a twelve to me,” Kendra said. “Felt like one, too.”
Everybody on the Defender team nodded their agreement.
From behind Irenee and outside the ellipse, the healer spoke up. “She’s hardly experienced any diminution of energy levels, John. Her walls are as strong as when she started, and she’s regaining energy quickly now at rest.”
“All right,” the Sword acknowledged and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go to free form and for endurance. Everything goes. Irenee, Swords, we’ll build in increments of whole levels this time, no half measures, beginning at six. Irenee, when you reach your high point, keep throwing them to see how long your energy holds out. Healers, tell us instantly if someone has a problem.”
He looked at each caster, raised his hand, and brought it down. “Begin.”
The concussions and shock waves from the immediate barrage flung Jim back in his seat. Indigo and violet lightning cracked, red and yellow fireballs exploded, and green and blue and lavender laserlike spears of light caromed about the room, off the pentagons and the elliptical shield’s interior walls. Winds howled around the oval. The pentagons glowed ever more brightly until two multico
lored, five-sided columns reached the ceiling.
Whipple provided a play-by-play analysis of each attack. Knowing exactly what was being thrown at his mate didn’t provide Jim with a single reason to relax, however, although the energy and potential in each spell awed him. These guys could kick butt!
His soul mate had power he’d never dreamed of.
All her ability didn’t mean, however, she should go off on her own like she’d been doing, he told himself. Teamwork still mattered, and as Whipple had told him, she couldn’t stop a bullet.
Both sides began to throw curveballs, spells that wound around to attack the back or sides of their opponent’s walls, and from time to time Jim lost sight of Irenee when fireballs and lightning collided.
“How much voltage or amps or whatever do they produce with those bolts?” Jim asked during a slight lull in the action.
“We’ve never had a true measurement based on modern physics or engineering,” Whipple, answered. “The use of magic melted the instruments. A couple of electrical-engineer practitioners are working on a new method for calibrating exactly how much energy a team produces. I don’t know how successful they’ll be. We haven’t yet settled on a good measurement term, like a kilowatt, so we’re left with level designations by color.”
Jim decided he might be better off not knowing how much power they were slinging around down there. He glanced back at the big pentagon. A golden band of light floated in the space between the Defenders at the points and the Swords in the middle. He pointed to it. “What’s with the ring?”
“The Defenders create a circle of magical power for the Swords to tap into. It’s how they share energy,” Whipple, replied, sounding extremely satisfied. “Destruction of an evil item takes much more power than one person can produce. We’re hoping you can help Irenee by supplying her with an extra source of energy. If you can’t help create the ring, you may be able to transfer power directly”
Holy shit! The wind of apprehension he’d felt earlier turned ice cold and gained strength. They actually expected him to produce something like that? Or at least add to it? When all he could cast in reality was a puny lightball? When he could barely control what little he had? When he didn’t have one ounce of proof he could actually share the damn stuff? His center seemed to contract into a lump of pain.
