"A gift?" he seemed interested.
"I could help my master assume his responsibilities as the head of the clan. For everybody except mother, that is."
"Gift accepted," he said. "Now, give me a pen. Six weeks ago or earlier, you say. We need to find a believable date. Let's make it a Saturday. That's right, we did your Initiation on a Saturday. The clerk we'd filed the documents with didn't have the time to file them properly, so they weren't reflected in the database, and got lost."
He quickly filled all the forms, filling all the boxes and answering all questions. For the magical signature, I had to stand there, for around fifteen minutes, as he recorded my signature on the form. There were many, many forms, which he filled expertly. I signed the last one, catching a glimpse of a smile in grandpa's face.
"I overpaid, didn't I?" I asked.
He smiled more broadly, but said nothing.
"Now, I was completely serious yesterday when I said I can't give you mother. She didn't listen to me before, she won't listen to me now. You'll need to deal with her yourself." I said the next day, after posting the forms to Jack with a brief letter of apology. Hopefully, it will soften him up a bit. At least enough to see me when I come back. "Mother carries grudges forever. I don't know how to make her forgive me for some mistakes I made when I was a child."
"Claire always had a good memory," grandpa acknowledged. "But how do you intend to make your brothers accept me?"
"By making them respect you. See you as a figure of authority, and their grandpa."
"And how will you do that?" he said.
"Well," I said. "I'm their Big Sis. You can't be me, but if they see you teaching me, they may transfer some of the respect they feel for me to you. Or not. We'll try different strategies."
Getting my brothers to like and respect grandpa shouldn't be too hard, considering their natural tendencies.
"For now," I said, "we should take them with us one of these days. They love copying me, so you could teach them how to meditate. They're light arall, after all."
"I've never taught kids before," he admitted. "My apprentices were always old enough. And my kids weren't magical."
"You'll learn," I said, "and I'll help you. They're smart kids. Just try to be patient."
Organizing what would have been a simple one-hour trip for me and grandpa took forever with the kids. Mother (after I told we'd be teaching them meditation) insisted on packing half the house for us. Other than the lamps, tea, and sandwiches we usually carried, she insisted on packing blankets, a first-aid kit, dry socks, and a spare change of clothes for all three of them.
"We're not going camping," I pointed out, trying to fit everything in one backpack. "They'll be fine. We're coming back for dinner, anyway."
She was having none of it. After I tried, for the third time, to take out everything and pack it all in, she brought another backpack.
"Sam can carry it," she said. "You're still too weak."
Which was unfair. Thanks to the exercise and the food, I was back to ordinary thin now, no more a living skeleton. But Sam is twelve, as he likes to remind us all the time, so he is strong enough to carry what I couldn't fit into grandpa's backpack. Besides, I could always carry it myself after we left my mother's watchful eye (at least a mile, that is).
My brothers were excitedly blabbering, excited over being allowed to join us. When I explained to them that I needed the training to get better, they accepted the explanation, but I could see their disappointment. They wanted to spend more time with me, as I rarely visited home.
"Where are we going? How long does it take? Can I carry a backpack too, like Sam?" Mikey asked, and stopped to breathe. "I found a feather yesterday. Look how white it is. I think it's a crane feather. Tommy says that cranes haven't returned back yet, so it can't be a crane. But look how big it is! Will we see cranes?"
I'm not sure what trauma makes young chatterboxes into people like my grandfather, nor do I want to know. But I must admit, charming as they are, my brothers are exhausting. So, I redirected Mikey towards grandpa. That was the whole point of this exercise, after all.
"Ask grandpa," I said. "He knows more about birds than I do."
That's not hard, considering I know nothing about birds. The only thing I can tell you about them is how to cook them. And which ones are the tastiest. The obvious answer is duck, clearly. But to Mikey, his Big Sis not knowing something was a shock. I was the one who built train models, could make a great kite, and knew how to draw every part of a steam and diesel engine (which he then colored in the most cacophonic colors). So he looked at grandpa wide-eyed, with the adoration that sometimes bothered me so much.
Grandpa, who clearly didn't know much about birds, either, shot me a dirty look but accepted the supposed crane feather.
"I saw a book on birds somewhere," he said. "Let's go check for sure. Then you can show Tommy the book, and he'll know he's wrong."
After grandpa found the relevant bird in the book (yes, it was a crane feather; there are apparently three types of migrating cranes in this area alone), Billie took out his collection of feathers. It was total chaos, and we hadn't even stepped out of home yet. I smiled, looking at the scene. Sam was too proud to ask any questions (he's twelve, he knows how to consult a book; besides, who cares about feathers?), but I could see him listening in to the conversation.
Mother, who had packed everything to her satisfaction by now, was also observing the scene.
"He was never like that with us," she said, quietly. "Maybe he has changed."
"Maybe," I shrugged, "or maybe now that he's not the parent, he gets to spoil them. He's not that bad, you know. He's just..."
"An Inquisitor?" mother said.
"Well, that, but on our side."
She nodded and stood quietly as I started to organize the expedition.
The hour-long trip, which grandpa and I did at a brisk pace, took about two hours. By the time we arrived, after having stopped to observe every pretty rock, feather, spiderweb, and branch, the boys were hungry, so I had to unpack the bags. The first aid kit was quite useful -- as well as the dry socks. Seriously, how did they manage to get so many injuries and get their feet so wet? There weren't even that many puddles on the way.
After feeding them, we sat on the blankets, trying to explain to them what to do. I mostly let grandpa do the explaining, just observing them for a change. I was quietly slacking off, letting him do all the work. It feels good not to be the one responsible."So, if I learn magic, will I be like Tommy's dad? Tommy says I could never be like him." I heard Mikey say between most of the chatter I filtered out.
That raised a few alarms. My brothers are the only light arall in Crow Hill. Crow Hill, like the rest of Caerland, was a bastion of dark arall. One in three people here is dark. So, while it had been a great place for me to grow, it could be terrible for my brothers. I did everything I could to protect them, but it wasn't always enough.
"And who's Tommy's dad?" grandpa asked before I said anything.
Mikey looked at us with incomprehension.
"Tommy's dad is Tommy's dad. Big, strong, like a mountain."
"Mikey," I said, trying to gauge the situation, "why would you want to be like Tommy's dad? Don't you want to be like father instead?"
"Well," Mikey said. "When Tommy's dad helps us go to school, the older boys don't take my lunch money."
Great. So my little brother was being bullied. At least he had a friend, though.
"And have you told your father about it?" asked grandpa. "Because your father is also strong, too."
"Actually," I said, "I think we don't need to bother father. Grandpa is also strong. I'm sure he can come with you to school and make sure this never happens again. Can't you, Gramps?"
"I could," he said, carefully.
"That's great! So grandpa will go with you to school on Monday, and make sure those mean bullies don't bother you again."
"Really?" the look Mikey gave grandpa would make it impossib
le for anybody with a heart to refuse. I certainly could never do it.
"Really." Grandpa said.
"Grandpa will help you now," I then said, "but bring Tommy tomorrow. I'll teach you two a few tricks."
"I'd also like to meet your friend," grandpa then said. I could see he wanted to control what I was going to teach them. "But for now, we should go back to teaching your Big Sis. She really needs to learn to recover. Dana, start training!" grandpa ordered.
This was not the time to question grandpa's authority.
"Yes, sir!" I said, and went to the opposite part of the cave, leaving them to their own devices. He seems to get the gist of it, at least.
27
Tommy was dark. Seriously. I don't really understand how a dark boy ended up being best friends with a light boy, but they were. Maybe it was because their magic hadn't manifested itself. At least Sam and Billie didn't have such exotic friends. They stuck to non-magicals.
He looked at me from below, in amazement. He didn't utter a single word since he came. That was quite an unusual behavior for a dark boy. Although dark arall are not the chatterboxes light arall are, they are usually not shy. Not at this age, when magic first starts manifesting itself. I looked at Mikey. He pulled my sleeve, and I leaned. He put his mouth in my ear, shielding it with his palm.
"Tommy didn't believe me when I told him you are like him," he whispered. "And that you're stronger than his dad."
Ah! I could imagine the kind of nonsense Mikey could tell about me.
I only knew one way to deal with weird boys.
"Do you like trains?"
My brothers weren't too interested in trains. They always liked living things a lot more than they did machines. Birds, fish, plants, all kinds of insects -- they studied them in detail, learning their names and building a collection of drawings. But trains, cars, engines, even fireworks -- they'd play with for a couple of hours and then abandon.
Tommy, weird that he was, still liked trains. So when I took my toy collection from the attic, where it had been carefully packed in well-labeled boxes (I was planning to take them someday, when I lived in a bigger house), his eyes were brightly lit. Seeing his enthusiasm, Mikey joined us. It was nice to have one of my brothers join me with such enthusiasm in playing with toy trains.
After building a railway that spanned the whole living room, and running the trains for a couple of hours (they worked with a spring that had to be wound every so often), he was comfortable enough I could talk with him.
"So, Tommy, I heard your dad sometimes goes with you to school," I said casually, as we were picking up the train tracks. Mother told us we had to collect everything before lunchtime. She didn't like having train tracks in her living room.
"He likes to come with me. My sisters don't let him walk with them. They say walking with their dad would destroy their reputation."
"Sisters? How many sisters do you have?"
"Five," Tommy said.
Poor boy. So that's why he's so weird. Five sisters! Five dark females living in his house. That explained why he was so shy. And why Mikey befriended him. My brothers never followed my instructions of befriending the strongest, smartest people. They always collected the most pitiful of people around them. Well, at least Tommy could be his equal. And, with a bit of encouragement, maybe he could get over his unnatural shyness.
After lunch, during which my brothers' non-stop chatter didn't hide Tommy's silence, I decided that I would also try to teach Tommy how to fight. So I took him and Mikey, as I had planned before, to a grass field near our house. Somehow, though, Billie, Sam, and grandpa ended up tagging along.
After doing an extensive warmup, and making them run a few circles, I sat down to talk with them.
"Now, before we start," I said, looking at both of them. "The first thing you need to know in a fight is, you win by not fighting."
Grandpa snickered.
"What?" I said, looking at him. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Reminding me of all the times I hadn't followed my own advice. I ignored him. The advice I was giving them was not for me.
"And you know what the best way to not fight and win is?" I asked.
"By being the strongest person?" Mikey suggested.
"That's a good answer," I complimented him. "But how do you show you are the strongest person?"
"By winning all the fights?" Tommy said.
"Well, yes. But how do you win a fight you didn't start?"
They looked at me, quiet.
"If you remain calm when everybody is angry or scared," I said, "you are showing you are strong. That's why, when everybody's shouting, you should speak quietly. But don't look scared."
They both nodded. Sam, who had heard the same advice before, decided to ask a few questions.
"But how do you do that? How do you avoid a fight without looking scared?" he asked.
The question was for the younger boys' benefit. Sam was a master in avoiding fights. Despite patiently practicing the moves I had taught him, and showing them to my brothers, he had never been in a fight. Ever.
"By not being scared. But don't take this as a license for being stupid -- if you face more opponents, run. Then, find allies."
I don't think they'll understand the deep wisdom I was teaching them. But maybe they'll remember it one day. Who knows?
"And now, stand up. I will show you how to make sure you don't get hurt. Up," for now, I would show them a few tricks.
Grandpa, who'd been sitting and observing us as I taught a few tricks to my brothers, sat closer to me. The boys were practicing the movements I had taught them, in pairs, and I was observing them.
"I can see you take your role as the head of the family very seriously," he said.
"Ex-head," I said. "You're the one in charge of them, now. I'm just helping you, now."
He nodded, still observing them.
"They're great boys," he said. "And they seem to be doing well here. Even make some... unusual friends."
Grandpa clearly felt ambiguous about Tommy. I could understand that. I did too. He was a bit weird. But then, considering the friends Sam had, Tommy was an improvement. It seemed like I was starting to influence my brothers' choice of friends.
"Yeah," I said. "They do very well. Sam is the best in his school, you know."
Grandpa nodded.
"But, despite that," he continued, "this is not the best place for them. They need to go to schools that will prepare them better. Schools that have experience in teaching light arall."
"That would be nice," I said. "But we don't have such schools in Caerland. And I don't think it is safe for Sam to leave Caerland. Not after what happened to me."
Grandpa nodded gravely.
"Yes, it doesn't seem to be safe," he said. "But Dana, we can't keep Sam here forever, either. His magical talent is too great."
"You tested him too, didn't you?" I asked. "So what is Sam's level?"
"He's at least a three," grandpa said. "And he's young. His talent will grow and develop more. He has the potential of an Archimage. He can't stay here."
"I know," I said.
"Dana," grandpa said. "I know you're a very brave young woman. But not when it comes to your family. You take risks for yourself. Sam should be allowed to do the same."
I stared at him, angrily. To accuse me of cowardice! When he had behaved like a coward, also -- retreating to Ashford, leaving the people who had harmed him safely sleeping in their beds.
"This wouldn't have happened if you had done your duty properly," I said. "If you had avenged Billie, my family would be safe. I wouldn't have to make Sam choose between his talent and his safety."
"And how would you know that?" grandpa asked. "You still don't know who attacked you, don't you?"
I didn't. But admitting that would mean grandpa was right, so I deflected.
"Boys!" I shouted. "Stop. I'll show you a new move now."
Now that
I was feeling better, grandpa was right. I had to learn who put that bomb. Assuming it was because of the project, it had to be about something recent. A change that had happened recently that made the attackers nervous enough to act quickly. I had given that report to the Captain the day before the attack. Could whatever was in it have spooked the attackers?
I sat down, trying to remember the report. Without the notes and pictures I had made, it was quite hard. All the memories of the days before the explosion were quite fuzzy. The sleep and pain-relieving spells I had been placed under in the hospital had probably messed my brain. But I had spent quite a long time writing that report, especially making the drawings, so I remembered most of the process.
I decided to go to father's office, where grandpa had returned once I had gained enough control of my magic to be able to sleep safely. The mattress was occupying half the floor, and I leaned it on the wall. I started recreating the drawings, and the report, with the guesses I had made. I had made a lot of guesses and estimates; what I put in the final report was less clear.
Father came in to the office, as I was writing down my recollections, using father's calligraphy set, carefully tracing the symbols I had drawn.
"I see you're here, little princess," he observed awkwardly. I nodded. "I came to collect a few files."
I hadn't talked to father, properly at least, since I came. He'd been avoiding me, and I had been too busy to chase him.
"Papa..." I said, feeling like a little girl who had disappointed her father. "Are you disappointed in me?"
He shook his head, looking sad. There wasn't any other chair in the room, so I stood up, pulling the chair out, and sat on the desk.
"Papa... I am sure mother told you what happened, but will you listen to my version of the story?"
He sat on the chair, looking up at me.
I told him the same story I told mother, but with different points I emphasized. For him, I tried to explain the feelings of filial piety that made me approach grandpa; the reasons I accepted the job, how I tried to be careful, how I ended up almost dying. As I explained the story to him, I could see how differently he reacted. When I finished the story, I noticed he looked more sad than angry.
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 20
