Flesh and Bone

by Robin Lythgoe

  “Yes.”

  “As I live and breathe! Why don’t I remember this?”

  Sherakai bowed his head, fiddling with the edge of the book’s binding. “Your leg does. The jansu made you forget what happened. Made you forget I could use the magic. I told you then to leave.”

  “But you didn’t compel me.”

  “No.” Regret weighted his heart. “I should have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Will you leave now?”

  “I haven’t decided. Will you tell me how you bested Iniki? Was it with your Gift?”

  The emphasis on the word opened a chasm between them. That was how it needed to be, but by the very stars, it hurt. Deishi had a Gift of his own; why did he make Sherakai’s sound like poison? “No.” The book held a ribbon to use as a marker. He smoothed it into place and shut the book. Fingertips brushed the light-gilded title. He wished he didn’t have to be alone, but he was painfully conscious he couldn’t drag anyone else into his misery. As he got to his feet, Fesh and Teth scrambled up from where they’d dozed in the sun. As if he’d been waiting, Fesh scooted the chair backward.

  “Stay safe, Deishi dan Arunakun. Live a good life.” Clasping the book to his chest, he made his way to the door, the beasts on his heels.

  “Is that it? You’re going to be a martyr, and I’m supposed to go have a good life?”

  He paused, head bowed. An apology took shape and he nearly turned back. Memory of the servant and the mage he’d killed stopped his voice. His Gift wasn’t poison, he was. He continued on his way without another word.

  Chapter 9

  More than a week later the beasts led Sherakai to the tower room where Bairith had offered him the kingdom. It was a demarcation from habit after mornings spent at practice. While Teth dragged him to sit on the steps, Fesh unwound the bit of fabric he’d carried.

  “What’s this?”

  The creature shook it out, pointed at his own eyes, then used it to blindfold Sherakai. With a quiver of alarm, he extended his senses to Fesh. The beast remained reassuringly unperturbed. Then the pair urged him up again. Fesh guided him up the stairs while Teth trotted along close at his side, his knobby skull beneath the youth’s hand. He expected that Bairith waited at the top, and it came as no surprise when the mage spoke.

  “Don’t the three of you look cozy?”

  Teth’s haunches thumped down, but he did not dislodge Sherakai’s hand. His sharp teeth clicked together. It was easy to imagine them taking a chunk out of the mage’s skin.

  Did Bairith expect him to defend them? Argue that without them he might have pitched himself off the stairs and broken his head open on the stones below? “Am I to kill them? Blindfolded?” Horror loomed. Mentally, he side-stepped, unable to face the thought. No, the beasts had become an anchor in his life. Gods protect them all.

  To his surprise, Bairith laughed.

  “Not today. Would you?”

  He turned toward the mage’s voice, at an angle from where he stood. “Not if the choice is mine. Sir. I don’t want to kill anyone.” Except you.

  “They are not men, they are things. You hunt, do you not? Defend yourself from wild animals? Creatures of the night?”

  “It gives me no pleasure.”

  “It should. It can give you power.”

  He did not want the kind of power that came from cruelty and violence. “Yes, sir.”

  “Shall I teach you how?”

  “As it pleases you.”

  The scent of sweet cicely accompanied the tread of steps. It did not prepare the youth for the stinging slap across his cheek. Experience made him brace for another blow. If he pulled away, he would stumble down the stairs. Perhaps Teth would catch him, or perhaps not.

  “Do not vex me, boy.”

  Heart thumping, he withdrew from Teth’s support and linked his hands behind his back. He occupied a perilous position in which any action—or lack thereof—might provoke a beating.

  The creature clicked his teeth again.

  Bairith saved him from making the decision. “You’ve already shown you have a sharp mind and wit. I do not need you to turn into a bobbing, scraping lackey. You have a tongue. Use it.”

  That was a certain plan for disaster. He swallowed. “If I hold back my words, it is to avoid bruises. I thought the blows were meant as corrections.”

  The link carried the man’s delight. “There you are.” His fingers were cool on Sherakai’s abused cheek. “You have a valid point. How shall we deal with it?”

  The blindfold didn’t handicap him as much as he had imagined. He had no trouble discerning the jansu’s prick of curiosity and amusement. He also recognized the faint thrum of challenge. Gods save me and guide me on this treacherous path. “There are some thoughts that are improper to speak,” he ventured. “I strive to master them. Perhaps, sir, you might consider striking my legs with a cane instead of hitting my face when I speak wrongly?”

  He made another noise. “I see you’ve learned caution. I am not sure I approve. It’s robbed you of a certain piquancy.”

  Sherakai had no response. Cursed if he did, cursed if he didn’t. Lessons in accepting pain and making it his own would continue.

  “Very well. Fesh, Teth, wait downstairs.” Bairith grasped Sherakai’s shoulder and guided him to the center of the chamber. Talons clicked and scratched as the beasts withdrew. “There are several items in this room, not including myself. I want you to use your Gift to find them, point to each, and name it.”

  As the mage moved away, Sherakai spun in a slow circle, sniffing to catch a scent. The air revealed nothing. He tipped his head, listening intently. Still nothing. “May I sit?”

  “If you like.”

  He lowered himself to the stone floor. While it was cold through his britches, it allowed him to spend his attention on the magic rather than staying upright. “Is there a time limit?”

  He sensed the jansu’s shrug. “Not past sunset.”

  All day? If it took that long, would he be permitted a meal in the middle? Best not to press his luck… Fingertips to the stone on either side grounded him. As he centered himself, he recalled earlier lessons.

  “Everything in this world is made up of energy. You are energy. With each breath you take, imagine gathering all the little sparks of power.”

  He found nothing on the first pass and made another, much slower. Had Bairith hidden them? Aro would have to fire such a spell. Chewing on his lip, he quested for any sign that would suggest something more than the stone floor and walls. He paused. What if stone encased each object? He narrowed the search for “anything” to a variation of “rock.” Earth was a complicated discipline. On the one hand, it encompassed rocks, boulders, and minerals. On the other, there were living things such as vegetation and animal life. How was something here different from the room itself?

  “There,” he said at last, pointing. “It’s—dirt?”

  “Close enough,” Bairith replied in a neutral voice.

  “Are the other objects from each of the spheres?” he asked, hazarding a guess.

  “That is a possibility, but it may not be accurate.”

  Beneath the blindfold Sherakai’s brow wrinkled. He shifted to rest his hands in his lap, easing the tension of his position. The first object had not been held in an earthen container, it was Earth. He crept through the room with his senses, keenly aware of cold, rough stone. Water should be easy. Or Fire. Air—How could air be contained to one space or thing? He didn’t think Bairith meant for him to point out the stuff they breathed.

  He searched until his back and his buttocks ached from sitting so long. His head throbbed from the lengthy concentration on magical energy. His belly rumbled. Could it already be midday? Awareness of his hunger ruined his focus and he had to start over again. Back and forth, inch by inch, across the floor and above the floor.

  “There!” Without warning, his voice creaked. “Fire.” It hovered a scant inch above the stone, its glo
w so mild he nearly missed it. Had missed it a score of times.

  A long silence followed. “Interesting. Your time is ended. Come.”

  “I don’t understand. You said I had until sunset.”

  “The sun went down a few minutes ago.”

  Stunned, he pressed his hand to his belly. That explained his serious hunger, but how could he have been so unaware of passing time? He might miss a few hours, yes, but an entire day? Suddenly, he wanted the reassurance of sight. “May I take the blindfold off?”

  “No.”

  Getting to his feet confirmed the hours with stiff, cramped muscles. He staggered, then righted himself. Bairith did not speak. Using memory instead of more magic, Sherakai shuffled toward him. He stopped once to adjust the angle when a small, indefinable emotion crept through the link. Bairith must have pushed it at him, for Sherakai never willingly explored that connection between them.

  The mage put Sherakai’s hand on his shoulder and led the way. At the landing, he removed the blindfold. Sherakai squinted in the light of a single torch. Fesh grinned at him happily. Teth stood and stretched with admirable exaggeration.

  “You’ll join me for dinner,” Bairith announced. It was the first such order since Sherakai’s return.

  He did not miss their meals together. Food sat better on a belly that wasn’t twisted in knots with nerves. “Yes, sir.” And then, to change the subject before Bairith could question his lack of enthusiasm, he said, “They were both tokens of different magic aspects. Were there only two?”

  “No.” He started down the steps.

  “Are the others also tokens of aspects?”

  “You will find out soon enough.”

  Sherakai spent the next week repeating the same exercise. The objects changed form and place, as did the time allotted to find them. For three of those days, he was completely unable to locate fire again, and the following three he pinpointed every single object.

  “You may remove the blindfold,” Bairith said at the end of the latest practice. Speculation in his eyes, he studied his pupil for several minutes.

  Sherakai waited to learn what the jansu would ask of him next. He liked practicing the magic. He liked the exquisite texture and weight of the stuff. And he liked the challenges it presented as well as the questions it answered. Caught up in the exercises, he didn’t have to think about the awful ways Bairith might require him to wield his talents.

  “Each of the magics, except for Spirit, is a part of our world. No matter where you are, at least one of them will be there too. You have a natural talent for being aware of your surroundings. You recognize who or what is in them and their position in relation to your own. This has been most evident in your physical exercises. Tomorrow you will spar with Deishi. He, too, has been practicing his Gift.” He extended his hand to help Sherakai to his feet.

  Deishi’s continued presence at the Gates startled and worried him. The fraction he hesitated might have been enough to insult the jansu.

  To Sherakai’s relief, Bairith chose not to admonish him.

  “The more you use that sense of awareness, the better you will fit yourself to the unique facets of each. Deishi, for example, has a talent with Water. If you are sensitive to the space around you, you will know Water and avoid it or turn its presence to your own purposes.”

  “But I can’t manipulate it,” Sherakai pointed out.

  “You can’t manipulate his sword coming at your head, either, can you? But you can move your head out of its way. You can redirect his sword. You can take advantage of the weight and momentum he’s put behind the blow.”

  “So if he throws a ball of water at me I can use the flat of my blade or my hand to catch and hit it back.”

  “Yes, something like that. You must stop separating yourself from the setting and isolating the parts. I want you to accept that you are an integral element. You are part of the energy that makes up your environment.”

  He nodded slowly. It made sense, but making use of the idea would need time and practice. “Are Fesh or Teth gifted? Could they challenge me?”

  Bairith’s eyes narrowed. “No.” He straightened his sleeves and headed for the stairs. “If you are so eager to test this theory, I believe I can keep you busy for an hour or three.”

  Sherakai suppressed an inward groan. Sessions on the sands with Bairith left his bones, muscles, and pride aching. “I do not mean to take you away from your duties.”

  “You are the only duty that matters, Sherakai.” Fesh and Teth fell into step behind them as they continued down the stairs. “These last few days have proven I did not mistake what I first saw in you.”

  “What did you see, exactly?” The answer to such a question would probably scare him, but it might also give him a clue to how Bairith meant to use him.

  “You can touch every one of the threads.” Triumph glittered all around him, so bright it stung Sherakai’s senses.

  “Oh, but that’s—”

  “Wonderfully rare?”

  Insane, he thought, but instead said, “Yes. Isn’t such a thing only a myth?”

  “An enormous number of people would like you to think so and thereby rob you of your power. But I will tell you this—” He pointed a finger at Sherakai’s nose. “The path is not an easy one and there will be much difficult work to do. I have all faith in you, little dragon. You are not just the key to opening the gate. You will bring down the entire wall and every last sanctimonious pillar.” Passion, certainty, and euphoria lit the mage’s aura in a bewildering display. It was as beautiful as it was frightening.

  “And if I cannot do this thing?” The quaver in his voice appalled him.

  “You will.” He wagged his finger just once and the fire in his eyes cooled. “You will.”

  Chapter 10

  Sherakai stood with his toes curled into the sand. He absorbed the weight and the texture of it; acquainted himself with the way the tiny grains stretched out to a small infinity. They were cool and remarkably colorful. Dark and light. Red and brown and silver and white and black. Silken when he buried his foot in the depths. Scouring when he rubbed that foot against the other. Beautiful. He pushed his toes deep then pivoted and kicked. The motion sent the sand out in a feathery arc. He focused on the energy it used. Even as the particles fell to the ground, he recognized another source of energy pushing against the air. Warmth, humor, and a strange caution all rolled into one. There was an impression of size and shape, of attitude. A teacher?

  “I hate to disturb your dancing, but I have instructions to torture you.”

  The uncertain image vanished as if it had never been.

  “Deishi.” He wished he could offer a smile of greeting, but his former roommate should not be here. So tall, so vibrant in spite of his time in this place.

  “Are you pleased to see me?”

  “Not at all. What are you still doing here? Could you not escape?” He kept the tone of his voice strictly conversational and bent to scoop up a handful of the sand. He loosed it in a smaller arch, paying strict attention to the energy it held. That was what mattered today. Not stubborn Deishi. Not ghosts.

  Deishi propped his hands on his hips. “Your manners have suffered in the past several months. Have you been ignoring them?”

  Sherakai dusted his hand against his loose, knee-length pants. Blowing out a little breath through his nose, he began a slow circle around his sparring partner. “Why didn’t you go?”

  Deishi approached, confident and expectant. Sherakai struck first, clipping his well-shaped jaw and setting him off balance. With a punch to his chest, he spun away.

  Deishi rubbed his chin with one hand, admiration in his eyes. “You need my help.” He feinted, stepping in to grab Sherakai’s arm and yank him forward. The opposite fist rose to meet Sherakai’s nose.

  He was hyper-aware of the energy surrounding him. It flowed through his opponent, himself, the air and the sand—even the barrels of water set around the ring expressly for this match. He tipped his head a
fraction of an inch, put his arm out to brace himself on Deishi’s shoulder, and lifted his knee.

  Deishi’s fist whistled past.

  The knee struck Deishi’s groin.

  As he bent, Sherakai grabbed the back of Deishi’s head and pushed him down into the sand before twisting away. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

  Deishi knelt, breathing through his teeth. “I should have seen that coming.”

  “Yes.”

  He got slowly to his feet again. “Actually, the last time I used that move you had to go see the healer.”

  “Let’s avoid that, if we can. I’ve seen far too much of him.”

  “You look different.” Deishi stalked him. “Is that his doing?”

  If he came too close, he could use his greater size and reach to pummel Sherakai senseless. Again. Sherakai drifted sideways, wondering how much taller Deishi was now. He held one hand out with fingers spread while the other remained fisted, held close. Energy pulsed on all sides. He needed to stay conscious of it. Chatter was distracting. A glimmer of aquamarine shone around his opponent’s chest and head. It reminded him of Bairith’s eye color, but he could not let that distract him, either. Cool formed to the left, just behind his line of sight. Is this what Water magic felt like? He inhaled and smelled moisture.

  The energy of magic prickled, faster and faster.

  Deishi pressed forward, his own hand outstretched and scooping the air.

  No, the water…

  Sherakai retreated a single step. “You’re not close enough,” he advised, his Voice thrumming with urgency.

  Deishi followed—and the ball of water shattered against his hand, spraying his chest and face. He jerked backward, eyes widening. “You can’t do that!”

  Sherakai twisted his body. His foot slammed into Deishi’s side and sent him crashing to the sand. “Can’t do what?”

  Deishi rolled away and scrambled up, unnerved for the first time since they’d met. “You can’t manipulate Water.”