She waved Lodo inside, then Shilly. The hostel owner’s smile faltered when she saw Sal waiting to come in too, but she sniffed and let him past.
They filed into the kitchen. There Sal saw Lodo touch a miniature version of the brass cylinder he had struck in the workshop, stifling its faint vibration. The old man’s expression was one Sal hadn’t seen before: part amused, part chastened.
“I was considering a picnic,” Lodo said, taking a seat at the heavy wooden table. “By the sea.”
“For how many?”
“Ten, perhaps. We don’t want too large a group.”
Von shrugged. “It won’t be anything fancy.”
“We’re not royalty. The less trouble it is to you, the better.”
“Then I think I’ll manage well enough.”
Lodo turned to Sal. “Your father is invited, if you think he might like to come.”
Sal was about to say that he wasn’t sure, when Von said shortly: “He’s upstairs.”
“I’ll go ask him.”
Von stared at him, then turned to Lodo. “Yes. You go too,” she added to Shilly.
Sal left the room, glad to be away from Von’s odd looks. Shilly followed him, her tattered blue dress whispering as she brushed the wall.
“Did you notice anything weird about Von?” Sal whispered.
“Where do I start?”
“No, seriously.”
“Back at you. She’s an odd one. They make a nice pair.”
“What, her and Lodo? Really?”
“No, not really, but I think she’d be interested. He helps her out and she cooks us meals sometimes. Like tonight. The menu is pretty dull out at the workshop, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Sal hadn’t seen Lodo eat at all. But there was no time to pursue that topic. They had arrived at the door to the room Sal shared with his father. He knocked once and went in.
His father was seated on his bed, digging through the contents of his pack. Dull brown and weatherworn--not dissimilar to the man who carried it--it sagged limp in his lap. Sal thought he saw something thrust hastily back into it as the door opened, but couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, Sal, it’s you.” His father put the pack aside and folded it shut. “Hello, Shilly. Sal’s told me who you are. You can call me Gershom.” He held out his hand. Shilly took it, shook once and let go. “Finished lessons for the day?”
“I guess so.” Sal explained that Lodo had invited them to an impromptu picnic on the beach. Initially, his father looked uncertain, but acquiesced when Shilly said that she thought it might have something to do with Sal’s training.
“Know the enemy?” he asked with a smile. “I guess that makes sense. You two go on down and I’ll follow in a second.”
Sal did as he was told--but noted his father reaching back into the pack as they left the room.
As they came down the stairs, they caught a fragment of conversation from the kitchen.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lodo was saying. “You can’t seriously think that he’s--”
“I know what I’ve seen,” retorted Von, her voice soft but intense. “And heard. Everyone--”
She fell silent at the sound of footsteps on the corridor’s wooden floorboards.
“Well?” Von snapped as they walked in. “Is he coming?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My food won’t be wasted, then.”
“What about your other guest?” Sal asked, trying to be helpful. “Shall I see if he’d like to come too?”
“No,” Von said, casting Lodo a quick glance. “I don’t think he’ll fit in with this lot.”
If Lodo knew what she was talking about, he made no sign. “Well,” he said, “if you don’t need a hand, perhaps we’ll meet you there.
“No trouble. Where exactly is ‘there’?”
“Around the bluff, I think, where it’s sheltered.”
“And out of sight of town.” Von nodded understanding. “I won’t be long.”
Lodo smiled and bustled his apprentices ahead of him again, out of the room and out of the hostel.
There was no turning back. Sal’s nervousness rose in direct proportion to the proximity of the sea. He remembered the way it had moved, the constant turmoil just below the thin skin of its surface. He remembered the feel of that skin closing over his head and sucking him down.
“Wait, Lodo.” He reached out and grabbed the old man’s arm. “What did my dad mean when he called the sea ‘the enemy’?”
“Well, he has reason, I guess.” Lodo looked around. “The sea isn’t your enemy, Sal. It’s dangerous, and it can be deadly, but it bears you no ill-will. Not personally.”
“Then why …?”
“The sea isn’t your enemy, Sal. It’s the people who use it you have to be careful of.”
Sal was more confused than ever. “The fishermen?”
Lodo laughed. “No, but that’s a fair guess. Look, let’s keep moving and I’ll explain as I go. Don’t worry about the sea tonight. You’ll be safe with us as long as you keep your anklet on.”
Sal looked up into the old man’s face and knew he had little choice. There was kindness in that expression, but determination also. And sympathy, although Sal wasn’t sure what for.
They walked on, Shilly trailing at a leisurely pace, kicking at stones.
“The background potential,” Lodo explained, “is like a well-spring. It trickles forth slowly but surely, and those with the Change can use it if they know how. But since, as you have learned, some places have more potential than others, the trick often lies in finding such places that are suitable for your needs. Not all well-springs are the same; different skills require different flavors, different sources. Now, this knowledge is more important than it sounds. On it lies understanding of the great rift that divides the Stone Mages and the Sky Wardens. It explains why the Strand and the Interior are the way they are--and why, even though skirmishes are common between both nations, one has never succeeded in taking over the other.”
“Why’s that?” Sal asked, intrigued.
“Because we can’t use each other’s reservoirs,” Lodo said. “It is that simple. The Stone Mages draw forth the background potential from bedrock and store it in fire. Sky Wardens, on the other hand, weave into the air what they take from the sea. The sea, in short, is their reservoir. It may not obey their will, but it is theirs nonetheless. They can tap into it and read its humors; when they bathe in it they absorb some of its vitality; and when they die, they are cast back into it, to sink slowly into its depths and become one with the water.”
Understanding dawned. Shilly had once said that the sea belonged to the Sky Wardens; Sal hadn’t realized that she had meant that more literally than he had thought.
“So being near the ocean,” Lodo went on, “places us near the Sky Wardens as a whole. You see, the Haunted City might be the metaphorical center of the Strand, but the sea is its heart. Without it, the Sky Wardens would just be people like everyone else, the Syndic and Alcaide nothing but fancy titles, and the Conclave a privileged upper class destined for bickering and impotence.” Lodo’s expression was almost a sneer; his gaze focused on a distant place. “Away from it, the Sky Wardens are nothing. Yet it is as nothing to the Stone Mages, who cannot use it. This is the barrier that keeps the nations apart.”
Sal was less interested in a political discussion than learning about his own situation. “If being near the sea is the same as being near the Sky Wardens, what happens when you’re in it?”
The old man seemed to return to himself. “In it? Oh, I see. Well…” He shrugged. “It might mean nothing more than that you had an impromptu swim. But only time will tell. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Ah, look.”
The road they were following had hit a sharp bend.
“Almost there,” said Lodo, and strode on ahead
as though grateful for the interruption.
Sal lagged behind, not wanting to face the ocean again. The last time, it had held an unearthly gaze searching for him through the water. Had its owner seen him? Did it belong to the Sky Wardens? Would they catch him if he fell in a second time? He imagined an ice-blue figure poring over a crystal telescope, one end in the ocean, the other held to its piercing, burning eye.
Shilly’s elbow in the small of the back nudged him forward.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere without me down there.”
He didn’t want to remind her that it hadn’t helped last time.
They followed Lodo around the bend and between two shoulders of weathered sandstone--a natural gateway to the beach. One moment the sand and ocean were just suggestions on the wind: the smell of salt and fish, the sound of waves and gulls. Then, suddenly, there the sea was before them, even bigger than Sal remembered and twice as terrifying.
And yet, at the same time, it wasn’t. The surf wasn’t as strong. In fact, it seemed to be in retreat.
“We’ve missed high tide,” said Shilly. “That’s something.”
“Yes.” Lodo looked around, pointed to a slight hollow in the sandstone shelf. “There will do nicely. We’ll sit and wait for the others.”
Sal did as he was told. The white sand was soft--almost oily--between his toes as he stepped across the beach. He concentrated on the stone ahead of him rather than the sea at his back, but he could still feel the waves reaching for him like out-flung hands, trying to drag him into the ocean’s depths.
And all around him, even through the anklet’s deadening spell, he could feel the Change buzzing.
They sat in a close circle in the shade, facing each other. Shilly immediately began sketching, sweeping her index fingers through the sand with sure, rhythmic strokes.
“The most important thing you have to learn,” said Lodo to Sal, “is to close yourself off from the background potential. That is the way others will detect you. Think of yourself as an island surrounded by water. If people on another island nearby can build a bridge across the water, your island and theirs can be joined. Sometimes this is a good thing. In your case, it is most likely to be bad. So you have to stop that bridge being built.”
Sal nodded, even though he had no idea how to do such a thing.
“Another way to visualize it is as if you are a castle surrounded by a moat. Someone outside wants to cross the moat, so you make the moat wider and wider until no bridge can cross it. If you think of it this way, the background potential is everything on the other side of the moat. You must learn how to distance yourself from the outside. You must learn the art of solitude.”
Shilly finished drawing with a satisfied nod. Lodo regarded her work with a pleased expression, and Sal tried to understand what it was, exactly, that she had drawn. It looked like a complicated series of interlocking circles. From one angle, the circles seemed to be looping around each other in a chain; from another, they seemed to be converging on the center. Then, if Sal blinked, they seemed to move into another configuration, as though they were alive.
“This is called a Cellaton Mandala,” said Lodo. “It is designed to simultaneously shield you and confuse attack. The rings are only an analogy to the actual processes involved, but an analogy is all we need when dealing with minds and the Change. An advanced student learns how to visualize them as spheres, completely enclosing themselves. For now, this will have to do.” Lodo’s eyes didn’t move from Sal’s. “I want you to attempt to hold the image Shilly has drawn in your mind’s eye. Let it hang there, moving as it wills. Concentrate on it as closely as you can. You will have to learn to hold the image at the back of your mind while you go about your everyday thoughts and activities, but for now we won’t try anything so complicated. Do you think you can do this, Sal?”
Sal nodded, even though he was uncertain about the entire process of visualizing anything. He could try, at least. He settled back into a comfortable position and focused on the drawing before him. Unblinking and not looking away, he tried to inscribe the complicated arrangement of circles onto the surface of his eyes. It was hard, though; they seemed to slip away from him. He knew it was an optical illusion, but that didn’t make it any easier.
After a couple of minutes, he closed his eyelids. The circles remained, etched in red against black. Their movement only seemed to increase, though, and he flailed mentally, and fruitlessly, to stop them from spinning away into the darkness. The pattern fragmented and dissolved, and he heard Lodo chuckling as he opened his eyes for another go.
“Many people rich in the Change have this difficulty,” said Lodo. “It’s always easier to use a power than not to use it.”
Sal clenched his jaw and concentrated harder. This time, when he closed his eyes, he retained control of the spinning circles long enough to feel a difference. The buzz of the sea ebbed for a moment, and the constant tickle that told him where Shilly was faded to nothing. He was, just for a split-instant, alone.
His success surprised him so much that he lost control of the Mandala again. When he opened his eyes, he saw Lodo smiling.
“I did it!”
“You took a step forward,” said the old man. “A small one. If you are going to hide from the Sky Wardens when they come, you will need to do much better for much longer--and without the anklet to help you. Keep practicing.”
Sobered, Sal tried again. He never quite achieved the complete isolation of his second attempt, but his control over the circles did gradually improve.
He could tell that Shilly was getting bored when, from around the curve of the sandstone wall, he heard a voice calling them.
“Over here!” she yelled, standing up and brushing the pattern away with her feet.
“Ah.” A slender man came into view. It was Josip, the mechanic. “Von told me you’d be here.”
“We are indeed,” Lodo said. “I’m glad you could come.”
Josip was carrying a wicker basket, which he set down on the sand between them. Nodding to Sal and Shilly, he squatted down on the beach and looked around.
“It’s going to be a clear night,” he said.
Sal agreed. The sun was sinking to his left, and the sky was deepening in color. Rich blues and indigos crowded together, bursting into reds and yellows closer to the horizon. Despite the lack of clouds, the sunset was going to be magnificent.
A moment later, Sal’s father joined them, followed by an old woman Sal recognized as Aunty Merinda, the white-haired market seer, and Von, carrying another basket and a folded mat. Moving people aside and clearing a space, Von unfolded the rug and opened the baskets. Within was a variety of breads, salted meats, cheeses, and some brightly colored salad vegetables.
Two other people Sal hadn’t formally met before joined them for the meal. One was a short, stumpy man by the name of Derksen who made charms for the local fishers. He carried a small guitar in one hand, strung with seven thin wires. Sal couldn’t recall where he’d seen Derksen before, until he remembered the man in the russet suit at the market who had asked his father about the toa marks on the bottom of a crystal. Derksen acknowledged Sal with a wink.
The other was a woman about Sal’s father’s age who made a living divining for springs in the area. Her name was Thess, and she wore a long, blue smock over her advanced pregnancy. When she arrived, Aunty Merinda ran her hands across Thess’s stomach and nodded with satisfaction.
“Beating strong,” the old woman declared. “He’ll be a tough one, like his father.”
Thess rolled her eyes, and gratefully eased back onto the mat.
“Thanks for heeding my call,” said Lodo when everyone was seated and introduced. “It’s good to see you all in one spot again.”
“Our pleasure, I’m sure,” said Josip, to a murmur of agreement. “Any excuse will do, ill or otherwise.”
“You feel it too?” the old man asked.
“A twitching in my joints,” Aunty Merinda complained. “Something’s up.”
Thess nodded. “I assume you know what it is,” she said to Lodo.
“No.” The old man shook his head. “But I think we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Then there’s time to eat,” said Von, passing around plates and stoneware mugs. From one of the baskets she produced flasks of fresh water and wine. “The Earth’s blessing be upon this food and all who eat it.”
Lodo nodded. “Agreed. And thanks especially to you, Von, for providing it.”
Von looked uncomfortable, but accepted the thanks and indicated the trays of food. Sal felt his stomach rumble, and reached for meat and salad. Shilly ate only salad, bread and cheese, as did Lodo, who picked at his plate like a bird at seed. Sal’s father ate awkwardly at first, but unwound as conversation flowed around him. Sal didn’t participate much, for the most part watching the adults as they talked.
They were an odd group, centered mainly around Lodo or his work: Josip had his charm necklace, unusual for so deep in the Strand; Derksen wore a bronze ring in one ear; a delicate tattoo snaked around one of Thess’s fingers. Aunty Merinda had the Change in common with him, if not the same methodology. Von seemed to like Lodo for himself. And then there were Sal and his father, drawn from the borderlands by the promise and threat of the Change, caught in the net.
The sun set in a wash of reds. As night fell and a slight breeze sprang up, the sea became easier to ignore. Overhead, flocks of seagulls fluttered restlessly to and fro, making Sal nervous. They looked like bats in the growing darkness, but they never flew too close to the group on the ground. Derksen found a large, round stone further up the beach, which Lodo set aglow by holding it between his hands and concentrating upon it. It cast no heat, just a light much like campfire embers, softening the faces of those sitting around it.
“What about the town lights?” asked Thess.
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 17
