Halfstone: A Tale of the Narathlands

by Daniel White

  “And, so… why do wielders have the ability to control it?” Aldrick asked, bemused. “And how is it that certain things like lelylan wood react to it in unique ways?”

  “We believe it has something to do with the physical nature of these things, though the specifics of this theory are unwritten. There is currently research into the elements of physicality being undertaken at Delthendra which may one day shed light on such questions. Until then, we must assume our ability to hold storm within us is a blessing, as are the rare things in this world which improve our ability to wield it.”

  “Show me how,” said Aldrick, feeling a spontaneous spur of confidence. “Show me how to wield magic.”

  Jon grinned. “Very well.” He beckoned Aldrick over to the pile of boulders near the edge of the glade. “Pick one up,” he said plainly.

  Aldrick stared at him, then down at the boulders. The smallest of them had to be at least twice his weight. “With my hands?”

  Jon nodded.

  Aldrick reached down, clasped his hands around one of them and tried to heave it from the ground using the strength in his legs. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. The boulder wasn’t going to budge.

  “It’s impossible,” he gasped.

  “Ah, but it isn’t, Aldrick,” Jon said insistently. “You only believe it to be so because you know yourself as a human, not a wielder. You are not aware of the storm within you. You must find it. Make it surge within you. Bring it to the surface and wield it to your purpose.”

  “How do I find it?”

  “By knowing it is there.”

  “I do know it’s there, you’ve told me so.”

  “No, I’ve only made you believe it, not know it.”

  “Then how do I know it?”

  “By finding it.”

  Aldrick was baffled. “Your meaning isn’t clear to me.”

  “I would not expect it!” Jon exclaimed. “Most wielders spend many years seeking within themselves to find storm. Sadly, many fail to see beyond their own reason. They know they are a wielder, they know storm exists, but they fail to understand their union with it, and therein they lose the ability to truly embrace it. But I believe in you, my boy. I believe you can find faith in who you are, not what you are. That is the key. Achieve this and you will know your storm.”

  Aldrick squinted, thinking hard upon Jon’s words.

  “So,” he began, “so what I need to find isn’t storm, it is faith.”

  “Yes, Aldrick.”

  “Faith in myself. I need to… find myself.”

  Jon nodded.

  “Whoa, I haven’t talked like this since the last time Kaal and I shared drinks in Rain.”

  Jon chuckled. “Time well spent,” he said, before returning to words of wisdom. “Do you see, Aldrick—the technicalities of the nature of storm—such things are really only valuable as foreknowledge. Find yourself. Know yourself. Only then you will come to realise your powers and your true potential.”

  Aldrick nodded. He felt Jon’s explanation had been rather indirect but reasoned that this had been intentional. There was no straight way to teach something that one can only learn oneself.

  “I think I understand,” he said. “In my mind I imagined storm as something stored up in a jar somewhere inside me, but now I see it as a part of me… yet, I don’t feel any different. I’m still the same old me I have been all my life.”

  “That is because your storm has always been with you, Aldrick, not letting slip unless your emotions bested your reason, as they did last night.”

  Aldrick considered this for a moment. Realisation struck him. Last night, it was emotion that surged through him when the skies opened above him. That was a reaction to the anguish inside him. And the day he fell over the cliff with the ka-zchen—those spurring gusts of wind had come just when he needed them, when he feared falling and dying, when he panicked. He had created them.

  “But why has my storm only made an appearance in those moments?”

  “Because it is in those pivotal moments that all the fluff of life and logic disappear and your actions become aligned with your inner self. Storm is then able to flow freely from you and interact with the world around you.”

  “Then how can wielders control it without being emotionally charged all the time?”

  “That comes with time and practise!” cried Jon. “By embracing who they are and coming to know themselves, as I have said. When this is achieved, storm may be wielded at one’s leisure. Storm may flow when you are in turmoil, but it floods when you are at peace within yourself. Reaching such a state is a challenge, to be sure, yet it is a fine thing to strive for.”

  “I see… but you say it can take years? I don’t have years to practise, Jon. I have already lost my entire childhood, ignorant to the knowledge of my identity and my past. I don’t have time to learn from scratch.”

  Jon patted him on the shoulder. “I believe in you, my boy.” A kind smile lit his face, exercising his many wrinkles.

  “You never expected me to be able to lift the boulder, did you?” Aldrick asked.

  Jon shook his head. “No, but your effort was not without purpose. I wanted you to question me, to seek your own answers. Besides, you had no idea where to begin. Storm cannot simply increase one’s strength. The technique you needed to apply was ‘gravity manipulation’, as I did with the grass.”

  Aldrick’s eyebrows rose.

  “We can manipulate gravity?” he mouthed. Phelvara had taught him some knowledge of the natural sciences as a child and he recalled learning about forces such as gravity—the worldly pull. As far as he remembered, this was something unchanging, inescapable.

  “Indeed we can,” said Jon gleefully, delighted by his ability to continually rock the foundations of Aldrick’s world. “It is a rudimentary ability all wielders are taught. We can manipulate gravity in ways contrary to its typical downward pull. Observe.” He held out one hand toward the boulder, then began to raise it slowly. The boulder trembled a little then, slowly but surely, began to rise into the air. When it was at head height, Jon ceased raising his hand and the boulder simultaneously stopped and levitated there in front of them.

  Aldrick stared, amazed and perplexed. “Woah.”

  Jon relaxed his hand and the boulder fell back to the ground with a loud thud.

  “Nicely done!” called out Télia. She was relaxing on the grass with her legs crossed by Jon’s staff.

  “I concur,” said Aldrick, beyond impressed. “May I try?”

  “Of course!” cried Jon. “Did you notice how my palm was pointed toward the boulder while I raised it? That is where we are able to naturally emit the most storm from our body. With two hands holding it as you did before, you won’t have to radiate your storm as far and should have less difficulty focusing on raising the boulder alone. I suggest you continue using such an approach.”

  “Right.” Aldrick marched up to the boulder. “So I must know myself, that it is within my power to lift it?”

  “Yes, focus only on yourself wanting to do so, and then on the act of lifting it as a secondary thing, because you already know you are capable of that.”

  Aldrick rubbed his hands together.

  “Lift it with gravity… I can do that,” he told himself. “I think,” he added.

  Again he bent down and pressed his palms firmly against the rough surface of the boulder. He wanted to lift it, he knew he could. He visualised it rising upward, then heaved with every ounce of might he could muster. Nothing happened. The boulder didn’t even tremble as it had before Jon lifted it.

  Aldrick gave up and slumped down with his back against the boulder. “It’s no use, Jon. I can’t do this.”

  “You will come to learn,” said Jon calmly. “No wielder, nor will any wielder, ever be able to achieve such a thing on their first day attempting it.”

  For a time Aldrick didn’t move. A faint ache in his head had become a heavy throb and his left shoulder felt freshly strained. He c
losed his eyes. In the background he heard footsteps as Télia walked through the glade. She began to converse with Jon but Aldrick paid no attention to their words. Instead he thought of the past and of the future. He wanted the ones responsible for murdering his parents to meet justice. The wielder Malath must have his life taken from him. It was his crime. He may have evaded reckoning all these years, but for no longer.

  Aldrick’s mind wandered to his family in the south. They were dearly missed. He hoped Braem had found Phelvara and his siblings safe in Rain, that none of this would affect them any more than it already had. It wasn’t their problem to face. Every memory of them he cherished. Still, it was infuriating that the life he would have lived was robbed of him. He needed to master control of his stormpowers—his mother’s one—her ability to take storm from another. That was how he would defeat Malath. Perhaps they did need the Halfstone Jon had spoken of, but either way, he wished to come face to face with Malath. The prospect didn’t ignite any fear in him, not as the mere mentioning of the wielder’s name had in Télia. Perhaps this was because he had never known of Malath’s wickedness. There was much he remained ignorant of.

  “Do you wish to continue, Aldrick?” Jon’s voice broke his trail of thoughts.

  He got to his feet and rubbed his shoulder. “I do, I want to. I want to learn my mother’s ability. Can you teach me that?”

  Jon surveyed Aldrick from beneath his bushy, white eyebrows.

  “I can only guide you in learning it yourself,” he said. “It may be more dangerous than the practice of common abilities. You will need to practise on me directly for only I possess storm for you to take.”

  “Maybe it is unsafe then,” Aldrick said with dwindling confidence.

  “Well yes,” agreed Jon, “Yet it is crucial. What you must first do, though, is spend more time practising what I have already endeavoured to teach.”

  “Very well.”

  “It is the only way. Know yourself, Aldrick. Know your intent. Focus. Let your storm be heard.”

  Aldrick practised for a further hour under Jon’s supervision. Jon offered no further instruction beyond that point though, encouraging him go on without distraction. He had surrendered any attempt to physically lift the boulder. Instead he heeded Jon’s words and searched for the faith to will it to do so with his storm. He willed it to rise from the earth. He told himself he could make it do so with every attempt, yet the boulder remained stubbornly motionless. Eventually frustration and annoyance bested him and he gave up.

  Jon and Télia were relaxing at the edge of the glade. The position of the sun told him it was past noon already. He was exhausted and wanted water.

  “I’m going for a break,” he said, making for the track.

  “We are right behind you,” Jon said, rising to his feet. Télia aided him. Though very subtle, there were signs that age was taking its toll on his body.

  Back at the house the three shared refreshments and took advantage of the cool indoor air.

  “It’s just not coming to me, Jon,” Aldrick said grumpily from an armchair.

  “Because it must come from you,” replied Jon adamantly. “Maybe try to find a reason—a motive to accomplish your goal.”

  Aldrick contemplated this. He did have a motive—to become powerful enough to avenge his parents. Perhaps this was too vague. He needed inspiration.

  “You could try practicing alone next time—allow yourself some peace,” suggested Télia. She sat in one corner of the room polishing her crossbow.

  Jon stopped rummaging in a kitchen cupboard and looked up at her. “A wise idea. You are an astute aera for your age, my dear.”

  Télia looked both flattered and offended.

  “Right then, I’m off,” Aldrick said, having found enough motivation to heave himself to his feet.

  “I’m off for a while too,” said Télia, also standing. “I’m going to take De’ama for a walk and explore the area.”

  “Very well, you two leave and I shall remain here,” said Jon. “I have much to think upon and there is no place like the comfort of one’s solitary mind to do such a thing.”

  Aldrick and Télia left together but parted ways at the stables.

  “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, Aldrick,” Télia shouted out as he entered the forest.

  He looked back and smiled. She stood aside her mare, returning one. He was comforted knowing she was near. She was so, so incredibly beautiful, and yet so dangerous, like a goddess from a mystical fable, a guardian angel sent to protect him. His smile lingered all the way to the glade. A peaceful sense of solitude welcomed him back. For a fleeting moment it felt as though he was back in the forests of the Mountains Rain, far from the concerns of the surrounding world. Here, though, storm had left its mark; the grass remained flattened and the boulders misplaced. He walked up to them with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t feel like beginning immediately and instead closed his eyes and enjoyed the calming silence.

  The sudden fluttering of wings caught his attention. He opened his eyes to see a black fantail staring back at him, its head cocked to one side. The bird had perched on the outreaching branch of one of the lifeless trees. With a single chirp it flew away again, into the forest. Aldrick watched it go. On the ground, beneath where it disappeared between the branches, he noticed a path which led up in the direction of the mountain tops. It was long overgrown but very definitely a path. Either Jon had made it or some animal seeking to graze in the glade. Curious, he decided to follow it. The path led him through dense undergrowth up to the treeline, whereupon it veered right. He continued along it until he found himself at the edge of a small tarn that hid within flowing golden grass. The water was crystal clear. At the base of the tarn, a smooth bowl of white clay reflected the sun’s brilliant light. A breeze swept across the surface of the water that shadows mimed in a dance upon the clay.

  Glancing across to the far side of the tarn, Aldrick’s eyes fell upon a small area where an assortment of flowering plants grew. Nestled within them was some kind of small stone statue. He made his way around to it. It appeared to be the headstone of a grave. He squinted down at small letters etched into the stone. His heart stopped. It read ‘Isobel Clarice Aedimon’. This was where Jon had buried his mother.

  7

  ALLIES

  Aldrick stood before his mother’s grave. The initial shock of reading her name upon the headstone had subsided, giving way to an unexpected sense of clarity. He didn’t feel sadness or anger, not resentment for past events nor bitterness to bear with him in future ones. He was grounded. Here his mother lay, at his feet, forging a vivid connection between him and the fantasy world which had been unveiled around him. He found himself. He knew who he was.

  The flowers adorning the grave were in full bloom even though their season had come and gone many months ago. It was a sign that Isobel was here with him, that Gilthred was too. They had never intended to leave him in this world alone. They hadn’t; their storm was invested in him. It was his to wield now.

  He stooped, plucked a single blue orchid and rested it on top of the headstone. His hand lingered there for a moment then he turned and retraced the path back into the forest. When he re-entered the glade he strode purposefully toward the boulders but stopped before reaching them. He outstretched his arm, directed his palm toward the surface of one and closed his eyes. Slowly, he began to raise his hand. He felt the gravity holding the boulder to the ground wane as he willed it upward using his own gravitational push. He could feel the boulder, like it was trying to resist, but he would not let it. He opened his eyes. There it was, levitating in front of him. His focus faltered and it began to fall, though at an unnaturally slow speed, back to the ground.

  “No!” He would not let his achievement be so brief. Again he raised his hand. The boulder rose in turn. He cast it sideways and it hurtled into the trunk of one of the dead trees. There was a mighty smash as solid stone met feeble wood and the tree collapsed. The boulder met ground
a short way beyond it and rolled to a halt at the base of another tree. Aldrick remained standing, arm outstretched, ogling at what he had done. He took a series of long, deep breaths. He could do it! He could wield! He had power. It felt good.

  There were hurried footsteps behind him. Jon burst into the glade with his staff clenched in his hand. “Aldrick! Aldrick, wha…” His attention fell upon the felled tree and the absence of the boulder. He relaxed. “Ah, I had feared the worst, but it appears that clamour was of your making.”

  “Jon, I did it!” Aldrick exclaimed. “I threw the boulder into the tree!”

  “So I see.” Jon came to his side. “Truly incredible. I am most impressed, my boy.”

  Télia appeared. She wore an expression more of excitement than concern. “I felt your storm surge, Aldrick. Have you done it? Have you wielded your storm?”

  “Yes,” he said, now trying to sound as casual as possible.

  The wide smile he adored so much lit Télia’s face. “That’s brilliant news. Well done!” She turned and looked at Jon incredulously. “So much for no wielder being able to achieve such a thing on their first day of training.”

  “Well I…” Jon began, searching for words. “It’s unheard of, until today. Young Aldrick here will become a wielder of the highest calibre, to be sure.”

  Excitement welled inside Aldrick. He could truly wield! He had found his storm. He yearned to do more. “Are there further abilities you can teach me, Jon?”

  “Indeed. There is much more I can show you.”