by LeRoy Clary
I’d heard all my life that a person can go thirty days without eating, but only two or three without water, and in the Brownlands, that time was cut in half. I’d heard that, and believed it was probably true, but didn’t mean that the person going thirty days without eating would be happy about it. I was hungry.
Worse, Kendra was a bear when hungry. She was a bear when a meal was served late. She took it out on anybody around her—and right now that was me. If the flash of sunlight meant people were nearby, they might have food to spare. If it was our enemies . . . well, we needed to know that too. Maybe we could steal their food.
I went back to the horses and pulled and tugged until getting them to leave the grass for the dried leaf-coated ground where we slept. Their protection was more important than more grass, and they could eat again after we woke. I tied them securely to a low branch and moved my blanket to the edge of the shade, all done as quietly as possible. Waking a tired, hungry, sister to tell her to move her bed didn’t appeal.
I fell right to sleep.
When I woke, Kendra was up. She had the horses at the patch of grass near the riverside and saw me stand. She returned to camp, leaving them to graze in the only grass in sight. She said, “You know how you always complain about how a true mage makes storms and such, and you’re so proud of yourself for making that little raincloud that barely got us wet?”
I nodded my agreement. What she said was not totally true, but she was heading somewhere by opening the conversation that way. Before responding, I needed to find out where the conversation was going so I could defend myself.
She continued, “Well, I was thinking. How small can you do it?”
“Small?” The question was completely different from what I’d expected, and she hadn’t complained about being hungry once.
She held out her water jug and pointed at the top.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to get a rain-bath every time I want a drink. Instead of objecting so fast, just think about it. Like you did that time when you put the spot of water you placed on the crotch of a young royal, Lord Kent, who was being offensive to Princess Elizabeth at Crestfallen. Remember? Do the same, but with a little more water.”
I laughed . . . then quit. She was serious. Worse, she might be right as she held the open container nearer to me, her face serious, her eyes imploring. With trepidation, I concentrated on the moisture nearby, the morning dew that remained in shaded places, the dampness just under the surface of the glen, and then my mind found the obvious source, the river a few short steps away.
The river water was easy to gather and draw near me, sans the mud in it. Instead of directing how it should be done, I let my mind wander and explore. All the water concentrated in one tiny space above the jar. A trickle the size of a thread flowed and splashed into it with the watery sound of a small spring falling down a rocky hillside.
The water jug echoed the sound. The stream was tiny but would eventually fill the jar. Elated, I pushed harder, and the thread of water grew to the diameter of yarn, then larger. It flowed clean and clear, as large around as a small rope, and quickly overflowed the jar. Kendra grabbed another with a whoop of pure joy.
She was no happier than me. My magic was doing something purposeful and helpful. More than parlor tricks. To anyone looking on, they would believe they were watching a mage. I shut the water off but had accumulated into a bubble of it in front of me the size of a melon. It had nowhere to go but fall to the ground, and if it did, both of us were going to get wet.
I concentrated harder and no longer drew water to me, but kept it hovering near our faces, then with a power drawn from deep inside, I pushed. Pushing water is not easy. No easier for a mage than a normal person. Imagine pushing water in a lake with your hands. As you push, more fills in behind. It was an example I’d use a hundred times.
So, instead of pushing in the normal sense, I engulfed the entire sphere of water at once, grasping each molecule of water individually, and pushed all at once. The water shot away from us, spreading out and turning into a brief fog as if some giant had spat a mouthful of water.
We sat and looked at each other, neither of us knew the words to say. We were astounded, impressed, amazed, and fairly speechless.
Kendra recovered first, which was no surprise. She had the quicker mind. “That was fun.”
Her choice of words was not those I’d choose. I said, “I saw a flash of light this morning. Two, actually. Like a glint of the sun off metal or glass.”
“Where?”
“North, nearer the lake. We should go there and investigate.”
She nodded, without the mention of food or a complaint about a slight detour. “If there are soldiers close by, we need to know. Also, glass or metal has to be clean to reflect sunlight and things get covered with sand quickly in the desert. To me, it says there must be at least one person out there, the flash was not made by something left behind years ago.”
Her method of analyzing things fascinated me. She stripped down a problem, determined the probable outcomes of each option, and arrived at the correct solution. Me, I just plunged ahead and hoped for the best.
Anna’s thoughts came to me. *We are nearing the channel to the next lake. No soldiers in sight and no boats are chasing us. The wind has picked up, and we’re using the sail and resting those rowing. I’m going to take a nap.*
I answered, *We are just waking up after a long night. We saw a flash of light in the distance and are going to check it out.*
*Be safe.* The link to her mind blanked, and I told Kendra the little she’d shared, although I shouldn’t sound like it was not good news. Often when nothing happens, that is the good news.
We rode out, side by side for a change. I pointed the way where the two flashes of light came from, then said, “Ever since we were near that last Waystone my powers have been stronger. I don’t understand it.”
“There must be a link,” she agreed. “Maybe it opened your mind up to accept what you’re capable of doing.”
We rode on. After a while, I said, “I’d like to find another Waystone.”
“You want more power?” she asked. “Be wary of too much.”
That was a direct question my mind dodged answering. Did I want more? “A little time alone with a Waystone might provide answers for what happened to me. Why we’re here.”
“Or give you more power and you’ll be more arrogant and dangerous.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She turned to me. “Power is a funny thing. It can help with a specific situation, but when things return to normal—then what? Are you sure you want to mess with something that might turn you into the next Young Mage?”
“I’m not like him.”
She didn’t accept that. With a shrug, she said, “Not yet. Keep messing with things you don’t understand and who knows?” She touched her heels to the flanks of the horse and spurred it to move ahead of me.
I wanted to fight back. I had nothing.
I also knew she was right. We rode on, keeping a careful watch ahead. Our route changed slightly when we neared a small hill off to our right. We rode most of the way up the backside, then walked our horses until we could see over the top to the flatland beyond.
The lake was still out of sight, too far away to see. However, there was a patch of green in a small valley. Trees and tilled fields were evident. A single large structure stood in the shade, a long, low building constructed of wood and mud plaster. Others smaller buildings surrounded it. Nobody was in sight, but animals grazed in the pasture, a few sheep, goats, and two horses.
I said, “We should spend time watching and learning before revealing ourselves.”
“I’m hungry.”
Her tone was not pleasant and stealing a goat might be the easiest solution. However, as I thought about that, a pair of dogs barked crazily. Not at us, but perhaps they’d caught our scent. The door opened, and a large man strode out,
followed by another, slightly smaller.
They paused, looked around, and appeared to be brothers. Their hair was black and wild, the kind that sticks out at all angles and refuses to be tamed. Their shoulders were wide. They moved with power.
Kendra said softly, “One end of the largest building is a house. The other end a barn. An interesting concept.”
“Where does the water to grow the trees and crops come from? A spring?”
“Maybe one of them is a nasty-tempered mage who refuses to feed his sister when she’s hungry.”
I barked a laugh, then stifled it, so they didn’t hear me. There seemed two ways to proceed. Try and sneak down to the cabin and steal what we could, or ride in the open and hope for the best reception. We chose the latter.
That does not mean we went without a caution. Kendra loosened her throwing knives, and I slipped my sword, but more importantly, I began using my mind to search. And my eyes.
My enhanced senses reached out. I readied myself to draw power from the ground and sky, and turn it into a bolt of lightning, thinking the flash and noise would scare an opponent. All that happened was the dogs spotted us and charged to greet us.
They were the noisy sort of watchdogs, not guard dogs that were trained to attack but to bark and warn the owners when strangers arrive. They did their job well.
The two men reappeared from inside the barn, both holding farm implements as if by accident. A shovel in the hands on the larger, and a pitchfork in the hands of the other. Weapons, if required, a silent threat in any case. They quietly waited for us to approach. Instead of brothers, it was a father and son.
I saw movement inside the cabin and knew at least one more person watched us. We slowed a fair distance from them, and the dogs barked until called off by the larger of the pair.
I said, “We’re travelers that have managed to run out of food.”
After a disbelieving glance at the larger man, the younger one said, “Nobody arrives from the Brownlands to the south.”
“We did,” I said simply. “Is it possible to buy a little food from you? We have coin.” The offer was quick to be accepted by most farmers, especially those in remote areas. Hard money is hard for them to come by. They normally bartered for the crops or services of others. Excess food was traded for necessities. Coins were seldom involved.
The older man said harshly, “Keep your money. We will turn away no hungry travelers. Please, dismount and introduce yourselves.”
We did. A woman stood in the doorway, expectantly. Her age matched that of the older man, and I assumed the other was their son, but they hadn’t introduced themselves yet, although they’d asked us to.
After I introduced us briefly there was a long silence as if he was considering what to say, and he told us his name was Big Salim. The other was Little Salim, his only son, so I’d gotten that right. The wife was not named after any variation of Salim, for which I was grateful. Her name was Elinore, a snappy little woman who seemed to run the farm, house, and men with a smile always on her face.
The dogs were both called “dog.” I knelt to give them a good sniff of me and rub their ears.
Our hosts were obviously not inventive in the naming aspects. However, after Big Salim suggested eating at a table outside in the shade where it was cooler than inside. Elinore rushed to her pantry for bowls. The table was made of slabs of wood thicker than the width of my hand and had existed as a table for a century or more if the condition of the surface was any measure. It was more than a table for eating off.
There were gouges, stains, cuts, and more. If I needed to guess, I’d say scythes had been sharpened on it, things had been hammered, repaired, crushed, and cleaned. It told a tale of its own of hard-working farmers.
Around it sat three chairs, plus a bench beside the house, two three-legged stools, and a wood stump. Kendra rushed to help Elinore, and they carried a black cauldron of stew between them. After placing it on the end of the table, they returned inside and returned with bowls, scoops, and two loaves of fresh bread. A meal fit for a king.
Both of the Salims stood aside and kept out of the way. I suspected it had been a lesson hard learned for them but learned well. Elinore acted as if the table were her kingdom to rule and spread a thin sheet of linen over the table as Kendra sat mugs beside each bowl.
Their appearance differed from the norm of Kondor. While their skin was dark like mine, their hair was curled tightly and stiff. Their noses were wider. I suspected they’d come from elsewhere, and there was a story to them living in the middle of the Brownlands. As we’d watched from the nob of the hill, I’d noticed there was not any road leading in or out of the valley. That bothered me for a number of reasons, however, food was my immediate priority.
Hardly a word was said while we ate. No questions were asked of us. When we’d finished eating a thick stew and bread, we settled back relaxed. Kendra’s mood had shifted back to that of a companionable human again. For that reason, I determined that we would leave with enough food to last a few days, no matter the cost.
Big Salim finished cleaning the last of the gravy from his bowl with a piece of bread, cleared his throat for attention, his eyes now focused on me. When all were turned his way, his voice was deep and resonant as he said, “When were you going to tell us you are a mage?”
CHAPTER NINE
That question about me being a mage raised all sorts of questions in my mind, none of them good. A single glance in Kendra’s direction told me she was as surprised as me.
I turned to face Big Salim, who was not scowling, smiling, or giving away his inward feelings in any way. Knowing the attitudes that most people have about anyone who practices magic. I said in my most innocent voice, “What are you talking about?”
His eyes were fixed on mine. We hadn’t shared more than a few dozen words since our arrival, and I was not about to provide him with any of my innermost fears or abilities. My assumption was that something either Kendra or I said had given him the information. Now, it was time to defuse the situation before it developed and became dangerous. They seemed like nice people, had fed us, and we owed it to them to be neighborly.
Big Salim still had his eyes locked on mine, searching for deception. I said, “Why would you ask me about that?”
Without flinching, he reached out a massive paw and pointed with one finger as large around as my thumb, to an empty place at the far end of the table where the linen cloth didn’t reach. A flame appeared above the wood. It was only as tall as my fist, didn’t reach or burn the table, and the flame was as red as a ripe raspberry.
I sat nearest it. Without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand directly in the flame. There was no heat, as I’d suspected. Why? I don’t know. But the flame was too perfect, too colorful. It was artificial. A projection.
I produced a similar flame, one orange and yellow. The surface of the table charred under it almost instantly.
“A mage,” Big Salim hissed. “I knew it.”
“And you?” I asked. “What are you?”
He hesitated, then spat, “A failed mage. I was cast out of the society before I was allowed in. After only two months, my instructors knew I’d never succeed in becoming a mage because I refused to do as ordered without question.”
I fought to remain still and unresponsive to his words. He’d mentioned several things I didn’t know in those few short sentences. There was a “society” of mages. No surprise, but unknown to me. There was official training, suspected, but never verified until now. He’d been selected for unknown reasons but cast out as a failure for not going along with the program. He was bitter about it.
I said, “Where did you study?”
He looked confused, and I knew I’d slipped up somehow. He said, “There are other places?”
“Where?” I repeated without answering his question.
“Kaon. I studied in Kaon, a city in the far north.”
I’d expected the answer. The home of the Young Mage was the home of
the school for mages. Everything in the last month seemed to revolve either around the Young Mage or his home. I said, “How were you selected?”
Again, I’d asked a wrong question but didn’t know how or what I’d said incorrectly. Instead of answering me, he stood. His hand was now resting on the hilt of his knife, which was as long as my forearm, and instead of a weapon, it was a tool for cutting, prying, hacking, and slicing. Its edge was probably equal to that of my sword because farmers needed good quality tools, and he was a powerful man, easily twice my weight.
I remained sitting and composed myself before speaking. To disarm the situation, I crossed my legs at the knee since his posture was a threat, not an attack. I said in my sincerest voice, “We have much to discuss, you and I. And I owe you honest and true answers.”
“You will explain who you are and why you came here. Then I will decide if you live or die today.” His voice sounded as calm as mine, only more determined.
I glanced at Kendra and saw her hand easing in the direction of her sleeve and the hidden double-ended throwing knife. I gave her a small shake of my head. Elinore had backed away a few steps and looked ready to flee inside. She didn’t know what was happening, but neither did I. Small Sam, or Little Salim or whatever his name was, appeared equally confused.
I had no doubt he’d side with his father in a fight, but he didn’t know what was wrong. I turned my empty palms over and placed them firmly on the table in a show of nonaggression. “I will explain whatever I can, which is very little. I have not lied to you and do not intend to do so, but I would also like you to explain a few things. There should not be animosity between us, sir.”
I’d thrown the word, sir, into the end as a measure of respect. I didn’t stand or make any moves. Big Salim relaxed slightly and asked, “You were not recruited as a boy?”
“No. I didn’t even know they did that.”
“They scour all of Kaon, Kondor, and even Trager in the north for boys with potential abilities in any of the forms of magic. The talents do not become apparent until about the age of five or six, sometimes later.” He paused and waited for me to explain how I was not selected.
