Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (25 page)

Calder let the spell fade, but while the other hexmates gaped and applauded with glee at Calder’s success, Bayan saw the harsh look on his partner’s face. The aggressive power of the spell hadn’t been accidental.

But I was just trying to help! Bayan felt the blackness coil more tightly within him. And it worked, too! Why is he mad at me?

On impulse, Bayan performed the spell motions, churning up a great cloud of red mist, and thrust his wedge back at Calder. A fiery wall, every bit as enormous as Calder’s had been, slammed into place in front of Calder, obscuring Bayan’s view. Bayan dropped the spell in shock.

Seconds later, another wall roared before him, forcing him to back up again. Gritting his teeth, Bayan sent a reciprocal barrier against Calder, his frustration at being misunderstood feeding the flames.

Behind the fire, Calder shouted hoarsely, “Looks like it’s roast muckling for dinner tonight!”

Bayan dropped the spell again, true fear interrupting the thrumming darkness. Takozen was instantly by his side, a defensive hand held out toward Calder, who was down on one knee among the red rocks of the arena floor.

Ay, Bhattara. I just shot a gargantuan wall of flame at my best friend, who’s terrified of fire. Twice. What have I done?

Calder made a hiccupping sound. Bayan started toward him, then hesitated. Their hexmates stood frozen, uncertain. Calder lifted his face toward Bayan.

He was smiling. Laughing, even, though it appeared he was also crying.

“Calder?” Bayan ventured.

His best friend flopped over onto his back among the red pebbles, swung his arms and legs back and forth amongst them, and shouted to the sky, “I can do Flame magic! Did you see that? I did it!” Near-hysterical laughter burst from him, and Bayan felt an enormous weight buoy up from his chest. He jogged over and knelt beside Calder, who unexpectedly threw his arms around him and tumbled him down against the arena floor.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes wet with emotion. “Thank you.”

“I thought you were mad.”

“It helped me get past the terror and all.”

Eward knelt beside Bayan. “Calder’s not the only one who was suddenly impressive with Flame. What happened to you, Bayan? You were every bit as amazing as Calder, just now.”

Most of Bayan’s joy leached out of him. “Couldn’t say. Maybe Calder’s got contagious Flame magic or something.”

Takozen stood at their feet and looked down approvingly. “That was some well-formed Flame magic, both of you. Let’s see what else you can do.”

Calder and Bayan returned to practicing. Although Calder’s spells usually were successful, Bayan’s returned to the spitting sparks he’d experienced previously. Despite Calder’s encouragement—he’d figured it out once, he could figure it out again—Bayan’s heart sank. He was afraid his magic had worked only because he’d let the darkness out. He’d released the darkness at his best friend.

Bayan entered the Earth arena tunnel with his hex, not expecting to see Instructor Eithne Mikellen until the group had reached the center of the arena floor. But the curvy, blonde-braided instructor stood in the tunnel talking with Takozen; she waved distractedly for the hex to precede her into the arena.

“What’s going on?” Odjin asked.

“No idea,” Calder replied.

Bayan’s belly clenched. Something about the way Takozen had looked at him as he’d passed by was worrisome.

Soon, Mikellen joined them in the arena. “Before we begin today, I want to cover a facet of duelism that’s rarely mentioned: the Duelist Savant, a rare breed making up the most powerful demographic of all duelists the Academy releases. Many of our Hexmagic Duelists are, in fact, Duelist Savants, despite how few of them survive to complete their training.”

“Survive?” Eward repeated.

“Aye. Unfortunately, what makes a Duelist Savant different than other students is that their magic becomes bonded to a single, powerful emotion. We believe this occurs because the student spends so much time in this emotional state prior to mastering their magic. This leaves them unable to perform their spells unless they are feeling that emotion. And I don’t need to tell you what happens when you invoke magic while emotional. Every few years, we get a Savant at the Academy. Sadly, most do not survive to graduate, at Hexmagic Duelist or any other rank. Sometimes, they injure or kill other students as well.”

Bayan felt his stomach shrink into a cold marble of fear. Mikellen was describing him. Had Takozen told her something about his Flame class with Calder?

Bhattara save me.

“The symptoms of Savantism are evident early in a duelist’s training, though often it’s hard to distinguish Savantism from an incomplete Void, or even having an off day in the arena. If any of you feel you might have a strong emotional barrier that’s keeping you from your magic, you need to tell an instructor right away.”

Class continued as normal after that, but Bayan’s mind whirled with questions. He managed a few mediocre Tremor spells and even knocked Odjin to his knees once, but his mind wasn’t on the Earth element.

When class ended, he approached Mikellen.

“Aye, Bayan? You did better in class today. Did you have a question?”

Trying to sound normal, he asked, “I was just curious about the Savants. If you find a Savant in one of your classes, how do you help? What do they need to do to be safe with their magic?”

A look of discomfort crossed Mikellen’s face. “Well, most of the students who do come forward have difficulty accepting their condition, making it harder for them to continue at all.”

“You mean they wash out.”

“Aye, unfortunately, though we do everything we can to prevent it.”

“Like what?”

“Much of our prevention and control involves intensive Void meditation. Greer is trained to deal with potential Savants.”

“What else does the Academy do?”

“We have a few ancient techniques that I’m not allowed to discuss. Ultimately, the issue comes down to whether the Savant can master his or her emotion, or whether the emotion continues to master the Savant.”

“He… he never gets rid of it?”

“Well, there is a last resort, used for the protection of the Savant and everyone he interacts with. But whatever emotion has bonded to his magic, it’s there to stay. If he is to remain a Duelist of any sort, he must conquer his emotional link to it. As I understand it from Greer, that emotion replaces at least part of the Void, in some way.” Mikellen shuddered, a look of distaste on her face.

Bayan felt a desperate, horrible rage flare up within him. A small part of his mind screamed,
Worst possible moment!
The rest became consumed in a bitter magma of resentment.
You drag me here,
he wanted to shout
, against my will, and then because I don’t want to leave my nice, happy life behind, my magic gets poisoned by anger and sooner or later it’s going to kill me or someone else! How is that in
any way
fair? None of us wanted this, but you’ve made it happen anyway! This is your fault!

For the first time in months, Bayan felt his magic building out of control.
Not in front of her!
he ordered himself. But the blackness would not be denied. Desperate, Bayan nodded a quick farewell and jogged down the arena tunnel toward the other end.

“Bayan!” Mikellen called after him. “Be careful!”

At the outer archway, he glanced back through the tunnel. Mikellen stared after him. Fear rippled through him, and the blackness receded abruptly, leaving him weak and shuddering in its sudden absence.

~~~

Bayan wandered the campus, his mind in turmoil. What am I going to do? They know what I am. Instructor Mikellen basically said if I don’t handle this myself, they’ll torture me until I’m a potioneer! Unless I kill myself first.

“Bayan, isn’t it?” came a deep voice.

Bayan turned to see the Master Duelist, Ignaas witten Oost, sitting on a bench backed by young velvet spruces whose slender limbs were trained into open spirals. The Master sat in a pool of warm, golden sunlight despite the heavy cloud cover. “Yes, Master witten Oost.”

“Come and sit with me a moment.”

Bayan obediently joined him on the bench, feeling his nervousness deepen in the duelist’s presence.

“You’re upset,” the master observed.

“You know, too?”

“I know everything, Bayan. It’s part of the job.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Master witten Oost.”

“And we don’t want you to hurt yourself, either. You’re a valuable member of your hex and a precious commodity to the emperor. Now, I see how troubled you are after your little talk with Eithne. Becoming a potioneer or committing involuntary murder aren’t very good options, are they? So let’s focus on that third option: successfully becoming a Duelist Savant.”

“How do I do that?”

Master witten Oost sighed and folded his fingers together. “Let me tell you the story of Headmaster Zenikwa. He ran the Academy during the Second Tuathi War. Akkeraad had just been sacked. The Kheerzaal was in ruins. The heir to Waarden Prime was on the run. You remember this story from your lessons last semester?”

“Yes, sir. Hubrecht fled to Kemada and begged for sanctuary from the Shawnash. But what does that have to do with Headmaster Zenikwa?”

“When the Shawnash ruler made a pact with young Hubrecht of Helderaard, part of the agreement allowed Shawnash magic users access to Academy training. There were very few duelists still alive by that time. Zenikwa was grateful for all the new students, but he desperately wanted to keep them alive long enough to fight successfully against the Tuathi anima casters. He needed strong hexes that would survive training together and be able to wield stronger group magic as Avatar and Hexmagic Duelists. And he got them, by asking someone no one had thought to consult before.”

“Who?”

“Someone who had inhabited this mountain far longer than the Academy.”

Bayan frowned. Inhabited the mountain? Not merely lived on it? Then it struck him.

Master witten Oost saw his expression and smiled. “I hear Sint Esme likes freshly cut honeysuckle blossoms. And I happen to know right where you can find some.”

A honeysuckle vine sprouted into existence at his feet, coiling upward until it was three strides high. Dozens of brilliant orange trumpet blooms burst open all at once, glistening in the Master’s artificial sunlight.

Bayan inhaled the blossoms’ sweet scent. If magic had a smell, he was sure it would be honeysuckle.

~~~

Bayan stopped beneath the massive oak tree and stared up into its thick, dark foliage. His hand reflexively tightened on the honeysuckle stems he held.
I hope I’m doing this right. Bhattara, if you know this Esme, put in a good word for me.

He approached the tree’s enormous trunk and stepped up onto a trailing limb, finding the smooth, seat-shaped spot in the limb’s bark just where Master witten Oost said it would be. Next to the seat, he saw a narrow divot; Bayan slid the honeysuckle stems into it and waited. His palms began to sweat.

A brightening of the gloom beneath the tree’s many limbs made him catch his breath.

“Sint Esme, thank you for coming. I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you. I’m not Waarden, not even close. But I’m an elemental student at the Academy, and I really need your help.”

The lightness said nothing, but Bayan felt encouraged to continue.

“You see, I think I’m… I mean, it’s possible… am I a Savant?”

The bright air focused into a long, thin beam that harmlessly pierced his chest. He gasped, nearly falling off the wide branch. An inexplicable anger welled up in him, and moments later a dozen saplings shot up from the branch’s bark.

Fear sliced his mind. “Stop! You’re right, I already knew that.”

The saplings withered to dust and drifted to the leaf litter below.

Bayan gulped. “But, please, how do I control myself? How do I control the magic, instead of letting my anger decide when I can use it and when I can’t? I don’t want to be a potioneer. But I don’t want to kill anyone, either. What can I do?”

The light hummed, a buzzing that grew louder and closer as the light grew brighter, filling his sight with a painful, intense yellow. He winced, blinking at the bright purple afterimage. The buzzing and light faded, leaving him in dimness.

The sint’s presence had left.

“Some help you were,” he muttered, feeling cheated as he hopped off the broad branch. He trudged through the thick dry leaves until he emerged from beneath the oak’s spreading branches. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times.

His vision had gone blurry. Scrubbing at his eyes again, he wondered if it was some sort of punishment by the sint. Had he offended her?

On my own again
, he thought, walking carefully along the narrow trail back to the campus proper.
Even the Waarden sints tease me.

Bayan tried to stick to the back paths as he returned to campus, in case the instructors were out looking to nab him for some intensive meditation or torture therapy. By the time he returned to his room in the barracks, his vision still had not improved. He lay down on his bed and put his pillow over his eyes, shutting out the blurry room. Kah squawked a welcome, and Bayan smelled taffy which led him to suspect that Calder had eaten the rest of the latest bag sent from Philo. He sighed and felt a pang of guilt for not writing to thank the eunuch for his gifts.