When he opened his eyes again, the night was glowing with lines of power.
Thomas had no idea what they were. There were stories of roads, invisible to the mortal eye, that carried magic and power. What he saw before him, though, bore no resemblance to a road, save that they stretched across the land. They were made of light that rose out of the earth itself to almost twice the height of a man, and he was sitting at the crossing of two of them. The light flowed around him, rushing past in a blur of brilliant blue-white. Thomas risked a glimpse to the side, and found that he could see through the light and beyond the edges of the stone ring, where George and Eileen huddled by their fire watching him. Thomas turned his face back to the north, facing once more into the lines of power.
When you have achieved the vision…
He turned his mind inward again, though this time he kept his eyes open. Following the instructions, he willed the magic to enter into his body, to fill him. A strange vibration touched his body, as if something huge was humming against him. Around him, the stones of the circle began to glow.
Thomas remembered his astronomy lessons as best he could, and used them to make the moon his timepiece. He was aware of the cold stone underneath his legs, the light of the fire beside him and the one beside George and Eileen, and above all, the vibrations against his skin. He focused his mind on the magic, on drawing it into his body, until he guessed the first hour to be done.
He turned to face the east. The humming sank through his skin to become a steady vibration in his belly. It was a bizarre feeling. It began to spread, taking itself downward into his legs and feet, then up to fill his chest cavity. It reached his shoulders, moved down his arms like molasses pouring down a hill. It had reached his elbows when the position of the moon told him he was at the end of the second hour. He turned to the south and caught a glimpse of his friends, still awake, sitting by the fire and waiting for him.
He was, he realized, neither tired nor sore from his two hours of sitting. Instead, he was feeling alive in every pore. The vibrations continued to move through his body, down to his hands and the tips of his fingers. They began spreading upward from his shoulders, into his neck and his head. The vibration grew deeper, sinking through muscle and bone. All his senses were sharper now. The feel of his skin against his clothes was almost unbearable. He could smell the forest around him with every inhalation; the mould and leaves and animals and plants each had a distinct smell. Every whisper of wind through the trees became a shout, every creak of a branch a scream. The world was as bright as day to his eyes. Every leaf, twig, and blade of grass was sharp and clear to his sight.
There was movement around him, now; pale wisps, like shadows left behind after their owners had gone. He wondered at them, but kept himself focused on the magic. Blurred figures, twisted bits of movement and darkness without substance, flitted past him. None of them touched him. They moved around the circle; pale imitations of those who had danced and held rituals there in the centuries past.
The moon showed Thomas the beginning of the fourth hour, and he turned to face west, the final direction. The vibration that filled his body had taken on a deeper rhythm, slowing to the pace of a giant heartbeat and shaking him to his very core. He could almost see his muscles jumping in response to it, could feel his bones trembling back and forth in time with it, could sense his organs following the beat of it. The shapes in the circle became more frantic in their movements, flitting past him in a pattern that he couldn’t see or understand.
He suddenly wondered if he was still sane. Part of him insisted there was no way for any of it to be real, that he was sitting alone on a cold chunk of rock, in the middle of the night, slowly going mad. Thomas set the thoughts aside. What he was seeing, what he was feeling, was far too real to be dismissed as fantasy. A nasty part of his mind pointed out that all lunatics probably felt just the same. He pushed the thought away and continued to sit in his place. There was no pain, no stiffness, no discomfort. The shapes danced around him, and inside he felt the deep, beating pulse of the world’s heart.
Thomas looked up to the moon again, and was surprised to see that it was the end of the fourth hour. He switched his gaze down to the book before him. The instructions to end the spell were prosaic and anti-climactic. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and visualized the power inside of him; willing it to calm itself, to settle within his body, and to be at his command. Then he rose to his feet and, with a single motion of one booted foot, broke both charcoal circles and stepped out.
He was stunned at how bright everything was.
Everything alive glowed, filling the world with energy and light. The grass was edged with a thin covering of deep, green light. The trees glowed green and white gold, their radiance large and spreading out into the night. Thomas stared at it all in amazement. Even the great, grey stones of the circle radiated light, though theirs was a rich, deep purple that pulsed as Thomas stared at them. Thomas picked up the spell book and walked to the edge of the stone circle. He put his hands against one of the stones, feeling the beating of the earth’s heart deep inside the rock.
The glow from the lines of power dominated the night. The shadows were still now, save for those that flickered in the small remaining light of George and Eileen’s campfire. He could see the energy that radiated from the wood, glowing with a light beyond that of the flames. He shook his head, bemused, and made his way to the fire.
Eileen and George were side by side at the fire, deep asleep. Both were glowing. The light seemed to shine from inside them, radiating through their skin and clothes. Eileen was a vibrant light blue, mixed with white and silver and flecks of green. George was darker blue with bits of red and brown flowing and melding in and out of the other colours. For a long time he watched their lights, moving and pulsing with their breaths. He wondered what they would look like in motion.
Fatigue, which had been sitting to one side and waiting for his attention to be distracted, suddenly overwhelmed him. He lay down far enough from his friends that he could watch both of them for as long as he remained awake. He wondered, as sleep overtook him, what his own light looked like.
***
Waking up was much less painful than Thomas thought it would be. The aches and pains of the riding had vanished in the night, and he had no stiffness from his long hours on the rock. He opened his eyes and saw his friends sitting across the fire-pit from him, talking quietly. He stared at them a while, blinking. “Where did the light go?”
Eileen jumped to her feet as Thomas started to sit up. “You’re awake!” She jumped over the fire pit and knelt beside him. “What do you mean about the light? You’re not blind, are you?”
“Not that light.” Thomas finished sitting up and looked closely at Eileen. It took him a moment to see it, but her light was still there, nearly invisible in the sunlight. Eileen watched him warily. Thomas smiled, took her hand and kissed it. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“It’s noon,” George said. “Eileen wouldn’t let me wake you.”
“Good,” It was the second decent sleep he’d had in weeks, Thomas realized. “Is there anything left to eat?”
“Well, that’s a good sign,” George got up and headed to the saddle bags. “I’ll get the food.”
“Did it work?” Eileen asked.
Thomas, feeling the vibrations of the earth inside his body, smiled. “Aye. It did.”
“Can you show me?”
“After I’ve eaten. I’m starving.”
“Hush!” said George, suddenly. “Quiet.”
Both Thomas and Eileen turned to George, who had a finger against his lips. “Listen.”
The birds and insects had gone silent. Thomas looked around for his rapier and found it sheathed on the ground beside him. Eileen rose to her feet, making no sound.
The silence was shattered by the sound of a branch breaking. Thomas rose to his feet. George stepped silently back beside them.
“There’s nowhere to take the horses,” George said, shifting the grip on his stick. “The undergrowth is too thick beyond here. They can’t get through.”
Wonderful.
“How many are coming?”
“I can’t tell, yet. Be quiet.”
Thomas did, standing stock-still beside Eileen and waiting. In the distance, he could hear the sound of horses, unhappy at riding such a path, and the cajoling voices of their riders. The latter was a shock to him. George, listening grimly, said, “All right, they’ve dismounted.”
“What do we do?” whispered Eileen.
“Nothing,” said Thomas, sounding almost as surprised as he felt.
“Nothing?” repeated George. “They’re almost on top of us.”
“Aye,” said Thomas. “And we’ll probably need more lunch.”
George and Eileen looked at him in shock, then turned back to the forest as they heard the first sound of feet crunching through the underbrush. A moment later, the first of the arrivals pushed through to the edge of the clearing and stopped dead.
“Well, by the Four, it’s you,” said Benjamin. He turned and called back. “I told you they’d be here.”
Eileen and George heaved huge sighs of relief as Thomas, who’d recognized their voices, stepped forward to greet Benjamin. Henry joined Benjamin in the clearing, leading two horses. The five came together in a flurry of hand-shakes and back-slaps. Thomas found he could see the glow of each student’s inner light, faint and silver-blue in the sunlight. Henry produced a full wineskin and passed it around while Benjamin reached into a bag he’d brought and pulled out enough food to feed them all and anyone who should be passing by. Soon all five were seated on the ground, with each side demanding to know the other’s story.
Thomas finally shouted them all down. “We’ll tell everything that’s gone on with us, I swear, just let us know what happened after we ran out.”
“We heard sounds of fighting,” Eileen said. “And saw soldiers running toward the building.”
“There was fighting,” agreed Benjamin, his face and voice both grim.
“They shouldn’t have tried to break in,” said Henry. “While we were trying to keep the bishop’s men out of our apartment, one of our neighbours started screaming that the bishop’s men were killing him.”
“Were they?” asked George.
“He was certainly in bad shape when we got there,” Henry’s voice was calm and cold, though Thomas could sense an undercurrent of anger. He could also see it, flickering red around Henry’s head. “He’d been stabbed through the leg and was screaming like a pig getting cut up alive. That’s what set off the riot.”
“It was an awful mess.” said Benjamin. “The students heard the screams and someone shouted ‘Attack!’ Half of the students started throwing bottles and pots and anything else they could at the soldiers, while the other half raced up to help us. The soldiers tried to put up a fight, but they were outnumbered and their horses were panicking.”
Thomas closed his eyes, imagining the scene. Softly he asked, “How many dead?”
“Amazingly, no one,” Henry sounded honestly surprised. “Say whatever else you like, but the bishop keeps his troops sharp. They managed to pull together an orderly retreat.”
“With fifteen of theirs wounded and the same on our side,” added Benjamin. “It wasn’t very pretty at all.”
“The City Guard mustn’t have been very impressed.”
“The guard had nothing to do with it,” Henry scoffed. “They let the bishop’s men go past, then scattered when they saw all of us.”
“You went after them?” Eileen sounded appalled.
“Aye, we did,” said Henry, a wide wolf’s grin growing on his face. “I sent ten to rouse the Academy, and the rest of us followed them back to the bishop’s house. The students in other buildings and the dormitories joined us as we went. By the time we’d reached the house, there were close to five hundred of us.”
Eileen shuddered at the thought. “What happened?”
Henry’s grin grew wider and more unpleasant. “We lodged a protest.”
“How?” asked Thomas, dreading the answer.
“With cobblestones, mostly. Also with bottles, sticks, several torches and a cart full of cow dung.”
“I’ll never be able to go back again,” Thomas moaned, his head falling into his hands. “I’ll be hanged the moment I arrive.”
“You weren’t in the riot,” reminded Benjamin.
“No, just the cause of it.”
“We kept the bishop holed up there for hours,” continued Henry. “He finally came charging out in his carriage just after noon. Ten horsemen in front and ten more behind with swords out and ready. They rode straight out into the crowd at a full gallop. Nearly ran us down.”
“Any more hurt?”
“Aye, though hurt was the worst of it. He and his men were too busy getting away to think about doing a proper job.”
“Fortunately for us,” Benjamin put in.
“Aye, it was,” said Henry. “With the bishop himself gone, the rest of his soldiers beat a retreat and the students sacked his house, and a right proper job they did of it, too. Not a window left unbroken, not a stick of furniture unsmashed. They were torching it when we rode off.”
Already guessing the answer, Thomas asked, “Where did you get the horses?”
Henry shrugged. “The bishop had stables. We thought it best to follow him, in case he caught up to you.”
Eileen’s jaw dropped. “You stole the bishop’s horses?”
“Borrowed,” corrected Benjamin. “We’ll take them back.”
“No we won’t,” argued Henry. “Spoils of war.”
“Oh, by the Four.” Thomas let himself fall backwards to the ground. “Is there any good news?”
Henry thought about it. “No, actually, there isn’t.”
Thomas covered his face with his hands, and let out his breath with a long and dramatic sigh. He was actually feeling much better than he had since they’d left. His friends were unhurt and no one had died in the riot. As for the bishop’s house burning down, he was finding it very hard to feel at all sorry about it.
“I take it the bishop didn’t come here?” asked Henry.
“The town, yes,” said Eileen. “At least, we think so. Here, no.”