The Orphans' Promise (25 page)

“Absolutely not. We’re not about to let them walk around with their poisoned daggers in our town, not like they do in Goran or Lorelia. Not that we would let them in our city without their daggers, either!”

The barrel was lowered to the sloop’s deck, and Yan and Bowbaq worked on untying it, without understanding a single word of the conversation. Grigán went down to the hold for a moment, to return with a full purse and a jug of liquor. He tied both to the free lines of the hoist, despite the captain’s polite refusal. The Junian captain had done them a greater favor than he realized, though perhaps not in the way he thought he had. Regardless, the heirs owed him.

The crews waved their good-byes, and the ships sailed off in opposite directions. Grigán summarized the conversation, the news of which brought both joy and relief to his companions. The Züu weren’t in Junine. The queen wasn’t their mysterious enemy;
on the contrary, she would help them identify him. Perhaps she could even find more heirs, if there were any left…

Every lesson with Corenn was a privilege for Yan. The Mother could always captivate him, as strange, disturbing, or mundane as the subject could seem at first glance.

The young man had not called upon his Will for several days, but he had learned more about magic by merely discussing it with Corenn than by practicing to move small trinkets with his mind. The Mother had even gone so far as to ask him to stop these exercises for a while. And what she was teaching him gave him enough subject matter to keep his mind occupied.

They had spent the first several decidays spelling out a certain theory of magic, not useful in and of itself, but it allowed Yan to better understand the more technical themes that Corenn would later explain. Yan enjoyed these mental games. Corenn was making him more… intelligent, he felt, more perceptive than he had ever been.

Certain reflections had affected him so strongly that they followed him into his sleep. He looked back on several of them:

With your Will, it will be easier to push than to pull. Easier to cut down than to build up. Easier to destroy than to create.

With just a little rage, you could explode a rock into dust. But it would require complete serenity to reconstruct it. That’s the beautiful thing about it.

Serenity
is
magic. Patience, reflection, and moderation are magic. Using anger to arouse your Will is an aberration. Worse, it’s dangerous…

The body normally limits a person’s folly, their fury, their thirst for chaos. The Will liberates the spirit. It allows you to break past this limit. If your spirit is momentarily destructive, the effects will be devastating. It will not spare the body—or the mind—of the person who unleashes it.

Never call upon your Will under the influence of rage, suffering, or liquor, she had concluded with a grave tone.

Corenn’s sermon impressed him. The young man thought for a long time about her wise warning. He wasn’t going to forget it.

And another time she said, “Magic doesn’t create anything. Everything you draw from it, everything you do with it, is already there, somewhere, around us. If you make a mountain grow, you will have simply brought the earth underneath to the surface. If you make a flower grow, you will have simply nourished a nearby seed.”

“You can do that?” he asked with surprise.

“Of course. You’re capable of anything your mind can imagine. Except to
create
. Only the gods are privileged with that power. And unwinding time’s work. That’s the most powerful force in this world. Even gods succumb to it… what has already been made is unchangeable. Gods can revive a man centuries after his death. Priests have told such stories. But even the eternals can’t do anything to change the fact that he was once dead.”

This type of thinking made Yan feel a bit crazy. Corenn knew she was going fast in her teachings. For a simple fifteen-year-old fisherman, it was a lot to understand, let alone accept as truth, in such a short time span. But this fisherman was hardly stupid. Corenn felt rushed by their situation. It was impossible to know how many days were left before the Züu—or another catastrophe—interfered with their little project.

She needed to teach the young man as much and as quickly as she could, and not just because it would be useful in their quest. No, Yan had such a true talent that it would be criminal to leave it in such a raw state.

“Tell me again what you felt after releasing your Will,” the Mother asked her student. “The painful moment.”

The young man had no problem recalling the dreadful experience, which he had already gone through several times.

“It was like… the rest of the world threw itself at me. Brutally. A little bit like waking up, but much more unpleasant. You feel like you are in a freefall and burning up at the same time. You eyes burn, your ears buzz…”

“That doesn’t last long,” Corenn interrupted him. “I will teach you how to suffer less during this phase. I’d rather you describe how you felt
after
.”

“An intense weakness. I have never been so tired. And I was cold, unless that was a coincidence.”

“Absolutely not. That’s exactly what it is.
Languor
. That’s what we call the sensation you felt.”

Yan impatiently waited for her to continue. He saw the expression on Corenn’s face and recognized that she was about to confide an important principle of magic to him.

“With your Will, your mind sends a force that acts on your target. This force comes from within your own body. The
languor
is the aftereffect. The more difficult the task that you are trying to accomplish, the more it will weaken you. We also call it the spell’s
backlash
. It denotes the very edge of magic’s possibilities.”

Yan noted, “At least it passes relatively quickly. You just have to rest for a while…”

“In the state of
languor
, your mind steals force from all that surrounds you, until it can bring your body up to a tolerable threshold. In turn, the grass, the earth, the trees themselves steal force
from their neighbors, and the exchange goes on until it reaches your target, where there is now a surplus of force. Only when that force returns to you all at once is an equilibrium reached.”

“That’s one of your personal theories, right? I recognize your style!”

“I won’t answer that. Think what you will,” Corenn said, smiling.

“It’s definitely true,” Yan decided. “I like the idea of exchanging a little life with trees.”

The Mother had never seen things this way. It was a lovely image, even if it wasn’t the subject of the lesson. Yan needed to learn to be careful with his Will. Perhaps even to fear it. She composed herself into a more serious expression, and began teaching again.

“Yan, the languor can be
fatal
. If one day your Will exceeds your reason, if you bring it so high that it escapes your control, your instinct to survive, it will take all the force from your body to satisfy its need. You will experience a horrible agony, violent and painful. Be aware of your fragility. Don’t ask your mind to do things that your body can’t handle.”

The young man nodded his head with dread. These past few days, Corenn had warned him of so many things that he would need a profound motivation to call on his power.

“So making a flower grow instantaneously is actually impossible,” he remarked. “Unless you are ready to die for it.”

“There is another possibility. But it requires mastery and serenity. You just have to draw enough power for your spell not from within yourself, but from the things around you.”

Yan whistled in admiration. It was already hard enough for him to draw the force from within himself. “Have you done it before?”

“Partially. I force myself to make it a habit. It would be vital, if I ever reach the age of an Ancestress. There is not a lot of force to draw from an old body, unfortunately, even though the mind is more powerful than ever.”

Yan tried to imagine Corenn as an ancient Mother, wrinkled and stooped. She would surely be the most respected woman in the Matriarchy, a chief of their government, their symbolic queen. It could happen, if not for the Züu…

Hopeful, he asked, “Will you teach me that too?”

Corenn smiled and agreed. She was going to teach him everything, no matter if he asked. After a few more dékades, Yan would be as good a magician as she.

They came within sight of Galen at dawn on their sixth day at sea. The dawn corresponded with the second day of the Hunter’s dékade, the Day of the Fawn. They were a little ahead of their predictions, which they welcomed happily. The seas had been calm, and Yan’s limited experience with navigation had been sufficient to ensure an unremarkable crossing.

As they neared the mouth of the Ubese River, they came across more and more boats. There were the usual commercial frigates, schooners, skiffs, dinghies, barges, coasters, and other sailing vessels, but there also were several warships equipped with foreboding naval rams. Though formidable, the war vessels bobbed peacefully in the water, on guard to defend the city from pirates.

The heirs spent the day lounging on deck, taking advantage of the particularly generous rays the sun bestowed upon the Lower Kingdoms. Yan and Rey handled the few maneuvers to direct the
ship up the river without incident while the others conversed, taking in the surroundings.

“We should always travel like this,” Léti suggested. “No worries, no threats, always quiet…”

“You want to spend your whole life on a boat? What a nightmare!” Bowbaq protested.

“I agree with Bowbaq,” Rey added. “It’s far too boring.”

“And we wouldn’t be that much safer in the end,” Grigán said. “To escape the Züu only to end up a pirate’s slave or drowned in a squall!”

“Does anyone find it bizarre that we can start sailing up a river like this?” asked Yan. “I mean without anyone even asking us for anything?”

The warrior changed lookout positions before answering.

“No! The river belongs to everyone. They can’t impede boat traffic, not without sparking a civil war. Several Baronies border the Ubese, and the Galen Barony has no more right to it than any other.

Yan found it amusing that in spite of what he was saying, Grigán was still busying himself by keeping a close watch on every boat they crossed.

“Have you been to Junine before?” Yan asked.

“Twice. I’ve never met a more nationalistic people. The whole world could fall into bloody chaos, and they would still be preoccupied by their petty internal squabbles. They’re also a steadfast people. When an enemy attacks their walls, you won’t find a more relentless bunch of warriors,” Grigán informed him.

“It’s just about the smallest Barony,” Corenn added. “The barons chose it as their capital and consolidated the Small Kingdoms’ administrative offices there. They also say it’s the most beautiful.”

“That’s what I think. The barons gather there for their parliament, but it’s also an excuse for them to compete in some
remarkable hunting games. Yan, I might get the chance to show you an
acchor
,” Grigán concluded, referencing his scar.

They sailed past Galen without even realizing it. The river mouth was so wide that they sailed past the city at a distance. The city was so far, in fact, that they could only make out the boats of the outer harbor—the walls and spires of the city still lay somewhere behind the veil of the horizon. That’s just about all they saw in the northern Small Kingdoms. The
Othenor
was soon gliding between two lush banks upon which an occasional village or windmill would appear to break the monotony.

The Ubese River was a genuine trade route, and the heirs saw nearly as many boats as they had at Galen. The majority were small barges with modest sails, but they livened things up nonetheless. Léti answered politely to all the greetings the sailors shouted to her.

“The people here aren’t used to seeing a woman wear a broadsword,” Grigán remarked. “They aren’t as open-minded as Loreliens. You might want to take it off for a few days.”

“Out of the question. They’ll just have to get used to it.”