Tessia leaned forward. “So... how does the body generate magic?”
“An even greater mystery,” Dakon told her. “Some believe that it is the result of friction caused by all the rhythms in the body: blood pulsing through pulse paths, breath through the lungs.”
Tessia frowned. “Does that mean people with magical ability have a faster pulse and breathing rate?”
“No,” Veran answered for Dakon. “But since some substances create friction more easily than others, perhaps a magician’s blood is different somehow and more able to create friction.” He shrugged. “It is a strange idea, and one my father didn’t think much of.”
“Nor of the theory of the stars,” Dakon said, smiling. “
Even less so,” Veran agreed, chuckling. “Which almost lost him his membership of the Healers’ Guild.”
“How so?” Jayan asked, noticing that everyone wore the same knowing smile. Either losing membership of the Healers’ Guild wasn’t as grave a downfall as he’d thought, or there was more to this story.
Dakon looked at Jayan. “Healer Berin declared that the timing of the stars and seasons had no bearing on health, illness and death, but was only useful as an excuse for healers to fall back on when incompetent.”
“I can see how that might upset a few people,” Jayan said.
“It did, and a few of them made life so difficult for Berin that when my father offered him a position here he was happy to take it.”
“It also helped that they were friends,” Veran added.
Lasia cleared her throat. “There is something I’d like to know.” Dakon turned to regard her. “What is that?”
“Is there any difference between a natural magician and a normal one?”
“Other than the natural’s power developing spontaneously, and that it is usually stronger than the average magician’s, there is no difference. Most magicians’ ability is discovered when they are tested at a young age, then developed with the help of another magician. If any of those magicians are naturals, we’d never know because their power never gets the chance to develop without assistance. For magical ability to surface with no intervention, it must be strong, but ultimately that strength will not matter much. Higher magic adds to a magician’s natural ability, so in the end it’s how many apprentices a magician has taken power from, and how many times, that dictates his strength, not his natural ability.”
“So you don’t usually know a person has magical ability until you test them?” Veran asked.
Dakon shook his head. “And magic does not favour rich or poor, powerful or humble. Anybody you pass on the road could be a latent magician.”
“So why don’t you teach them?” Lasia asked. “Surely having more magicians would make Kyralia better able to defend itself.”
“Who would teach them? There aren’t enough magicians to teach all the latent magicians among the rich, let alone commoners as well.”
“You might not want to teach all of them, anyway,” Veran added, his expression thoughtful. “I’m sure you consider character when you select an apprentice, even if he or she is from a powerful family.” He glanced at Tessia. “When you have a choice, of course.”
Dakon smiled. “You are right. Fortunately Tessia is of excellent character and I’m sure will be a pleasure to teach.”
Everyone looked at Tessia. Jayan saw her face flush and she dropped her gaze.
“I’m sure she will be,” Lasia said. “She has been a great help to her father.” She looked at Dakon. “What does being a source for a magician involve?”
Watching Dakon, Jayan saw the humour in the magician’s eyes vanish, though he remained smiling.
“I can’t give you details, of course, as higher magic is a secret shared only between magicians. I can tell you it is a quick, cooperative ritual. Magic is transferred from apprentice to magician, and stored by the magician.”
“This giving of power is the only payment Tessia makes in exchange for apprenticeship?”
“Yes, and as you can imagine it is more than payment enough. By the time an apprentice is ready to become a magician, he or she will have made their master many hundreds of times stronger than he would be without their help. Of course, we aren’t usually hundreds of times stronger by then, because we will have used that power in the meantime, but it does allow us to do many things.”
“Why don’t magicians have several apprentices?” Tessia asked.
“Then they would have even more power.”
“Because it would take even longer to train each of them,” Dakon replied. “One magician has only so much time to spend teaching, and we have an obligation to instruct our apprentices well and thoroughly. Remember, most of our apprentices come from powerful families who can influence whether or not we are given well-paid work to do, or remain the lords of our leys. We don’t usually want to annoy them.” He paused and grimaced. “And I think having several apprentices, no matter how well I taught them, would make me feel too much like a Sachakan magician, with a crowd of slaves to abuse.” He looked at Jayan. “No, I much prefer the Kyralian method of mutual respect and benefits.”
The others nodded in agreement. Dakon looked at each of them in turn. “Any more questions?”
Tessia shifted in her seat, attracting his attention.
“Yes?” he asked.
She looked at her father, then flushed again. “Can magic be used to heal?”
Dakon gave her a knowing smile. “Only by helping in the physical tasks of healing work. It can move, hold, warm or sear. It can provide constriction in place of a pulse binder and I’ve even heard of it being used to jolt a heart into beating after it stopped. But it cannot assist the body to actually heal. The body must do that itself.”
Tessia nodded, and Jayan thought he detected disappointment in her eyes. I’m surprised she’s still interested in healing, now that she has magic to learn.
“On the other hand, it might be possible and we just haven’t discovered how yet,” Dakon added. Tessia looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t think we should ever stop trying.”
Jayan looked at Dakon in surprise. He’s actually encouraging her. What point is there in that?
As he watched, Tessia’s shoulders relaxed and she gave Dakon a smile of gratitude. It occurred to Jayan then that Dakon might only be making the transition easier for her by holding out the promise of something familiar in the strange new world she was entering. Something to interest her.
But surely he didn’t have to. Surely she was as excited to be learning magic as any new apprentice. The thought that she might not be sent a thin ripple of anger through him. That would be incredibly ungrateful, both to the natural luck that has given her such a chance, and to Lord Dakon for taking her on. He found himself scowling and quickly relaxed his face. Once she begins to use magic, and realises how wonderful it is, she’ll soon put her old life behind her. Healing will be nothing in comparison.
Immensely tall trees surrounded Hanara. He looked up. The straight, narrow trunks swayed, slow and heavy, in winds high above their heads. A warning cry. One began to fall. Someone screamed as it broke through the branches of neighbouring trees and slammed onto the forest floor, splinters from where the axes hadn’t quite cut through the trunk flying through the air. The screaming continued. He rushed in. Branches parted, and he saw. A slave – his friend – pinned to the ground, his legs crushed. The other slaves ignored the injured man and his screams, and set to work cutting.
Hanara jolted awake. For a moment he blinked at the darkness. The air smelled wrong.
Kyralia, he remembered. I’m in Kyralia, in the house of a magician. I’m hurt. Must heal quickly so Takado doesn’t kill me when he comes back. He closed his eyes.
He was cutting and shaping wood. He loved how it peeled away under the blade. Once you understood the patterns of the grain, how it resisted some cuts and welcomed others, it was easy work. All the information you needed was there, written in the grain. He imagined r
eading was the same.
He heard the timber master come up behind him to watch. He couldn’t see the man, but he knew who it was. If he stopped to look, the man would whip him, so he kept working. Perhaps if Hanara demonstrated how he could read the wood, the man would teach him how to do the decorative work on the mansion rather than making palings for the slave-house fences.
A few more cuts and the paling was done. It was perfect, too good for a mere slave fence. He turned to show the timber master.
It wasn’t the timber master standing behind him. It was Ashaki Takado. Hanara froze, his heart suddenly beating wildly, then dropped to the ground. The magician, owner of the house and slaves and forest and fields, stepped close and ordered Hanara to stand up, then stared into his face. Hanara lowered his eyes. The magician grabbed his jaw and lifted it, his gaze boring into Hanara’s. But the magician’s gaze didn’t meet Hanara’s. It went beyond. Inside. Takado’s eyes blazed.
Then the master was gone. The plank was removed from Hanara’s hand and he was taken away from the slave yard. His arms hurt. The world whirled around him. Looking down, he saw that his skin was criss-crossed by countless scars and new bleeding cuts. Takado was looming over him, laughing.
Are you a good slave? he asked. Are you? He raised an arm, in his hands a glittering curved blade...
Hanara jolted awake again, but this time he found himself stiff, in pain and breathing hard. Kyralia. House of a magician. Hurt. Must heal before Takado— He heard voices and a shiver ran down his spine. The voices came closer. Stopped outside the door to his room.
He took slow, deep breaths and willed his heart to stop racing.
It refused.
The door creaked open and light spilled in. Hanara recognised the healer, the young woman who assisted him, and Lord Dakon. He sank into the bed with relief.
“Sorry for waking you, Hanara,” the healer said. “Since I was here, I thought I’d check on you. How are you feeling?”
Hanara looked at all the expectant faces, then reluctantly croaked an answer.
“Better.”
The healer nodded. His daughter smiled. Seeing the warmth in her eyes, Hanara felt his heart constrict again. Looking at her was not unlike watching a newborn slave child, vulnerable and ignorant. But when looking at the slave child, he also felt sympathy and sadness. He knew the hardship and pain it would face and hoped that it would be strong enough, and lucky enough, to achieve a feeling of long-life.
Hanara did not yet feel he’d reached long-life. It was a state, slaves said, where you felt satisfied you had lived long enough. Where you didn’t feel cheated if you died. You might not have had an easy life, or a happy one, but you’d had your measure. Or you had made a difference to the world, even a small one, because you had existed.
He’d known slaves who had said they’d reached that state in under twenty years, and old slaves who still didn’t feel they’d achieved it yet. Some said it came when they’d sired or birthed a child. Some said it happened when they had completed the best work they’d ever done. Some said it was an unexpected benefit of helping another slave. Some even said it came from serving their master well and loyally.
It was said most slaves never felt it. Hanara hadn’t felt it even when a child he suspected he’d fathered had been born. He’d never had a chance to make his best work with wood. He’d helped other slaves in only minor ways, which didn’t give him any great feeling of satisfaction. Serving Takado was probably the only chance he’d have of feeling long-life. Ironically, it was also likely to lead to his dying before he had that chance.
And what chance was there now that he was stuck in Kyralia?
As the healer fussed and poked at Hanara he asked many questions. Hanara said as little as possible. Though none of the questions were about anything but his wounds and his health, he could never be sure whether he was revealing anything he shouldn’t. Takado had warned him of that, before they came to Kyralia.
Eventually the healer turned to the magician. “
He’s healing fast. Better than I expected. I have no doubts now that he’ll recover. It’s quite extraordinary.”
The magician’s lips thinned into a wry smile. “Hanara was Takado’s source slave. Though he cannot use his magic, it still gives him the same advantages of fast healing and resilience that all magicians enjoy.”
The healer nodded. “Lucky man.”
“So this healing is automatic?” the young woman asked. “Unconscious?”
The magician smiled at her. “Yes. You have this ability, too. Have you not always healed quickly, and rarely sickened?”
She paused at that, as if it had only just occurred to her, then nodded. “So if we could find a way to consciously heal, could we apply it to others?”
“Maybe,” the magician replied. “Magicians must have tried it before, but with no success, so I doubt it is easy – if it is possible at all.”
Her eyes shifted to Hanara. He could tell her attention was more on whatever thoughts this discussion had stirred than on himself. The magician followed her gaze, then met Hanara’s eyes.
“Sounds like you’ll be up and about soon, Hanara,” he said. “Takado said that if you recovered I could do whatever I wished with you. Since slavery is outlawed here, that means you can no longer be a slave.” He smiled. “You are free.”
A thrill ran through Hanara. Free? Could he really stay here, in this dream-like land of gentle people? Would he be given reward in return for work, and choose what to do with it – to travel, to learn to read, to form bonds with people... have friends, a woman who wasn’t indifferent to him, children he could raise in kindness and have some hope of protecting from—
No. A wave of sickening realisation brought him back to reality. Takado only said Lord Dakon could do whatever he wanted with me because if he had revealed he was coming back for me, Lord Dakon might have tried to hide me away.
He might still, if Hanara told him the truth.
He wouldn’t do it well enough, because he doesn’t know Takado. Takado loves a hunt. He will track me down. He’ll find me. He’ll read my mind and find out I ran away from him. Then he’ll kill me. No. I’m better off waiting until he returns.
And enjoying what freedom he could have in the meantime.
But at that thought his stomach sank again.
Or does he expect me to go home as soon as I’m able to? Will he only return here if I don’t? Only punish me if I stay here?
The visitors were leaving now. Hanara watched them go, envying them their freedom, yet at the same time despising them for their ignorance. They knew nothing. They were fools. Takado would return.
CHAPTER 7
After opening her eyes the next morning, Tessia spent a long moment lying in bed gazing at the room she had slept in.
She could not quite believe it was hers.
The walls were painted the colour of a summer sky. A night-wood screen covered the enormous window. The large chests, cupboards, desk, chair and bed were made of the same rare and expensive timber. The covering on her bed was quilted and made of the softest cloth she had ever touched, and the mattress beneath was even and slightly spongy.
Framed paintings hung from the walls. All were landscapes, and she recognised most of the settings as local. A small vase contained some field herbs, their zesty fragrance lightening the air.
The fireplace was as large as the one in the kitchen of her home.
This is my home now. That she should have to remind herself of this now seemed terribly predictable, but also incredible. I bet I have to say that to myself many, many more mornings before this place starts to feel like home.
She sat up. Nobody had told her what routine she should follow or expect. Lord Dakon hadn’t even told her when she should present herself for her first lesson.
Lying in bed was not her habit so she got up and wandered around the room in her nightshift examining its furnishings and unpacking some of her belongings from her trunk. One of the room’s c
hests held books, a folder of parchment and writing tools. The books were histories, magical texts and even a few of the novels written for entertainment that her father had once described to her.
He’d had a low opinion of the latter. She’d never read one, so she picked up the first and started to read.
When the knock came at the door she found she was already a quarter of the way through the book. It was as frivolous as her father had described, yet she was enjoying it. While the escapades of the characters were unbelievable, she found the minor details of life in the city of Imardin fascinating. The lives of these men and women did not hang on the success of crops or the health of livestock, but on wise alliances with honourable men and women, the favour of the king, and a good marriage.
Replacing the book in the chest, Tessia rose to answer the door. She opened it a crack to see who was there. A buxom young serving woman smiled and stepped inside as Tessia opened the door for her.
“A good morning to you, Apprentice Tessia,” she said. “My name’s Malia. I’ve been looking after your new friend down the other end of the corridor for a few years now, so I’m used to the ways and needs of young apprentices. Here’s your wash water.”
Malia had a large jug in one hand and a broad basin in the other, and bundles of cloth wedged under one arm. She set all down on the top of one of the chests.
“I’ll bring your morning meal up for you in a bit,” she continued. “Is there anything you would like?”
“What do you usually have?”
From a long list of foods, some of which she had never heard of anyone eating first thing in the morning, Tessia chose something simple and the servant left. Tessia washed and dressed, then combed and plaited her hair.
“Lord Dakon will see you in the library when you’re done,” Malia said when she returned with a tray laden with food. “No hurry. He’s always in there in the mornings, reading.”
At the thought of this impending meeting, perhaps her first lesson, Tessia’s appetite lagged, but she forced herself to eat the food the servant had brought, knowing she’d feel guilty about wasting it if she didn’t. Picking up the tray, she carried it out of the room, encountering Malia in the corridor outside.