She had not used the saddle chain to fix him to the bed. He glanced at the windows, hoping for a real glimpse of the stars. They, too, were webbed shut. He wouldn’t see Casel again tonight, aside from more dreams.
The star map. Could it possibly have survived all this? His hands were free to find out. He slipped his hand down and into his pocket, and—it was there! It was crumpled and a little sweaty, but it was there. He unfolded it gingerly and studied it in the dim firelight, careful not to make a sound. Was Casel on the map?
She was there, toward the bottom. He could not make out the notes nearby, though. One particularly clear inscription was at the top of the map near Anefin. He squinted and studied it for a while in the dimness, trying to make out the ancient, twisted Serabain. The odd little hooks, the sharp, angular glyphs. He studied it for a long while. Mages were rumored to have used Serabain in the olden days. They’d seen the same language in the temple earlier, and it was still used in some nations across the southern sea. He knew a little, but few of these words looked familiar. Many looked incomplete, as if only part of the word was there. Some letters, too, looked broken and not fully formed.
He puzzled through it for a while until his eyes began to ache and his vision blur. He could hardly decipher it if he wasn’t alert enough to read it—and the dimness didn’t help. He’d have to keep looking for chances to study it.
He wouldn’t show it to Mara just yet.
He folded it back up neatly, slipped it into his pocket, and listened to her breathe. He thought of the dream. Tena’s words stuck with him—a king is a king even if he doesn’t sit on a throne. A Lanuken was always a Lanuken. He could help people and serve Akaria even if he was in shackles. He’d felt all along that he could probably do more good in these shackles than he had been able to in Estun. But the question remained—how could he best help anyone?
His thoughts became less solid and less serious as sleep approached. He listened to the crackle of the fire and felt its warmth. Soon winter would be here; Emie would be happy about that. By the time winter came, he would likely know what lay in store for him. Questions would be answered, good or bad. The darkness of the room and the warmth of the fire reminded him of home. He missed the snowy peaks of Estun now. But even if he never returned, soon the whole world would have its coating of snow, just for Emie. He sighed and drifted off to sleep, thinking of the drifting flakes falling on the windy road that led home.
Miara awoke with a start, the sharp and sudden knowledge that they had traveled two days from Estun at the front of her mind. That meant they were a two-day ride from home.
Halfway. Already.
She glanced over at Aven, closer to her than she’d expected. He was still asleep, his head resting against her shoulder softly, his body warm and close. Two day’s ride from servitude—or likely worse. The Masters couldn’t mean the same thing for him that they meant for just any other mage.
Did they know he was a mage? She wouldn’t be the one to tell them unless they forced it out of her. Still, she had to wonder. Was she really on some kind of mission to save the world from itself, helping them hunt down all these mages in the world—no matter how powerful they were—and keep them from getting out of control? If magic really were evil, wasn’t someone like Aven exactly the last person you’d want to have a good command of it?
She sighed, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe that even if she tried. Those bastards had no right, and that was that.
Her eye caught on the window; the light coming in was strangely bright. She got up and brushed aside the cobwebs delicately woven over the glass. The white glare stung her eyes… snow!
Snow? In the middle of autumn? Not unthinkable, but after all of Emie’s talk of it last night, it would be quite a coincidence. Or was it actually something else? Her eyes shot to Aven again. He was sleeping soundly. Could he have… ? Was he capable in his sleep? Of course he was capable.
She should probably stop teaching him. She could be underestimating how quickly an adult mage could come into his powers.
She reached over and shook him awake. His gray-green eyes grimaced, squinted, and then finally looked at her, revealing that lovely, heavenly green. She said nothing for a moment, just staring into them. Then she remembered herself abruptly.
“Get up.”
Ignoring her gruffness, he stretched and yawned, like it was any other morning. “I was having the strangest dream!” he said. “Several, actually. I was trudging through a snowstorm.”
“I don’t think you know the half of it,” she said, standing up and striding over to the window for a better look. A little bit of shifting energy about, and he’s manipulating the weather in his sleep? Gods. He was either lying or very powerful.
Frowning, he got up and came to her side. His mouth fell open in shock.
Emie was already outside, shaping a mound of heavy, wet snow into a heap. Three other children had joined her and were lobbing snowballs at each other’s heads. So much for caution. It might have been the loveliest snow Miara had ever seen with fat, heavy flakes swirling whimsically in a gentle wind.
“I—I feel cold,” he stammered. “In fact, I feel freezing. Did I… ?”
She shrugged, not completely sure.
“Could I have? Can an air mage… ?”
“Oh, yes.”
He stood staring, mouth open, a twist of a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth and breaking into a grin. Looking farther, she could see that the snow hadn’t fallen everywhere; it ended a little way up the road. The coverage centered around the inn. Around Emie.
She didn’t know whether to be frightened or awed at the sweetness of the gesture. “You better hope they don’t suspect us for this,” she muttered, halfheartedly threatening.
He just gave her a sideways glance and an even bigger grin. He wasn’t falling for her tough act in the slightest, at least not in this moment.
What on earth had she started? Did it really matter? Did she care? They’d be back to the Masters in a day or two, and it would all be over. How much trouble could they get into before then?
Wouldn’t it be delightful to find out?
Miara sat and studied her maps as they ate some porridge near the inn’s roaring hearth. The road back was disgustingly straightforward—a little to the west and a lot more to the south, and they’d be back. She hated the thought; no part of her wanted this trip to end.
The star map. Could it possibly have survived all this? His hands were free to find out. He slipped his hand down and into his pocket, and—it was there! It was crumpled and a little sweaty, but it was there. He unfolded it gingerly and studied it in the dim firelight, careful not to make a sound. Was Casel on the map?
She was there, toward the bottom. He could not make out the notes nearby, though. One particularly clear inscription was at the top of the map near Anefin. He squinted and studied it for a while in the dimness, trying to make out the ancient, twisted Serabain. The odd little hooks, the sharp, angular glyphs. He studied it for a long while. Mages were rumored to have used Serabain in the olden days. They’d seen the same language in the temple earlier, and it was still used in some nations across the southern sea. He knew a little, but few of these words looked familiar. Many looked incomplete, as if only part of the word was there. Some letters, too, looked broken and not fully formed.
He puzzled through it for a while until his eyes began to ache and his vision blur. He could hardly decipher it if he wasn’t alert enough to read it—and the dimness didn’t help. He’d have to keep looking for chances to study it.
He wouldn’t show it to Mara just yet.
He folded it back up neatly, slipped it into his pocket, and listened to her breathe. He thought of the dream. Tena’s words stuck with him—a king is a king even if he doesn’t sit on a throne. A Lanuken was always a Lanuken. He could help people and serve Akaria even if he was in shackles. He’d felt all along that he could probably do more good in these shackles than he had been able to in Estun. But the question remained—how could he best help anyone?
His thoughts became less solid and less serious as sleep approached. He listened to the crackle of the fire and felt its warmth. Soon winter would be here; Emie would be happy about that. By the time winter came, he would likely know what lay in store for him. Questions would be answered, good or bad. The darkness of the room and the warmth of the fire reminded him of home. He missed the snowy peaks of Estun now. But even if he never returned, soon the whole world would have its coating of snow, just for Emie. He sighed and drifted off to sleep, thinking of the drifting flakes falling on the windy road that led home.
Miara awoke with a start, the sharp and sudden knowledge that they had traveled two days from Estun at the front of her mind. That meant they were a two-day ride from home.
Halfway. Already.
She glanced over at Aven, closer to her than she’d expected. He was still asleep, his head resting against her shoulder softly, his body warm and close. Two day’s ride from servitude—or likely worse. The Masters couldn’t mean the same thing for him that they meant for just any other mage.
Did they know he was a mage? She wouldn’t be the one to tell them unless they forced it out of her. Still, she had to wonder. Was she really on some kind of mission to save the world from itself, helping them hunt down all these mages in the world—no matter how powerful they were—and keep them from getting out of control? If magic really were evil, wasn’t someone like Aven exactly the last person you’d want to have a good command of it?
She sighed, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe that even if she tried. Those bastards had no right, and that was that.
Her eye caught on the window; the light coming in was strangely bright. She got up and brushed aside the cobwebs delicately woven over the glass. The white glare stung her eyes… snow!
Snow? In the middle of autumn? Not unthinkable, but after all of Emie’s talk of it last night, it would be quite a coincidence. Or was it actually something else? Her eyes shot to Aven again. He was sleeping soundly. Could he have… ? Was he capable in his sleep? Of course he was capable.
She should probably stop teaching him. She could be underestimating how quickly an adult mage could come into his powers.
She reached over and shook him awake. His gray-green eyes grimaced, squinted, and then finally looked at her, revealing that lovely, heavenly green. She said nothing for a moment, just staring into them. Then she remembered herself abruptly.
“Get up.”
Ignoring her gruffness, he stretched and yawned, like it was any other morning. “I was having the strangest dream!” he said. “Several, actually. I was trudging through a snowstorm.”
“I don’t think you know the half of it,” she said, standing up and striding over to the window for a better look. A little bit of shifting energy about, and he’s manipulating the weather in his sleep? Gods. He was either lying or very powerful.
Frowning, he got up and came to her side. His mouth fell open in shock.
Emie was already outside, shaping a mound of heavy, wet snow into a heap. Three other children had joined her and were lobbing snowballs at each other’s heads. So much for caution. It might have been the loveliest snow Miara had ever seen with fat, heavy flakes swirling whimsically in a gentle wind.
“I—I feel cold,” he stammered. “In fact, I feel freezing. Did I… ?”
She shrugged, not completely sure.
“Could I have? Can an air mage… ?”
“Oh, yes.”
He stood staring, mouth open, a twist of a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth and breaking into a grin. Looking farther, she could see that the snow hadn’t fallen everywhere; it ended a little way up the road. The coverage centered around the inn. Around Emie.
She didn’t know whether to be frightened or awed at the sweetness of the gesture. “You better hope they don’t suspect us for this,” she muttered, halfheartedly threatening.
He just gave her a sideways glance and an even bigger grin. He wasn’t falling for her tough act in the slightest, at least not in this moment.
What on earth had she started? Did it really matter? Did she care? They’d be back to the Masters in a day or two, and it would all be over. How much trouble could they get into before then?
Wouldn’t it be delightful to find out?
Miara sat and studied her maps as they ate some porridge near the inn’s roaring hearth. The road back was disgustingly straightforward—a little to the west and a lot more to the south, and they’d be back. She hated the thought; no part of her wanted this trip to end.
