Brightly Burning (38 page)

“I can't show you where the older Trainees treat people, of course,” she said apologetically. “That would be rude to the people; they aren't on display, after all!”

“Well, I wouldn't want strangers who weren't even Healers parading into my room if I were ill either,” Macy smiled. “Thank you very much for showing us around!”

“You are
quite
welcome!” Elenor said, gracing them with a dazzling smile of her own. “It's nice to meet some of Lan's family.”

Lan traded a glance with Macy; she grimaced.

“Some of Lan's family who don't want to treat him like a freak, that is,” Macy replied. “I can't believe how well he kept his temper at the Feast.”

Elenor raised her eyebrows in a way that suggested she agreed with Macy, but didn't say anything.

Elenor had to be about her own duties, so she left them at the door and hurried back to whatever she had to do. Macy walked between Lan and Tuck into a garden so quiet that every tiny creak of a snow-laden branch was clearly audible. Snow was still falling, and the fading light warned that Macy would have to start back soon if she wanted to be home by dark.

She kept giving Lan the oddest looks out of the corner of her eyes as they walked toward the stables to get her pony and cart.

“How long have you known Elenor?” she asked finally.

“She was one of the first people I met, while I was still hurt,” he said, wondering why she asked. “Her father is Herald Pol, the one who's my—I guess you'd call him a mentor.”

“Ah,” she said, as if that explained far more than just the content of his words. Then she turned to Tuck, and began plying him with questions, until Lan completely forgot her curious behavior by the time they had reached the stables.

THE tack room of the Companions' stable was perhaps not the best place for Lan's first lesson in using his Gift, but it was the only one that would work at all. It was absolutely too cold to try to teach Lan outside, for Pol didn't have the strength to teach him and keep them both warm at the same time. The first consideration in this set of lessons was that Kalira had to be with him, which ruled out most of the rooms in the Collegium. He'd asked for a tiled room in Healers, but there wasn't one available. That left the tack room, the only heated place in the stables that wasn't also too near stored straw and other flammable substances. Pol wished that it was spring, when these lessons could have been held safely outdoors, but this was too urgent to wait until spring. Just to be on the safe side, though, he had a pail of water nearby.

Not that a pail of water is going to make much difference if he
really
loses control
. . . Pol told himself sternly to dismiss the idea. Kalira had already demonstrated she could control Lan's power. If he let himself doubt that she could, he could undermine her ability to continue to do so.

So he sat down at a small table, across from his pupil, and put himself in the calmest and most confident state of mind he could conjure. Lan looked up at him and smiled, faintly, and reached out to touch Kalira who stood at his elbow.

“This is the usual first step for a Firestarter,” Pol said, placing a small piece of oil-soaked lint in the middle of a saucer in front of Lan. “Needless to say, in your case, the reason we're starting small is not because you need to increase your power—” here he raised an ironic eyebrow at Lan, who flushed, “—but because you need to increase your control. Or rather, you and Kalira need to work together so that you two can accomplish something besides blasting. So. Light this gently. You'll probably get a reaction-headache, Lan, unless Kalira has managed to work out how to keep that from happening too.”

Kalira gave Pol a distinctly superior look, which made Pol wonder just what she had been concocting. Companions had this addiction to secrecy sometimes . . . and took a distinct delight in coming out of nowhere with a surprise for their Chosen.

:What is she up to?:
he asked Satiran, who stood just behind him, watching the proceedings.

:I have no idea,:
his Companion replied.
:You know children. When they're planning something, the last person they tell is a parent.:

Lan bit his lip and stared at the bit of lint apprehensively.

“I expect you're going to have to get worked up about something,” Pol told him. “It's going to be a while before you can access the power of your Gift without getting emotionally—”

“Overwrought,” Lan supplied, unhappily.

“Well, yes. But just remember that when you two
do
get it under control, it's going to be easier to access, reliable, and very useful.” Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Lan was unhappy about his Gift, seeing that it was so linked with emotions. . . .

“Try it,” he urged. “The only way things are going to get better for you is to get everything under control.”

“And the only way to get control is to practice.” The boy sighed, but nodded. “Right.” He closed his eyes.

Pol was enough of an Empath to feel the unhappiness that Lan was conjuring out of his memories. The tension increased moment by moment, and Pol's stomach tightened in response.

Time crawled by, and Pol's shoulders and neck began to knot up as well. He felt sweat trickling down his back, nervous sweat, since it certainly wasn't that warm in the tack room. Soon it was at the point where he began to worry that Kalira's confidence was
over
confidence, that the plate would explode in his face in a moment. Lan's face reflected anger, fear, and unhappiness, and Pol had to force himself to remain where he was, looking calm and confident in case Lan looked up.

He felt as if
his
head was about to burst.

Then it happened. With a tiny sigh, the bit of fluff in front of him blossomed into a lovely flame that unfolded like a flower to feed on the lint and the oil.

Lan's shoulders slumped and his eyes opened; the anger drained from his face, then the fear, and he looked at the little flame with wonder.

“I—we did it!” he said, with great surprise. “And my head doesn't hurt!”

:I should hope not,:
Kalira said smugly, for the benefit of both the Heralds.
:I've been working on that. If I hadn't been, you'd have been waking up with a reaction-headache every time you had a bad dream.:
She tossed her head proudly and arched her neck, waiting for Pol to congratulate her.

“Aha! You clever girl, you! You've found the key, it's to take care of the problem before it's a problem!” Although Lan still looked baffled, Pol understood immediately. “You're draining off energy as he produces it!”

:And leaving just enough for him to use. Right now I'm directing it, too, but if you let him link in and show him what to do, all I'll have to do is manage the draining.:
Kalira had lost a bit of the smugness, but she was still very proud of herself, as well she should be. It was the best possible solution for now, although poor Lan would have to weather a great many emotional ups and downs in order to access his power.

“How are you doing?” Pol asked. Lan chewed on his lip, and looked anxiously at his mentor, but slowly the anxiety was fading.

“My stomach's upset, but I guess I'm all right,” he admitted.

:A cup of tea from Elenor will take care of that,:
Kalira soothed, though to Pol's experienced ear, she also sounded just a trifle impatient with her Chosen. She knew they could do this, now, and she wanted him to keep trying.

Lan didn't, but he knew that if he wasn't able to learn to control this ability, it would control him. It already had twice, after all, and he knew the consequences of that. While he thought, the bit of lint flared and went out, leaving a tiny pile of ashes.

“Let's . . . do it again,” he said at last.

“Good lad!” Pol replied, and replaced the bit of lint on the saucer. “Now, try again.”

This time, it seemed to be a little easier. It certainly didn't take as long. Pol ran him through the exercise a few more times before changing the focus.

“Right; let's take a break here—or at least, a break for you.” Pol smiled at Lan's look of relief. “Kalira will link you in to me, and you'll see
how
this is done.”

“Why can't Kalira show me?” Lan wanted to know. “If she can control the power, why can't she show me how to do it myself?”

:Because I'm not handling the power the way that you and Pol will,:
Kalira replied.
:I'm doing something only a Companion can do. We're born in energy and live in it all the time, that's why we're white. This kind of energy bleaches every live thing that it contacts after a time.:

“It is?” Lan asked, intrigued. Even Pol was intrigued; this was new information to him. Usually Companions revealed very little about themselves; he hadn't realized that they were so intimately involved with the force behind the Gifts.

:Indeed. You can't dye us either,:
she chuckled.
:We bleach right out in a few days.:

“Annoying of you,” Pol put in. “It would be so much more helpful to Heralds who are trying to gather information unobtrusively if you could just become an ordinary chestnut color once in a while.”

:Learn from adversity, Herald; we won't do everything for you.:
Kalira was still highly amused, and Pol sensed that Satiran was, too.

But her sire was willing to put up with only so much insolence from his offspring.
:Respect your seniors, Companion,:
the stallion chided.
:At this point in his life, Pol has accomplished more than you have ever dreamed of doing. Let's get on with this.:

He shifted his concentration to the lint, not that he had to concentrate a great deal. What he did
have to do was slow things down so that Lan could see exactly what happened.

It wasn't spectacular; basically, it was very similar to using the Fetching Gift at a very tiny scale. Although he no longer had to think about how he did this, he
vibrated
the materials until the heat they generated ignited them. He moved infinitesimal bits of the oil and lint so that they rubbed against each other, creating heat by friction, until the lint burst into flame.

When the lint flamed, he looked up at Lan, and saw the Trainee's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed with concentration, but his mouth forming a slight “o” of surprise.

“So
that's
what's happening!” he said, looking up into Pol's eyes.

“Basically, yes; just very, very quickly. And in your case, it's—” he tried to think of an analogy, “—hmm. Like an avalanche instead of a single, aimed stone. You just pour out power, and everything in its path goes up in flames. Things that are very flammable burn immediately, things that are around or near fire have flames jump to them, channeled by the power.”

Lan winced, but nodded. Pol was deliberately reminding him of what had happened, because he also wanted these sessions to desensitize Lan to what had happened by accident——because one day, he might have to do it on purpose. He couldn't keep wincing away from creating a major fire. He had to be able to create it when and where it was needed, even offensively.

Pol was privy to information known only to the King, the King's Own, and a few other, carefully selected members of the Council. What no other Herald teacher in the Collegium knew was that the situation on the Border with Karse was getting more serious with every passing day. They were taking advantage of the milder southern climate to increase their probes along the Border. If there was a war—ready or not, Lan might be needed.

Trained or not, he may be needed.
It was a sobering thought, and one that kept Pol lying wakeful at nights. If—no,
when
war came, more Trainees than Lavan would be thrown into Whites, all unready, and sent out to the South. More young Healers would follow; and young volunteers to the Guard.

Best to end it quickly, and for that, it might be necessary to unleash Lavan Chitward's power, unchecked, unhindered, in all its ferocity.

“So, do you think that if Kalira controls the amount of energy you get, you can replicate what I just did?” Pol asked.

Lan drummed his fingers restlessly, his eyes looking off at some far distant point while he sorted things through in his own mind. “Not yet,” he decided. “Can you show me again, three or four more times, I mean?”