ZYGRADON (3 page)

"But magic is everywhere. Can you run out?"

"To my knowledge, no," she answered slowly. "It is like the water that collects
in the cisterns. Water always flows in, yes? But the level of water in the cistern changes,
depending on how much we use. If we used it all, if we wasted it in splashing games,
instead of using it for laundry and cooking, we would be thirsty until the water filled the
cistern again. Do you see?"

Mrillis nodded. "What happens if nobody uses magic for a long, long time?
Does the
imbrose
overflow?"

"We don't know. There is never so much
imbrose
that it becomes
dangerous. All Rey'kil have the gift of magic, but some can't do much magic because
there isn't enough
imbrose
."

"Like everybody can wash, but not everybody can take a bath, because there
isn't enough water for that?" he guessed.

"Exactly." Le'esha hugged him. Ceera clapped and giggled, even though she
probably didn't understand what they had been talking about.

"So that's why we don't help the Noveni like they want?"

"We don't help the Noveni?" Le'esha's smile faded. For a moment, she looked
unutterably weary. "You overheard a great deal, didn't you?" When Mrillis nodded, she
sighed and closed her eyes. "Tell me what you heard. If the Noveni have decided to
blame the Rey'kil for their troubles again, we must be warned."

Mrillis repeated back as much of the conversation as he could recall. Then
Le'esha had him tell her what he thought of the men's words, his feelings, his fears, his
questions, the things he understood and didn't understand.

"Are they going to try to take Lygroes away from us?" he said as he
finished.

"The Estall gave Lygroes to the Rey'kil, just as he gave Moerta to the Noveni
and Flintan to the Encindi. We are all such different people, we cannot live
together."

"But the Rey'kil and Noveni do live together."

"Because we must. Because we need each other."

"Because of blood magic?" he said, bringing up the one question he had almost
forgotten to ask.

"Because people are cruel and selfish. Because the Encindi choose to take what
other people have, rather than work hard for the things they want and need." Le'esha
sighed when Ceera whimpered and wrapped her arms around her neck. She cuddled the
little girl close. "They would rather fight and hurt than ask for help. Star-metal destroys
Flintan, the Encindi land. Instead of asking the Rey'kil and Noveni for help, the Encindi
try to take our land away from us. Instead of asking us to share, as we share already with
the Noveni, they would rather kill us all."

"Bad boys," Ceera whispered. "Tuli wanted Kayla's cake. She said no, so he
pushed her down and stomped on it."

"Exactly, my little seer," the Queen of Snows whispered, and brushed a kiss on
Ceera's forehead. "They destroy what they can't take, so no one can have it. We must all
grow up and learn to share and live in peace, or even Lygroes will someday be
destroyed by star-metal's power."

"But what is blood magic?" Mrillis insisted.

"Life itself is magic, my dear ones. Do you understand that? The Estall's spirit
lives in each of us. A tiny piece of
imbrose
. A seed of greatness. When we die,
imbrose
is released, like seeds set free in a high wind. Blood magic steals the gift
of the Estall at the moment of death, and uses it for terrible, cruel things. Blood magic
kills in order to grow strong."

"Do the Encindi use blood magic? Is that why they fight? To steal our
magic?"

Le'esha's eyes glimmered with tears and she looked long into his eyes before
answering. Mrillis wished he hadn't asked, because it made her sad to talk of such
things.

"Yes, they use blood magic. There is a Rey'kil who uses blood magic, and he has
become their leader. He has become so evil, no one speaks his name. His own family
refuses to admit that he was ever born."

"The Nameless One," Mrillis whispered. Now some things he had overheard in
recent months made sense.

"Exactly." She blinked and a single tear trickled down her cheek. "Estall bless you
and guard you, my dear one. So young to know such sad, painful things. But who can
say that you are not being formed even now for great and wonderful duties to serve our
people and save our world?"

* * * *

The storms that winter were twice as fierce as usual, as if the elements had
joined forces with the Encindi to batter the north. Mrillis was grateful the cruel weather
kept visitors away from the Stronghold. Especially Noveni visitors. The children spent
their days together in the common room. The sun shone through the clear ceiling no
matter how fiercely the storms raged outside, and birds flew among the cascades of vines
and flowering trees growing everywhere in the vaulting halls and caverns. The days
passed in lessons that were turned into games, contests to see who could memorize the
most passages of historical texts, prophecies and poetry or dancing games to keep them
strong, limber and graceful. The queen's ladies brought their husbands into the
Stronghold when the storms grew fierce, instead of going home each night to their
village of sturdy stone houses beyond the Lake of Ice. Mrillis enjoyed those times with
men in the Stronghold, because they taught all the children how to fletch arrows, make
bows, braid ropes, how to track an animal through the forest or start a fire with flint and
iron, and how to dress freshly caught game.

The children helped with washing clothes and chopping wood, hauling charcoal
and kindling and water wherever it was needed. The queen's ladies made their chores
into contests, dividing the children into teams to see who could complete their errands
the quickest, with the least amount of spillage and mess.

One day late in the winter, Mrillis was assigned to the laundry for the
afternoon, to haul water and firewood. Though she was too small and young to be
assigned chores, Ceera came with him. The steam that rose from the huge copper
cauldron that sat over the fire fascinated the little girl. She was constantly climbing up the
steps that let the water bearers pour buckets into the cauldron, to look into the slowly
churning water. She begged repeatedly to be allowed to turn the crank that lifted copper
buckets of hot water for the laundresses to use. Mrillis thought he spent more time
bringing the child down out of harm's way, than he spent hauling wood and dirty
clothes.

Mrillis was on the other side of the room, bent over to put another armload of
wood into the bin, when Ceera shrieked.

Time slowed as he turned and saw her tumble off the steps, falling straight into
the fire. He reached for her, though she was twenty steps away. He seemed to step
sideways, inside and yet outside his body, pushed by panic and terror. Flames bit at his
fingers and all the colors left the room. A blinding bright spider's web filled his vision. He
saw the threads of the web warp and wrap around Ceera. He heard her call his name
just before something popped, deep inside his head, and the world went black.

When the light returned, Mrillis thought he had fallen down every flight of
stairs inside the Stronghold. He ached, all over, skin and bones and deep inside his head.
Just moving his head made him nauseous. Opening his eyes was an effort, but he had to
see something besides the spider's web imprinted on the dark side of his eyelids. Where
had it come from?

"Are you awake now, my lad?" Le'esha's whisper echoed like a shout inside
Mrillis' head. It wrung a moan from him that made his throat hurt. "There. Be still. You
will feel better soon."

"Ce--a?" he managed to say, without earning more pain.

"She's fine. Terrified for you, but unharmed, otherwise." Her cool fingers
caressed his forehead. Sparks danced at the edges of the darkness and his vision cleared,
so he could see her pale face and green eyes floating above him. "I suppose you want to
know what happened?" Her hand slowly stroked down his throat and the scorched,
battered feeling faded. "You grabbed hold of your
imbrose
to save Ceera, all
unknowing. Like reaching for a stick for the fire and finding it is already on fire."

Mrillis grinned crookedly, and that much effort made his face hurt. It was all he
could manage, when he wanted to leap off the bed and howl for glee and turn
somersaults. Only six years old, and he had used his
imbrose
. There were boys
in the Stronghold twice his age, who studied on Wynystrys, and couldn't even find their
imbrose
, much less use it.

"Ah, yes, you do have a right to be proud." Le'esha slipped her hand under his
shoulders and lifted him enough to slide a pillow under him and prop him up, reclining.
"But do not celebrate so quickly. Do you feel burned and bruised inside?"

"Hurts," he whispered.

"Do you remember what happens when you try to help a flower open before it
is ready?"

He started to nod, but that movement hurt. Mrillis remembered what had
happened when Ceera had tried to open rosebuds last spring. The petals had torn and
the roses had withered and died.

"There are places in your body which merge with your soul, to protect your
imbrose
and guide the use and flow of it." She put a cup to his lips and trickled
honeyed water into his mouth. "They are only half-grown, like flowers waiting to
blossom. If you try to use the
imbrose
too soon--"

"I won't. Ever." Mrillis closed his eyes, aching deeper than the effort of speaking
could have caused.

"Do not despair, my dear one." She leaned down and brushed a kiss across his
forehead. "The Estall blesses those who sacrifice for the sake of others. Would you rather
have kept your
imbrose
and let Ceera be burned, perhaps die?"

"No," he answered quickly, a little louder. His voice didn't crack.

"No. Of course not. We will pray and wait for you to finish growing and we
will trust the Estall's grace and mercy. Be proud of the good that you have done. Scars
earned in the service of others, in preserving life, are the proudest decorations any of us
can ever earn. Remember that, my lad."

Mrillis tried to be brave and to be proud of what he had done, and grateful
that Ceera hadn't been hurt. He still wept when he woke from nightmares that night,
and didn't care if the other boys in the long dormitory room heard him.

* * * *

Two days later, Mrillis returned to his chores of fetching and carrying. Ceera
insisted on holding onto his hand wherever they went. When his hands were full, she
grabbed hold of the edge of his tunic. The older boys teased Mrillis about his shadow.
The girls who had begun healing training understood what he had done and the risk he
had taken, and they hushed the boys. Mrillis tried to ignore the teasing as well as the
pitying looks, and he was grateful when he was given different chores. He and Ceera
spent their days, when they weren't at lessons, carrying messages between healers and
storehouses and sentinels, all around the Stronghold.

Mrillis and Ceera were sharing lunch with the sentinels on duty at the Mist
Gates when Graddon, the seer of Whispering Vale, came to the Stronghold.

The children watched in wonder as the massive, roughly dressed man stepped
from the pebbly shore onto the Lake of Ice without challenge. The mists surrounded him
and he emerged a moment later in the antechamber. Both sentinels leaped from their
stools at the table and hurried forward to greet him.

"Mrillis, run to the Lady--" the first began.

"No need to bother her," Graddon said, a cheerful rumble in his voice. He
nodded, eyes bright, and smiled at the children. "These are the ones I have come to see,
and the Estall has brought them to the door to greet me. Although, unknowing on both
our sides, yes?" He winked at Ceera.

She laughed and ran to meet him before he finished extending his hand to her.
Mrillis responded only a little slower. He recognized the big man's warm, deep, rocky
voice, but he couldn't recall when or where he had heard it. He did know he liked this
man, sensing security, caring and a hint of mischief in those big, pale green eyes. His
hairless head, lacking even eyebrows or eyelashes, fascinated both children.

"Well, my Little Star, and do you like to weave and to work with clay?"
Graddon went down on one knee and held both Ceera's hands. He still had to bow his
head to look her in the eye. His smile widened when she nodded and her eyes grew
big.

"How do you know her pet name?" Mrillis asked.

"Graddon, the seer of Whispering Vale, knows many things," one sentinel said,
his voice muted with awe.

"Where is my Papa?" Ceera asked.

Graddon laughed and swept her up to perch on one bent arm. He held out a
hand for Mrillis and the boy came to him.

"He is quite safe, and I think he will buy sweets today to bring you as a present
when he comes to see you again. Now, my children, let us go find Lady Le'esha. I have
come to give you some lessons. Would you like to learn to make pretty things?"

He laughed again when Ceera wriggled with excitement. The three left the
antechamber and went up the stairs into the Stronghold. Ceera babbled about her clay
birds and flowers and the beads she wove into pictures on her loom.

* * * *

Graddon didn't teach them metalworking. Mrillis was disappointed, though he
knew that was silly. He and Ceera together couldn't lift the huge hammers that the
artisans in the lower levels of the Stronghold used for fashioning shields, platters, swords
and horseshoes.

The seer did talk with them about metal, all the different kinds and uses, how
ore was dug, refined and handled. He watched Ceera working with her tiny, toy loom,
and spoke to her of the ways the different threads worked together to make something
both beautiful and useful. How cloth could be used for decoration, to keep people
warm, and as bandages to keep wounds clean and hold together torn flesh.