ZYGRADON (20 page)

The teachers and scholars were disappointed, but they were honest enough to
admit relief. A summer and winter of theorizing and small experiments with local
Threads would give them the confidence and skill they needed to battle starshowers next
spring. Theories flew thicker than ever during lessons, along with multiple retelling of the
battle in the sky.

Mrillis was at first irritated that so little mention was made of what he and
Ceera had done. Breylon took him aside and spoke to him about it almost immediately,
before the boy quite had it clear in his head why it irritated him.

"Do you truly want the other boys to look at you with awe, perhaps hero
worship, maybe fear?" the High Scholar had asked.

Something sad in his eyes made Mrillis stop, with the eager 'yes' hovering on his
lips. He frowned, settled down on the bench in Breylon's private garden and hunched his
shoulders as he thought.

The High Scholar chuckled and sat down next to the boy and rested a hand on
his shoulder. "This might make things easier, lad. Think: has Nixtan become your friend
since you hit him with your
imbrose
?"

"No. He's nicer during lessons, but the rest of the time, I think he hates me more
than ever." Mrillis shrugged. "Master, sometimes I think Nixtan is so nasty because Endor
is there."

"Perhaps." He nodded. "Have other boys tried to become your friends, since
then? The ones who don't like Nixtan much?"

"No." Mrillis sighed. "The boys older than me aren't very friendly. I think maybe
they're afraid I'll be better than them, even though I'm younger."

"Exactly. It's quite natural for people to dislike and fear anything which steps
outside the patterns we expect. Noveni don't truly like the Rey'kil, because they don't
have
imbrose
and can't understand how it flows in our blood and spirits.
Despite marriages between Rey'kil and Noveni, partnership with the Warhawk, Noveni
scholars coming to study here, and Rey'kil scholars who work among the Noveni, it isn't
a comfortable friendship." Breylon sighed. "Sometimes I fear that if the danger from
Encindi and star-metal were to vanish, Rey'kil and Noveni would be at each other's
throats within a decade."

"But the Rey'kil would win, wouldn't we? We have magic on our side. Even
swords and the best archers can't stand up against that."

"Not always."

"Master, sometimes I really don't like being different. I wish I was like other
boys and you didn't talk to me like I was older." Mrillis tried to smile, just to fight the
awful feeling that he might start crying. He hated that feeling.

"Sometimes, lad, I wish that were so. But I have learned the Estall always
provides us with the right weapon or tool when there is danger or need. You have been
born to be a tool or weapon. It isn't fair. Sometimes I fear you have been robbed of your
childhood and any innocent pleasures you could have had. Honesty is the best gift I can
give you, in recompense."

"At least Endor and Ceera are my friends."

"Yes, at least they are."

Mrillis still struggled with resentment, a wish for praise and admiration, until
Endor thought of something.

"You did it by accident, didn't you?" his friend said, speaking in the moonlight
on a hot summer night. Neither boy could sleep, and they had gone to the shore to find
a breeze.

"We didn't know what we were doing." Mrillis sighed and rolled over for the
fiftieth time since lying down on the damp sand. He sighed in relief as the sweat
evaporated from his skin, but the chill didn't last long.

"If those donkey-heads knew you tripped over the truth, they'd never let you
forget it. Nixtan and Taykal and those others would be on your back day and night,
laughing at you." He sighed and rolled over. "Better hope they never find out."

That cured Mrillis' resentment and hunger for admiration. He wondered
sometimes how Ceera fared, if her fellow students in the Stronghold taunted or admired
her. Knowing Ceera, he decided she kept their adventures and discoveries a secret,
holding it as a treasure, refusing to share it with anyone. He couldn't ask her, though.
Letters could be read, and they didn't yet have the strength to communicate over such
long distance. He would have to wait to ask her when he went home for the
winter.

* * * *

The spring after Mrillis turned fourteen, the first starshower of the season came
late. It was an unusually stormy spring full of floods, mudslides and illness, and Rey'kil of
any strength and talent had been pressed into service helping the refugees, wounded and
ill. They needed to recuperate before doing battle with the sky web, and the delay was a
blessing.

When the sky watchers caught the first sign of a starshower, no one told the
students on Wynystrys. The boys retired to their long dormitory houses that night with
no idea that something important would happen.

Mrillis and three other boys in their dormitory felt the tingle and buzz in the air,
coming through the Threads, and it kept them awake. It didn't take long to realize what
was happening. They settled down by the hearth to keep vigil, playing strategy games on
maps drawn in the packed dirt of the floor, and waited. They knew better than to do
anything more than touch the Threads to feel what was happening. The slightest
interference, too strong of a grip, could kill them.

Several older boys realized something was going on. They gathered around
their friends and asked questions in whispers, to let the little boys sleep. Mrillis and Endor
played a strategy game with figures Endor had carved. Mrillis wondered how long the
night would last. He wondered if Ceera and the stronger girls in the Stronghold suffered
the same experience.

"It's not right," Endor muttered, his hand hovering back and forth over three
playing pieces as he tried to decide on his next action. "You figured it out. You should be
there." He flashed a mischievous grin. "I should be helping you."

Mrillis nodded and grinned back, not bothering to answer. Endor could now
see the thicker, stronger Threads. That didn't mean he could touch them and tap power
for his
imbrose
, much less share power with someone else. Still, it would have
steadied him to have a friend close at hand.

If he had been allowed to help battle the star-metal.

Which he wasn't.

"It was a complete accident," he finally said, when Endor continued in the same
vein for another twenty minutes, under his breath so none of the other boys heard. "We
were lucky we didn't kill ourselves."

"You should still be part of it. It's your right. They're stealing all your
glory."

"What glory is there in getting killed?" He smiled, remembering his lessons with
Norum on that mad dash across Lygroes five springs ago.

The scarred, gray-haired battlemaster had stressed a young man's duty to stay
alive to defend the weak and defenseless, rather than the glories of dying a valiant,
heroic death. Mrillis respected him for that. A grunt of approval from Norum was more
precious to him than flowery words of praise from most of the Warhawk's advisors and
emissaries.

The buzzing at the back of Mrillis' head grew strong enough to irritate. His
fingertips tingled, as if dozens of bees clung to them. He leaped to his feet and nearly ran
into another boy who had abandoned the useless distraction of his game. The two
grinned at each other, teeth bared in shared misery.

The itching sensation grew stronger, feeling like sand rubbed into burned skin.
His larger bones vibrated. He wanted to dig his fingers through his skin, into the muscle
fibers and scratch. But he couldn't.

The other boys watched, some horrified, some pitying, some maliciously
delighted. Until they started to feel it too. Mrillis fought the urge to scratch by pacing the
room, but soon his feet hurt, and the muscles in his legs. He knew in his head that
nothing harmed his bones and flesh. That didn't help make the sensations any less
frustrating. He sat, then stretched out flat in the cool, bare, packed dirt floor, finding
some small measure of relief.

"Here." Endor stood over him, a grin twisting his face. He held a bucket of
water over his head.

Mrillis looked up, saw something nasty in his friend's expression and opened his
mouth to protest. Icy water splashed over him. He gasped and sputtered and his mouth
filled with all the curses he had heard the Warhawk's men and Kathal and Tathal use on
their journeys together.

He felt better. The curses died before they spilled off his tongue. The itching
and burning fled his skin. The buzzing and scratching left the center of his bones.

"Should I thank you or pound you?" he grumbled, as he climbed to his feet.
Mrillis didn't bother looking. He could imagine the delighted smirk Endor wore. He
busied himself wringing out his shirt, and toed his boots off. They hit the ground with
sodden thuds.

Nobody laughed. Mrillis looked around the room, still avoiding the laughter in
Endor's face--and the unsettling feeling that his friend had enjoyed his torment a little.
Other boys still curled up in misery, trying not to whimper, or paced the room, shaking
out their arms, squeezing their hands, hunched over, anything to distract them from the
discomfort buzzing in their bones and nibbling at their flesh.

Or was it?

"It's over. The power is going back to a normal level," he blurted, and tipped his
head back as if he could see into the sky. He knew, somehow, exactly where the battle
with the starshower had taken place. And judging from the buzzing of power through his
body, just how much had been fed into the Threads when the star-metal
vaporized.

"Feeling better?" Endor asked, his voice innocent.

"Much. Thanks." Mrillis sputtered away a few more trickles of water that ran
down his face from his hair. He felt a totally different chill, when he wondered if
something had changed between him and his friend.

A moment later, he brushed that feeling away. Nothing had changed. He was
simply exhausted and irritated--and soaking cold wet.

* * * *

"Legend says that once, when the Rey'kil were small in number and new to the
World, magic gathered in pools in the low spots of the land. Vales, they were called,"
Breylon said. He smiled and nodded, his gaze turned inward in thought. "Some places
were changed by the magic that soaked into the ground, so that they became strange.
Mystical. Places which wise men avoid. Even after the pools of magic faded into nothing
but legend."

The gathered nobles, enchanters and scholars in the meeting hall waited. No
one fidgeted or frowned or murmured to his or her neighbor. Mrillis was heartily
impressed. The masters always demanded rapt attention from their students, but never
seemed to give it to each other. Until now.

"The Nameless One again tried to pull the star-metal down into Lygroes using
the sky web. Because we were prepared, because so many worked together, the battle to
wrest control over the starshower was short and...." He chuckled and turned just enough
to meet Mrillis' and Ceera's gazes. "Destructive. Like a tree full of sap exploding in the
fire. The most sensitive among us felt the flood of power through the Threads. So much
power has spilled through the World, magic has begun to collect in the ancient,
legendary places."

Excited murmurs broke out among the gathering. Mrillis heard speculations
from those who understood what it meant, questions from those who didn't, and excited
explanations from those eager to share the news. As far as he could tell, the pooling of
magic in the ancient vales meant there would be more free magical power for Rey'kil to
use. Those who had little or no
imbrose
might now be able to work healing
spells, or light fires with a thought. A thousand mundane, everyday chores would
become easier, using
imbrose
to control errant threads on a loom or find
misplaced tools or calm frightened farm animals. Those who had stronger
imbrose
could do bigger things. Lift huge weights or repair the ancient
fortresses. Maybe even look across leagues of distance and find the Nameless One
wherever he hid.

"Now, my friends, we must be careful. We have no idea how long these pools
will last," Breylon continued, holding up his hand to get their attention. "The vales
disappeared slowly over time, as the Rey'kil increased in number. The wise do not use
rare, strong salves on cuts and bruises, or potent filters on sniffles, but save them for
wounds and illnesses that could take a life."

Mrillis felt the ebbing of excitement through the room, though he sat in the
front corner with Ceera and Le'esha and couldn't see anyone. He felt something sink in
disappointment inside himself. Breylon was right, of course. Mrillis had heard the High
Scholar and Le'esha discussing something like this over dinner the night before, so he
should have been prepared. Still, it wasn't pleasant hearing the warnings Breylon now
spoke.

"As more starshowers fall down on us, we will feed more power to the Threads
and the vales will fill over time. Our studies of the starshowers and battles in the sky
have taught us enough; I do believe we may move on to the more valuable and
dangerous task awaiting us."

He stood still, gaze focused on his clasped hands, and waited until the entire
room had fallen silent. Mrillis heard the creaking of the thatch overhead and imagined if
he listened hard enough, he could hear others' heartbeats, the room was so still.

"Our good Master Prothis has devised an apt illustration for the problem of the
star-metal poisoning Moerta. One room can be filled with light from a single candle, if
you have enough mirrors to reflect that light repeatedly. Star-metal attracts star-metal,
reaching out to more of itself. That is how the Threads were formed. As star-metal
contacts star-metal, it magnifies the power. Instead of two candles, you have the light of
twenty, or forty, or one hundred."