"The teaching of Elfinate says: 'energy or power' is hidden in everything that exists in Oira, the celestial sphere where we all live. And the owner feels this energy and can direct it to the world of matter from the world of the invisible spirit," Varlag repeated aloud the words from the book that lay closed in front of him.
Then he opened the appropriate page and checked to see if he had missed anything. No, it's just like that, word for word.
"And if I had a good memory, it helped."
The young man was preparing for the trial of the owners; of course, they would be practical; but knowing a mentor who is too demanding, it is worth repeating the theory. What if he asks you what? It can be historical event dates, terms, verar sages' explanations, or… It can be anything! And if these questions concerned his homeland, this should not be dreamt of. After all, they were at the heart of Elfinate. It's naive to think that elves who are selfishly in love with their history and culture will ask you about the founding of Gladia.
So Varlag did what all the students before him did: he studied, and the only difference was that they studied together. And not to say that he took up this case with care and diligence, which has not been particularly manifest until now. But, as it always happens, in the very last days of the eve, he began to repeat the old and study the new. Suddenly, something from what he had read would come in handy.
And it's also a good way to pass the time; rather than looking at the wall, nervously moving your hands and swinging your legs, in the agonizing expectation of a trial for which you still, no matter how you turn it, will not prepare thoroughly.
Besides, books that were read by lamplight in the evening (during the day, in class, of course, they were also read) caught up with a particularly sound sleep; it also came pretty soon. Everything depended on the antiquity of scripture; the older, the more boring. Some of them could not sleep because of all this, by the way, but not Varlag. And now he yawned. But on the contrary, he should have started up, because the trial is already today, almost now! So he patted his cheeks and got up from the table, intending to measure his room with steps.
All the possible variants of events scrolled through his head, but Varlag could not get rid of all these thoughts. The desire for sleep receded, so all these worries and experiences burst into his imagination. And if at least someone tried to calm the excited students, they would say, "it's okay," but no! On the contrary, fellow students inflamed the situation with all sorts of speculation and rumors. If Varlag had not listened to them, it is unlikely that they would have been required to hang upside down, blindfolded, demonstrating all their skills in ownership and at the same time quoting the contents of philosophical treatises. But they talked about all sorts of things, even about battles with each other, and the mentor did not try to stop them all. He must have been amused by looking at the frightened owners, who did not show proper (in his opinion) interest in classes.
In Highhome, there were also senior owners, teachers, or, in the recent past, the same students who graduated from teaching. But Varlag and his fellow students hardly saw them ask about everything properly; they only occasionally arrived at school on some important business of their own. They lived separately from them, not in a common residential tower, but in a city sprawled around a cliff, where the Academy of Highhome stood. Sometimes they were allowed to visit the city, but then no one cared about any trials, and in recent weeks the mentor did not give permission for walks, flooding everyone with studies and training. So they cooked all this time in a broth of fabulous lies and their insecurity.
Varlag was encouraged only by his best friend, Fer. But Fer was in the dark about everything, only saying that some famous guests from the Pleiades of owners could observe the course of this (and it is still unclear how it is going) future exam.
What else is there? Embarrassing yourself in front of the same students or powerful owners is not the same thing… but no guests have come to Highhome these days. Or maybe they are stationed in the city and will arrive right away. Just in case, Varlag added another item to the list of myths. And he was thinking that since the strongest owners did not come (at least they did not come!), then the trial exam was some ordinary and boring action to worry too much about. And why bother already, if it is here, so close, right in front of your nose?
But still, he was worried. After all, a lot depended on this damned trial. For example, the honor of his family.
Varlag happened to be born as a prince of Gladia, the eastern kingdom of humms, or humans. He had everything he could ever want, and he also turned out to be the owner. For his royal family, this is not uncommon—his father is a calidite, his mother is a shidite, and his uncle is a combinator at large, and other relatives from time immemorial embodied the power sung in legends. However, legends always exaggerate everything, especially regarding the dynasty of monarchs.
No one doubted that the son of the owners, the king, and the queen, would get into Highhome. No one, but not Varlag. He always doubted his abilities. At home, the sages claimed the type of ownership and that its power was inherited. But only the prince's abilities began to manifest much later than they should have and turned out to be much weaker. And no matter how much he practiced, no matter how much advice he listened to and tried to resort to, his strength only weakened and weakened, faded and faded again. What Varlag could have done earlier, three years ago, he would not be able to repeat now.
In youth, the power of the wearer manifests itself chaotically, so it is extremely difficult to determine his future: it can be a whole combination of skills of all types. But not so weak as to try to single out one thing and attribute the owner to a particular species.
Young owners can create sparks of fire and immediately turn them into snowflakes, which, having melted, will fall to the ground, and there a tree will begin to grow.
The type of ownership depends on many things, from body shape to character and way of thinking. Varlag had read the works of a wise man who claimed that ownership depended on the shape of the nose. This, of course, is ridiculous. After that, the young man had fun for a long time, wondering which of the students had an affiliation, looking at their noses.
Varlag initially had no expectations beyond his own. Among the humms, Calidia (temperature change), Shidia (controlling water with the wind), and Terrestry (ownership of the earth) are common. His father controlled the heat, and his mother controlled the water. Given another theory, the force opposing the other dominated. It means that water extinguished the fire, suppressing it; fire drowned ice, and stone did not succumb to either water or fire. Some combinators own two different types of power, but this does not happen too often. And it certainly does not apply to him, although Varlag has manifested himself equally in all three types, all of which are equally weak.
And now there is no way at all. During the practices, which became more frequent with enviable regularity, for quite a long time, he could not strike sparks at all, nor make the water sway in the vessel, or freeze it, nor lift a pebble into the air, absolutely nothing.
These classes cause only irritation and despair. The other students were becoming more skilled with the force every day, but he was not. So he and his best friend, Fer, are two boots from one pair, and just two losers… Even his friend still had some results.
And, of course, Varlag was afraid of failing miserably today because he did not have even a fraction of the power of his parents to arrange a performance for the amusement of the guests. And maybe the elves do not care about some humm's prince. But in the east, they will wash all his bones because of such a shame. So it's scary to think about what his father will say… Regarding demonstrating power, there is absolutely nothing to show him, only his weakness.
The great dynasty had nothing to do with it. As it turned out, in addition to the theory of inheritance, there were others with whom he happened to get acquainted only here; some of them completely refuted the dependence of ownership on your blood and the blood of your family. But not in the case of elvins born from humms and elves—for some reason, power was seldom embodied in such children, only sometimes, and if this happened, they called this ownership Escura—it was a real curse. He knew a lot more now. But even this could not calm him down or shed light on what was happening to him. His parents are strong, so why is he so worthless? Is he an exception?
Or maybe the reason was that he never liked ownership and did not want it? How to force yourself to be the owner if you do not need it? So he can put his ownership to sleep and help it disappear. Is that even possible? The mentor just keeps saying, "You need to exercise more." But it does not change anything! So why all this torment and humiliation?
He has never seen the point in the power that is needed for sculpting pots, roasting tiles, and watering vegetables. And that's what they all studied for. Even the most skilled of them are waiting for such a fate. And why all these hours of meditation and books? After all, there is ordinary work, and there is no need to spend so much time on training and control.
For an infinitely long time, they studied history, philosophy, politics, mathematics, and many other sciences. It even seemed to him as if he had entered the ordinary Heiskol Institute at home in Gladia, where sages without ownership studied.
Yes, he had a chance to learn all this. Yes, he had some advantages, but it was not easier for Varlag. His teachers at home were not elves, after all, and he studied those issues that concerned his land, but not the whole of Meriel.
He imagined how difficult it was to master all this knowledge for those who had not studied any literacy at all before the awakening of ownership in them.
Those who could not remember the names and dates of historical figures, on the other hand, could cause such a powerful Calidia flame! It remained only to be envious and amazed.
But no one was going to use ownership to discover new lands, battles, or adventures. And this is how Varlag saw his future as the owner. But as soon as I started talking about it at home, my father was furious. Varlag hoped that he would find a response in the Owners' Academy, but even then, such thoughts began to be knocked out of their heads from the very first day. Again, only Fer agreed with him, but Niame reacted completely strangely and did not even talk to him for many days after passionate arguments on this topic.
Memories of the time spent within these walls flashed before his mind's eye. Varlag recalled how, just a month after the start of his studies, he intended to return to Gladia, about which he wrote to his mother. She was much kinder and more supportive, but the prince could get his father's favor and the throne in the future only if he finished his studies and became a worthy successor. Such was the answer. In the letter, it was ordered for him not to upset his mother and not to anger his father. So he resigned himself and stayed at Highhome.
So the last three years have come and gone. And now, it seems like all of them, the student-owners, have found themselves on the threshold of something new and a little frightening. It is the one that will determine their fate definitively.
Varlag stopped circling his room and looked out the window. The evening was already approaching, spreading pink gold over the rocks and the river, over the towers of the Academy and the city. The sunlight penetrated his chambers, filling them with light and warmth—the prince thought that this should be a ray of hope, and if he wanted to, then everything would work out. Should it?
Otherwise, he imagined his father's disappointed face, as this grimace was replaced by disgust… And how his mother would calm him down. She always stayed by his side.
Or you can give it all up right now…
But then Varlag was brought out of his thoughts by Niame, who appeared quite suddenly. The door swung open without knocking, and a red-haired elf girl appeared in the doorway. She was flushed and out of breath.
"I found out something!" she blurted out.
"Good evening to you, too," Varlag replied, studying the sudden guest. "I think now we need to knock before—"
"Sorry, I have a habit. And so it soon starts. Listen, it's about the trial. I thought you should know—"
"That's very nice of you. Take care of the weak guys."
"Oh, shut up already and listen carefully. I found out that Mentor Katel uses special objects created to react unmistakably to the kind of ownership that gave birth to them, and they also need to consolidate your strength."
"And this is all?"
"Yes, and now I'm going to run and prepare myself. I have a special dress for this trial! I want to look perfect. Good luck!"
"You, too. Thanks for another rumor."
"This is not a rumor!" Niame shouted over her shoulder and disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared.
"Eh, just some ancient artifacts will decide our fate…" Varlag said aloud before collapsing onto the bed.
And what if none of these relics responded to him?
***
This time there was a knock on the door. Varlag shuddered reluctantly.
"Varlag, Hello," said a guy's voice, muffled, and a little shy. "It's me, Fer—"
"Come in, buddy, it's not locked!" shouted the prince, getting out of bed. Ferdorcha came, that's what they agreed.
His best friend's different eyes (one gray and one brown) darted around the room. Fer—all pale and wet, he was even more worried than Varlag himself.
"I'm worried—" said Fer. He chuckled nervously and rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. "How are you?"
"Not bad," Varlag said, shaking his hand. "After all, everything will be decided today. And Niame was there before you. So she told me a few words about the trial."
He quickly explained the artifacts that reveal and consolidate ownership.
"Is that all?" Ferdorcha asked.
"I reacted the same way. But, yes, that's all."
"Oh, why was everyone so worried? Hurig the Glorious said, 'We are waiting for a maze with traps and an ulticore at the very end.'"
"Hurig the Glorious-grunt. And what is this ulticore?"
"A predatory snail, they live near Vertrang."
"Is it big?"
"An adult is quite large—"
"Think about it. Who would have brought this creature here?"
"Indeed, it does not seem so plausible now—"
"You see. Everything will be good for you."
"For us."
"Of course, that's what I meant. We can do it together."
"Just think! I'll be the first elvin to pass the trial in years!" Fer spread his hands.
"I can be proud of you!" Varlag clapped him on the shoulder.
The fact is that Ferdorcha is the elvin. The only one is the elvin owner, among all their fellow students. There were nudars in his family. That's why the power in him was awakened. It may be quite weak, but still. This could be considered a miracle. Fer was different, and that was what attracted Varlag most about him, because he was different, too: a descendant of a monarch's dynasty with strange, fading ownership.
In turn, the not-too-handsome and lonely Ferdorcha was drawn to a popular royal student. They became friends almost immediately. Every day their friendship grew stronger, and they understood each other perfectly. Maybe some people laughed at Varlag for his choice; but the decision with whom to communicate and with whom not—was left to him. As a prince, he did not care about other people's speculations. He has his head on his shoulders, his views, and his aspirations. If one could not even try to understand them, there was no place for him in the young man's friends.
Ferdorcha's parents are noble elves. What was his father's surprise when he was born? Of course, he's not his son. And the elf mother of Fer is just a slut. A dirty whore in wonderful clothes who would not admit to sleeping with a humm or a humdar, even though she was probably a noble.
She carries a baby, knowing how the world lives and what awaits the elvin bastard in Elfinate. And now she hid it away from her eyes, preferring to avoid shame and not see their mistakes, giving all the best to Fer's brothers and sister.
It was much more merciful to kill such a child… But Varlag was glad that his friend was still alive and unharmed, as well as their meeting, and even in Highhome, where the owners were trained. Is not that proof dropped to call upon centuries-old and unfair foundations?
Ferdorcha did not speak badly of his relatives; but in his heart, Varlag hated, and despised them, without telling his friend directly, so as not to tease at these emotional wounds.
The bells rang, summoning the young owners to trial in the main tower.
"Well, let's go?" Fer asked.
"We can run away right now," Varlag suggested jokingly.
"Then we'll never know what ownership someone has according to their nose!" the elvin smiled.
The two guys laughed and left the room together.