SO, JUST ONE MORE TIME. Why is it exactly that we're going to the most ominous-sounding place in all Epheria? The Darkwood. I mean, besides the legends, it just doesn't sound very welcoming, does it?"
Dann, as expected, hadn't stopped talking to take a breath for more than five minutes over the past few days. It was at the point where Calen thought Therin might just kill him in his sleep and drag the body away. The elf glared at the back of Dann's head. His lips moved, but he was too far away for Calen to hear what he was saying. Calen wagered that it wasn't anything pleasant.
For the fourth time, Aeson answered Dann's question with more patience than Calen would have been able to muster himself. "There is an old mountain pass in the Darkwood, at the foot of the Lodhar Mountains. It is not a pleasant journey, but it should see us to Belduar safely and allow us to skirt the blockade."
Dann was silent for a moment, pondering. "I see. And why is it that Therin is so opposed to going this way?"
Therin did not even acknowledge the question.
"He has his reasons," Aeson said. "Now if you can stay quiet until we reach the Darkwood, I will answer three questions that Therin has refused to answer for you, but only if you don't speak from now until we arrive."
Dann went to open his mouth almost immediately, but paused when Aeson cocked his head and tilted one eyebrow upwards. He gestured as if he were tying his mouth closed with string.
I don't see that lasting.
Therin and Aeson had not had any verbal disagreements about their new path, but it was clear to everyone that Therin did not approve. His mood had deteriorated since the Darkwood was mentioned. Calen wasn't too keen on the idea either. There was not a story he had heard that involved anyone walking into the Darkwood – and then walking back out again.
Calen felt a burst of excitement coming from the dragon, combined with a rather loud shriek as it spread its snow-white wings. It leapt from the back of the saddle and up onto his right shoulder. Calen couldn't help but smile.
It had been sleeping a lot less over the past few days and nights, and its
appetite had increased twofold. It had also grown by almost half its original size, which Calen felt as its claws dug into his shoulder. "I think you might be getting a bit big to be standing on my shoulder." Calen felt a rumble of disagreement as the dragon chirped harshly. It understood him, he knew it did. Just as he understood it.
He still hadn't given it a name. He had talked to Aeson and Therin to find out what kinds of names were usually given to dragons. It hadn't helped.
They just kept rattling off names of past dragons, lost in the nostalgia of days long gone. "Well, Vyldrar was the name of the dragon to which Alvira Serris was bound. Tinua, Xarden, Anaia, Salina, Purlon…" The list just went on and on. He had hoped to narrow it down a little.
"We will settle here for the night," Aeson said. They approached a small alcove set into the side of a rock face, beside a slow-running stream.
"Bathe, eat, and then sleep. We will set off as soon as my eyes are open again. We will not wait for the sun."
They hoped to reach the Darkwood by nightfall of the next day, and at the pace they were going, that was a certainty. Aeson had been running them ragged. Calen figured they had to have covered at least fifty miles a day. The horses were close to collapse. They marched each day relentlessly, stopping only once for food and water. Then they set up camp. Dann hunted, Dahlen built the fire, and Dann and Calen practiced the sword with Aeson. It was routine. Regimented.
At first, when they practiced, Aeson only allowed them to run through the different forms. They had to do it, he said, "until moving between them was as effortless as breathing." Calen had felt silly the first time; they were more intricate than the forms his father had taught him, and he kept tripping over his own feet. But that changed over time. He felt more powerful, confident in his movements. He quite enjoyed it now. It was relaxing; it reminded him of being in the field with his father and Haem.
After a while, Erik joined them. Despite how flawlessly he flowed from one form to next, Aeson always found something wrong. A misstep, a sword held too high, a slight hesitation. Even so, Erik never complained. He simply nodded and continued. Aeson never had to make the same criticism twice.
Calen felt the dragon watching him as he practiced. Its pale lavender eyes were awash with interest. Sometimes, when they sparred, he swore he felt a warning right before a strike landed. It confused him at first, putting him off
balance, but when he listened to the feeling, he realised that it was always true to its word. More than once, he had drawn strange looks from Aeson when he pivoted and blocked a strike that he had no right to know was coming. He couldn't help but smirk as he glanced at the dragon, who simply tilted its head from side to side, watching.
Calen ambled down to the stream. He had bathed already, before they ate, but his throat was dry and his waterskin empty.
He found Therin sitting on the edge of the bank, his eyes closed and his shoes off, with his feet dipped into the gelid water. "Mind if I sit?"
"Not at all."
Calen dropped down beside Therin, pulling his knees up to his chest. He stared out over the water. "What you said, outside Camylin… How did you know my father?"
Therin sighed. He opened his eyes but didn't turn to look at Calen. "I met your father many years ago. At the start of a war."
"The Varsund war?"
Therin nodded.
"Why… why did I not know this? Why only now?"
It didn't make sense. Therin had been coming to The Glade for as long as Calen could remember. He had never been anything more than friendly with Vars.
"We all have our secrets, Calen. Even your father. He made a choice, and I honoured that choice."
"But—"
"There will come a time. But that time is not now."
Calen felt the anger rising at the back of his mind. It wasn't only his. It was shared. He didn't have to look to know the dragon was staring at Therin. Calen took a breath.
Fine. For now.
There was a silence that held in the air as they sat there. Its only opposition was the sound of the stream as it meandered its way through the land. Therin broke the silence. "Have you thought any more on the young one's name?"
Calen nodded. "I have… But I still am not sure." Calen looked back at the dragon, who was now curled up by the fire. The anger had dissipated.
The mixture of pale moonlight and warm firelight caused its scales to shimmer in an incandescent glow. "It is a Valacian dragon, you said?"
"Yes, he is from Valacia. The Icelands."
Calen nodded, dipping his waterskin back into the stream. "Is that how you say 'ice' in the Old Tongue?"
"Not quite," Therin replied. "Valacia means 'Icelands.' It comes from the words valerys, meaning 'ice,' and cia, meaning 'land.'" Therin reached down into the stream, touching his fingertips to its surface. "Valerys," he whispered.
Calen's eyes opened wide as the water around Therin's hand began to freeze. Tendrils of icy white spread slowly outward in a circle, thickening as they travelled, until it was as if clouds began to form beneath the water's surface. Then it stopped. Therin removed his hand from the water, a warm smile on his face.
"How…" Calen let out a delayed sigh of relief. "I don't think there will ever be a point where that will seem normal to me."
"You should try," Therin said. There was no hint of a joke in his expression.
Calen just stared back at him with incredulity. "Me? What would be the point? I'm no mage."
A wry smile spread across Therin's face. "That is correct. You are not, but you are a Draleid. Calen, some people are born with the ability to touch the Spark and to wield its power in this world. Others are not. Many people will go their entire lifetimes, never knowing what they are capable of.
When things happen around us that we can't explain, most people just put it down to chance. This is not always the case. Rist did not have an inkling as to his strength, yet he has the potential to be one of the most powerful mages I have encountered for a long time.
"Dragons are magical creatures, to the core of their being. The Spark is in the very fire that they breathe. When someone becomes bonded to a dragon the way that you have, it changes them. The bond created transcends everything that you can see and touch. Pieces of who you are become bonded to each other. You will see. Both Draleid and dragons gain many things from the bond; the most important of these gifts for a Draleid is the ability to touch the Spark."
It took Calen a moment to understand. "You mean…me?"
"Yes." Therin laughed softly. "You, Calen. Don't question. Just do. You will see."
"What do I do? I just… touch the water and say the word?"
Therin scrunched up his mouth and tilted his head to the side. "The words are not necessary. Often, when a young mage begins their training, speaking the word is helpful. It allows them to focus. The power of the Spark is not in the words we speak, nor is it in your fingertips. It is in your head and your heart, it is… everywhere.
"It is difficult for people, especially your kind, to understand what they cannot see and feel. This is why using your hands is helpful. It's like a totem – a conduit. Touch your fingers off the surface of the water. Take the heat from the water and push it outward. Picture it freezing, slowly moving, like the roots of a tree."
Calen puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled heavily. He felt that familiar twist form in his stomach, and his heart picked up its pace. He had no idea why he was so nervous. What does it matter if it doesn't work? He was not convincing himself.
Exhaling again, Calen pulled himself up onto his knees. He reached his hand down over the flowing water. The chill bit at his fingertips as they grazed the surface of the stream. "It's half-frozen already," he joked, swallowing nervously.
The elf smiled, but he did not laugh. His eyes were fixed on Calen's hand.
Okay, I can do this.
Calen turned his attention to the stream, where his fingertips rested against the running water. He tried to clear his mind, imagining the water turning to ice, spreading like a ripple after a rock had been dropped in a lake. He slowed his breathing and felt the vibrations as his heartbeat slowed in his chest.
"It's not working."
"Patience. There are five elements, Calen: Fire, Earth, Water, Air, and Spirit. The Spark consists of all of these. Imagine energy. Just power, raw and untamed. Now, from that energy, take what you need. Pull from it like a thread of yarn, slowly. Treat it with the same caution you would treat a roaring fire or a razor-sharp blade. Do not take too much. The Spark has consumed those who ask for too much too soon. Focus on the elements of Water, Air, and Fire."
"Fire?" Calen asked.
"I know it seems strange, but you need something to control the heat that you take from the water. Feel it. You will understand."
Calen's nerves were only getting worse. What did he mean, "it hasconsumed those who ask for too much too soon?"
He slowed his breathing again and closed his eyes. He could see an empty blackness. It touched every corner of his mind. The only source of light came from a ball of energy – right at the centre of the darkness – that pulsed, turning in on itself as it floated in his mind. The more he focused, the more he realised that the ball of energy was not smooth or solid. It was made up of interlaced strands of light. He watched them in his mind, pulsating. They were separate from each other, but at the same time, they were not. They twisted and turned, constantly moving, changing. Each strand was unique. He could not explain what it was, but each thread felt different as he touched them with his mind. Power emanated from them; he could feel it. It washed over his skin and filled his bones. It pulled at him, tempted him. He wanted to reach out and let the Spark consume him.
Focus.
He reached out with his mind. He plucked at two of the strands, drawing thin threads into him. Air and Water. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. He could feel the strand of fire. Its pull was stronger than the others, as if it were calling to him. Air, Water, and Fire. It yearned for him. It made him cautious. Therin's words echoed in his mind.
Calen reached out for the Fire strand, drawing a thin thread of its essence into him. He was careful not to draw too heavily. Not to take too much.
A sweet, warm glow flooded through his body from head to toe. It was the same glow he felt when the egg became wreathed in fire. He felt it now, and he knew what it was. The Spark.
His breathing steadied. He drew the threads through him, using them to shape and mould the water to his will. He watched in amazement as the water around his fingertips began to freeze, spreading out in a concentric circle. "Valerys…" he whispered, a soft smile touching his face.
"Calen… Calen!"
Calen was mildly aware of Therin's voice floating in the back of his mind, tapping at the edge of his focus. The touch of his hand on Calen's shoulder took him by surprise. Calen felt the warmth leave his body, losing
the Spark. He pulled his hand away from the water and shook his head, trying to erode the grogginess that had set in.
"Sorry. I just… I got a bit lost in it. It feels—"
"Addictive," Therin said abruptly. "That's because it is. The power to change and bend things to your will is something that will always be addictive. The warmth as you pull the Spark through you can entice a man to take more than he needs or can handle. You need to be aware of it. You need to learn to focus. It will come with time." Therin gave a reassuring smile. "And with time, you will find that you can handle more of it. With time, and practice."
Calen nodded. His arms felt heavy, and his breathing was laboured, like he had spent an entire day working in the forge.
Therin's hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Drawing from the Spark can be exhausting, especially for those who aren't used to it. It is called the drain. It can leech the very life essence from your bones. Its effects will grow less over time, as you grow stronger. For now," he said, lifting himself to his feet, "you will have a fantastic night's sleep. Come.
Aeson won't keep his eyes closed for long, and you will need the rest."
Calen looked back at the stream as they walked back to the camp. It was still frozen solid where his fingertips had touched. Steam wafted from its surface as the warmth of the summer night eroded away at it.
The dragon lay curled up by Calen's saddle bags when they got back to camp, still awake but eyes drooping. It poked up its head to watch Calen and Therin approach. Calen set himself down on his haunches in front of the dragon, running his hand along the side of its head with the utmost of care. The comfort that pressed at the back of Calen's mind matched the purring noise that emanated from the dragon's belly. Calen stooped his neck down to look into its eyes. He smiled.
"Valerys…"