CHAPTER 4
The Beginning
Elaina followed Hetarth as he limped confidently through the trees. He moved well despite his affliction, but he was in a hurry—he’d soon tire at this pace. Landon walked behind her, glaring at the foliage and gripping the pommel of his sword. No doubt he was thinking of the morning trip to the well.
Their silent line had only left the clearing of the house fifteen minutes before, but Elaina’s sense of direction was completely addled, and she recognized nothing. She was sure she had never found these paths in ten years exploring, and they were not a league from home!
Hetarth didn’t seem uncertain of the way, no matter how lost she was. He marched as if he knew each turn by heart, down to the number of paces between each one. Where are we going, and what was it before the Invasion? She wondered, shivering.
After nearly an hour of walking, Hetarth stopped in the center of a perfectly round clearing. Large tree trunks circled the space, completely green with ivy and moss. Elaina frowned. They were precisely spaced, exactly the same in size . . . Columns, not trees. Where are we? Hetarth breathed deeply, as if he was trying to get a whiff of the past. When he whirled about to face the two of them Landon took a startled step back.
“This is the Book of the Broken.” He began quickly, “Written by the very first of the Guardians when they feared they would be destroyed in the War of Shadows. This was how they planned to pass on their knowledge.” Holding it against his chest, Hetarth went on, “It is more valuable than my life and yours Landon.” Beside her, Landon blinked.
“There’s only a question in your case Elaina because you may be the last of us. Without you the book is useless.” Before that could make her feel to important, he went on, “and without this book, you are no more a Guardian than an egg is an eagle.” Well that’s unfortunate. Eggs are easily broken. She grimaced.
“This book survived the War of Shadows, the Lost Times, and the Invasion because better men than you and I died to save it.” Hetarth scowled at Landon, eyebrows bristling. He looked doubtful, but Elaina knew better. Her uncle never lied. Always will the Truth be on my lips—soon that will be my oath, too.
“Don’t believe me, Landon Damon Ren’jedal?” Hetarth asked, pronouncing it in the same rolling way Landon had.
“I have never heard of men dying for a book.” He muttered defensively.
“This book was kept in the Hall of Giants, the great meeting place of the Naedar, carved into the living stone of the mountains. It was the heart of Tarquendale, and the city was the heart of Hasile.” Hetarth’s voice had taken on the deep timbre Elaina remembered from childhood—his storytelling voice. She imagined this was how an old oak tree would sound, if one ever decided to speak.
“When the Drethlords came the Naedar stayed to face them, but the Book was sent from the Hall. It was put in the hands of ten Guardians, seven men and three women.
“After the fall, the Drethlords sought after the Book, and they passed it from hand to hand as they were overtaken. They were hunted east to the Haldon Kai, nearly to the headwaters of the Morgaen in Loth Daer. Then only one remained.
“She knew she would be caught, so she hid the Book and left a riddle that would lead a survivor to the Book. When she was found and captured, she never revealed her secret. ” His voice was cold when he finished. It made Elaina flinch like a slap in the face. Did he know that woman? Did he know all of the ten? How many were his friends? Landon looked properly abashed.
“You wouldn’t believe the legends of this book and the Lost Times, or the War of Shadows.” Hetarth finished quietly, stroking the cover.
“What does it say, why is it so important?” Elaina asked tentatively.
“In times of struggle among Creators, it was dangerous because it explains the mysteries of the pillars, as much as they can be explained. The Book shows the basic form of every creation, every manipulation ever cast. Of course, each individual has their own tweaks: from weather and simple healing to growing plants and building with stone. Everything that the Order ever discovered how to do is written here. There are things in this Book that could make your bones disappear,” she made a face. “Things that could melt the world, or freeze it! How to wage a war with our power, how to bring down civilizations!” He rose to a crescendo, echoing impossibly among the trees. “It is the guide to the pillars, the instructions to the power of Arith.”
“That,” he went on, “is why you must never lose this Book, or let it be taken from you.” His conversational tone sounded quiet in Aryn’s still-ringing ears. She nodded obediently and wasn’t surprised to see Landon doing the same.
“Excellent! Let’s begin.” Hetarth said with a smile and a clap of his hands, “Elaina, come stand here,” he gestured her over. Landon visibly relaxed to be out of his attention. “Watch.” He instructed.
Tendrils of mist began to twine around their ankles, filling the clearing unnaturally until it was too dense to see through. The mist whirled into shapes and lines, thickening to almost perfect whiteness. One tiny portion glimmered and sparkled, turning into a rope of water. The transformation spread until the mist was gone, replaced by a perfectly round disc of arcs and curves. It slowly rose up into a dome like a bubble floating on water, only it was as delicate and precise as a spider’s web, glittering like filaments of crystal.
Landon was still, eyeing the dome. Elaina just stared. Almost on its own, her hand drifted out to touch it. Just before her fingertips settled on the delicate strands it flashed into mist once more. In a fraction of a second, all of it was gone.
“What was that?” She whispered. Somehow, talking seemed far too loud.
“That was a matrix of Water. Well, it was Air too. I’ve never had a particular feel for Water. Most of the time, you can accomplish the same task with multiple pillars. If you want to move a rock, you can use Earth to control it directly, manipulating the nature of the thing. Or you can lift it with Air. You can dry something either by moving the Water out, or by bringing heat—Air and Fire—in.”
“When you say you’re going to move something by manipulating its nature—don’t you mean just manipulating it? How can there be a difference between an object and its being?” Landon asked.
Elaina blinked. That was either terribly insightful, or a completely ridiculous, and I am not sure which. What sort of question was that? What an odd sort of fellow!
“No difference between an object and its being? You are an object, Landon, but it is not that body that goes to the shores of Evermore—it is your spirit, your being.” Hetarth reminded him.
“But things do not have spirits, that’s what makes them things.” Landon objected. To Elaina’s surprise, that made Hetarth smile.
“You’ve hit upon the very heart of it, my boy. Objects do not have unique, individual spirits like we do, they have something more basic, more general. Their “spirit” or “being” is made up of a pattern of the pillars. Air moving is wind, Air and Water make ice or mist; Water alone is rain and rivers, Water and Fire is steam; Fire alone is a flame, Fire and Earth is a metal, Fire and Air is heat or light or both—lightning; Earth and Water and Air make up soil . . . the list goes on and on. Everything you see is made up of the pillars.”
“You keep calling us Creators. What’s the difference between a Creator and a Guardian?” Elaina asked with a frown.
“Guardians have sworn limits to their power. In Arith, after the War of Shadows all Creators had to take the Oath, so there has been no difference between the two. From what I understand of the Drethlords’ homeland that was not the case, though they seem to have run out of Creators somewhere along the way. The Drethlords themselves are only complete casters. They can touch all the pillars, but cannot create or destroy. It is the difference between an archer and the man who can also make the bow.” Hetarth said, “Look.”
The clearing seemed to brighten as veins of light rose on every surface. The trees were lined with glittering traces of blue and black and silver. Silver and r
ed rotated in the motes of light between the leaves, the stones were traced through with black. It was as if the whole of the world were covered in intricate spider webs strung with rubies and sapphires, diamonds and ebony. Elaina could only stare in wonder as Hetarth explained.
“The physical world is made of the pillars, spun together in complex webs. If you can sense the pieces of the puzzle, you can move them about—break them apart or join them together, move things about. Patterns can be broken down, dissolved, dispersed, but each little light you see now is all a caster can work with. Creators, though, we can create or destroy. As I said before, in the Shadow wars, casters would try to dissolve the arrows flying toward them, the other side would try to reform them or hold them together. The pieces were all there. A Guardian could banish the building blocks entirely—there is no way to bring them back unless you have Guardians too.”
Landon studied the trunk of a tree, running his hands over the fine lines of power that he could see but not feel—it was only Illusion, Hetarth showing them what he could see. Elaina peered at the swirls of glimmering blue contained in a drop of dew. Hetarth let his copies fade.
“That is what a caster can see, if they look. Manipulating the pillars is a matter of rearranging the dots. I suppose they call it casting a web because of the resemblance to a spider’s web.”
“Now it is your turn, Elaina.” he said.
She felt the worried frown furrow her forehead, but couldn’t make it go away. I’ve never been so nervous in my life! Truth, I wish Landon weren’t here. Hetarth had to be, but Landon didn’t. She absolutely hated the idea of failing in front of an audience. There was no way her touch wouldn’t mar absolute perfection and complex precision of the webs. I’m none of those things—not perfect, not complex, not precise. Oh dear. It’ll be like trying to pick up a spider web without damaging it.
“Breathe, my dear,” Hetarth chuckled, “Breathe and focus.” He bent awkwardly to pluck a sprig of leaves from a nearby bush. In the center of the trefoil leaves were the last remnants of the morning dew, hidden in the shade. Her uncle handed it to her.
“Look closely, see the Water.” He murmured and showed her again the web of the Element that made the drop. “Feel the structure, the fluidity. Find its nature in yourself—find your power.”
Terribly aware of Landon’s watching eyes, she tried to focus. The tiny reflection of the clearing rippled on the water’s surface with her breath and the lattice shifted with it. She felt something stir, a swirl of something in the reflection, in herself. . . but then it was gone.
That is it. Whatever it is, that is what I need to find again, find and take hold of. The web on the dewdrop faded until Elaina wasn’t sure if she was only remembering it, or still seeing.
She strained for that feeling, losing herself in the one tiny droplet. She was close, she could feel it. The feeling was like remembering the taste of your favorite food just before you tasted it again.
The closeness set her teeth on edge with longing, as if the most wonderful thing in the world were held at her lips and then snatched away just when she realized what it was.
Landon exhaled noisily. Apparently he’d been holding his breath. She blocked him out of her mind, him and the whole world, even Hetarth, who had not moved a hair. There is only Water.
She tried again, aching for that feeling and determined to have it. This time she did not seek, did not reach—she commanded.
Everything faded around her, like a sudden mist had risen again. That’s it. The ache in her chest was replaced by the deepest, most powerful calm. In her mind, she reached out for the source of the resonance that seemed to pulse inside the tiny drop. She touched it.
Abruptly, the peace was gone.
The feeling, the rush of power filled her, roared through her like a river of fire that charred to the bone. It made her teeth chatter as she was submerged in it, cold that cut like a knife, sharp enough to strip her spirit from her body. It thundered and swirled, sucking her in, pulling her under and tearing her away from life even as she drowned in it. Her heart raced as if it would explode. She couldn’t tell if she was panting for air or not breathing at all. True Spirits!
With a gasp, she wrenched out of its embrace, pulling away but not letting go. Her vision cleared.
Everything was exactly the same, only cleaner, sharper, brighter. Colors sprang at her, vivid and new as if they had never been seen before by her or anyone else. The smell of damp earth and growing things was strong. A breath of wind rustling through the forest was as loud as a gale to her ears. She felt alive. It was shockingly peaceful and still compared to just moments before.
She peered around the clearing with new eyes, and the faintest hints of webs glittered at her. Elaina studied the dew. Its unbroken surface was brilliant with sapphire light. Elaina seized the web in her mind, took hold of it and lifted.
The physical form followed the crystal lattice she controlled, lifting off the leaf, swirling into a perfect orb of Water. The stem fell from her fingers, but the dewdrop remained, hovering in the air. It glittered like a gem in the sunlight.
Hetarth heaved a sigh of relief. Her concentration shattered. The dew fell to the stones. The feeling and the webs were gone. She looked up.
Her uncle was beaming at her, proud as a mother hen. Landon’s uneasy grin was halfway between excited and nervous. His tanned skin was faintly green and his eyes surprised—was that because he didn’t think she could do it, or because he didn’t think he’d survive? Maybe both.
“You did it my girl! You did it! You took control—and so quickly! Well done, my dear, well done!” he congratulated, limping over as fast as he could to smother her in a hug.
“I did it.” She marveled, murmuring into Hetarth’s broad shoulder, “I really did it!” she laughed happily as Hetarth pushed her back to look at her.
“Are you tired?” he asked, eyes glinting.
She giggled, though it wasn’t funny, “Like I’ve been splitting wood all day. Is it always this exhausting?”
“You’ll get stronger. The first time takes more than most because it’s so very new and so strong in you. That will fade with time and practice. And if Water is not your strong suit that would make it harder, too. Perhaps you are better with Air—a few women are.” Hetarth mused, “Or even Fire or Earth—that would be unusual! And creating is even harder, of course. The framework must be exactly right, or it will not work. Banishing is difficult on account of scope. If you banish more than you wanted to, you must know how to bring it all back just as it was, or it is lost for good.” His voice was grave.
“If you choose to do evil things with your power, or banish what you shouldn’t, none will be able to stop you or repair the damage you do. They might not even know they should. You could be a greater threat to Arith than the Empire. You could be the very worst thing to happen to Arith.”
“But of course I won’t be!” She cried in protest. Hetarth sighed and hobbled over to give her a one-armed hug. She wanted to resist it—how can he even suggest?!—but she settled for not embracing him back.
“I believe you,” Hetarth said seriously, “else I wouldn’t teach you any of this. Never forget it, though, remember you are not a god, Elaina, and you are not the judge of souls. It is better to be cautious with your power than to become worse than those you fight against.”
“I’ll remember, Uncle.” she promised.
Hetarth smiled, relieving the gravity of the moment. “Good. All of that will come later. For today, it is just casting. Let’s begin!”