Kayetan

Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise

Who would have thought that studying Magic could ever be… Quite dull. I lay down my charcoal and move my fingers to counteract the cramp that has been building in them over the last half hour. My drawing isn’t anything near perfect yet, and I let out a deep sigh. Luckily, Elrick has his own study in which to mess up whatever he should be doing — or so I imagine. I’m glad I don’t have to be there to witness it. But my work cataloguing is, dare I say it, boring, and somewhat lonely, and gives me way too much time to think about Melena.

She ignores me. Which ought to be a good thing. This infatuation of mine has gone on long enough. I’ve started to catch myself staring at her over the table whenever Eilyn doesn’t demand my attention — which doesn’t happen all that often because she is always cheerfully yapping away, no matter how empty or full her mouth is. I think Madam Arceli has given up reprimanding her — it’s no use. Eilyn is like Sylva in that way — no stopping her once she’s enthusiastic. And Eilyn is enthusiastic about a lot.

Too bad she’s not old enough for the conversations to be intellectually stimulating yet.

Which ought to be a good thing too, for this way I should have a lot of brain capacity left to think about the patterns that are emerging from my work. If only my brain would let me think of something else than how the golden hue shimmers around Melena…

Now I’m not sighing but almost grunting. I ought to snap out of it and get going. I’ve got everything set up for success. As I am not exactly blessed with much talent for drawing, I have created a template to fill in, and managed to create a spell to multiply it — I still have the bags under my eyes to prove how long it has taken me.

Or at least, that is what I try to convince myself of. In truth, at least half of those sleepless hours have been devoted to Melena. The way she smiles. The way she looked at me when we were first introduced. The feeling of Magicking her. The moments she was mine, and mine alone. Even the way she shuns me now entraps my thoughts, annoying as that is.

I get up from the desk and pace around the room, willing the fluttering in my heart to stop and ordering my stomach to adhere to normal gravity again. It is maddening not to be able to suppress all those sensations, not to be strong enough to simply banish her from my conscious mind.

I sigh as I stop my pacing just before slamming headfirst into a wall. Melena out, the very fabric of Magic in. The patterns themselves hold so much beauty — it is almost a crime to find it boring to draw them. I throw a glance in the direction of both the plate of sand and my attempt to capture the pattern on my template with the charcoal. From a distance, it seems I am doing the job quite well. It is only when one comes closer that it becomes clear that I am completely unable to capture the flow, the softness of the lines, the curves that hold utter perfection.

I swallow. Magic, beheld from a distance to keep up the appearance of beauty.

A sudden idea forms in the back of my mind. Just a little experiment, a small side step from my assignment. What would happen when a word of power is spoken from a distance? Would the power diminish or would the Magic stay just as strong? We’ve always been taught that being near to the object one’s Magicking is a must, but…

Another glance at my drawing assures me that I’ve noted my current word of power well. I can always speak it again, and the sand will fall back into the same pattern. Let’s take it a step further. Or actually, a step further away.

In my mind’s eye, I see Melena as she walks along the gallery, her eyes sparkling with fury, her soft black curls waving behind her even more gracefully than her silk skirts. I see her wrapped in golden glow, invisible to the world. I smile as the word rolls off my lips. Áylon. Love.

Even from several steps away, I can see the shift in the sand. Quickly, I cross the distance, only to come to an abrupt halt. The pattern on the plate is more beautiful than any I’ve seen so far. Perfectly round, the shapes inside the circle elegant and, in a way I can’t understand, touching. They resemble flower petals, or circular rays of sunlight, or the most perfect symmetrical drawing made by a Master Artist. My pattern radiates everything I’ve felt when saying Áylon; I can almost feel Melena’s presence residing in the most majestic image I’ve ever seen.

I reach for my charcoal and a template. Even writing the word Áylon at the top fills me with a strange but welcome sensation of fulfillment. There is nothing boring or repetitive in drawing out this symbol — every line brings me closer to Melena, makes my skin tingle with anticipation and, at the same time, fills me with a strange sort of peace. If there ever was a word that could prove how powerful Magic is, then this is it. Every line feels in place, feels exactly right. How come I don’t feel that for the other drawings? What is so special about…

But I know. I know the instant I wonder about it. It is the heart. The part of the miracle of Magic that is so easy to leave out of the equation. I trace one line of the pattern with my index finger, hovering just above the charcoal line so that it won’t smudge, and a chill runs along my spine.

Of course we were well educated about the connection between the brain and body — the basics for any kind of Magic. Spells can only be unlocked by connecting eyes and hands. Reading is too superficial; only writing the ancient words down will make the connection strong enough and leave an imprint on the brain. After that connection is established, the spell won’t be activated until it comes full circle; when the brain provides the words for the tongue to speak the Magic into existence, while the listening ears close the loop back to the brain. Though my teachers have always said that emotion is part of the cycle, only now do I grasp it fully.

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It leaves me breathless for a moment, my insides vibrant and strangely heavy as the understanding kicks in. It’s amazing.

And it’s horrible, for now I’ll have to re-draw every pattern save for this one.

I don’t cringe, though. The deeper understanding of Magic is worth it all. It is humbling, exciting, and expansive all rolled into one. Maybe this can help me with the Vorvalus symbol too.

“Kai?” Elrick pushes open the door, completely oblivious to the beauty of the moment. “It’s time to call it a day. Haenar just came to inform me that we are to make ourselves ready.” His tone implies that I’ll need quite a bit of time to get myself suitable for dinner with the family, which is not true for Madam Arceli personally took me to their tailor’s a few days ago. The insinuation infuriates me enough to keep me from telling Elrick off for shortening my name to ‘Kai’, something only my closest friends and family are permitted to do — meaning the only one who lovingly calls me that is Sylva. But I am smart enough to see through Elrick’s trick. Haenar would never allow him to come and fetch me, he insists on everything being done properly. Without him, I wouldn’t have discovered half of the etiquette rules at play in Vorvalus Manor. It’s most likely some low-down prank Elrick is pulling. Best let him think he got me.

“I’ll be on my way in a minute,” I say. “I want to finish something.”

Elrick’s mouth twitches sourly. “Suit yourself,” he says. “Have fun with your plate. Don’t drop it.” He darts off and my angry look bounces off his back. I may not have fallen into his trap, he got to me anyway. If Master Vorvalus finds out about the statue… I haven’t even started to look into what crystal it is, let alone how to repair it properly. How long will Elrick keep his mouth shut?

As if he’s blabbing about me right now, my ears pricks up. There is a sound. Very soft, almost inaudible, but the longer I listen, the stronger it becomes, pouring in from the hallway. Upon opening the door, it can pinpoint the source.

It isn’t pretty, not something like music. I’ve heard Ralonda sing once and that couldn’t really be called music as well, but this is something else. There is a persistence to it, some kind of ongoing rumble at a tone that seems human, or maybe an elongated mew from a cat. A weary cat for that matter.

I go to investigate and as I walk over to Elrick’s study, the sound gets clearer and clearer. The idea of it being something human or feline now seems ludicrous. But what it actually is, is beyond me.

What has Elrick been working on exactly? It hasn’t been a deep dive into the nature of Magic like I am doing; it is more of a practical thing having to do with — Oh right! Master Iacopor has asked him to work on manipulating seeds so they will sprout and grow faster, eventually providing more food for the ever-increasing population of Yoszovar.

How on earth has he managed to have the Magic make sounds like this? And…

It dawns on me just before I reach the door, my hand already stretched out in front of me to push it open.

It hasn’t been time to prepare for dinner yet; it has been time for Elrick to flee whatever he has mucked up in there. I close my eyes and sigh, my hand still raised in front of me.

Can I ignore this, return to my own study, and retreat to change for dinner at the proper time? Or is it better to clean up the mess Elrick has left? What if his remark on dropping things was a poor attempt at blackmail?

The sound from his study now turns into a full-blown holler, a wailing that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If it grows louder, chances are the windows will shatter within a few minutes. Elrick’s mess or not, blackmail or not, I can’t stand by and let that happen.

I open the door, and the sound bites into my eardrums, reverberating through my skull like some sort of siren. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it resembles a throbbing headache too much to be able to ignore it. Where does the noise come from?

I quickly take in the scene. Scribblings on a chalkboard hanging on the wall, words of Magic, and diagrams that make no sense to me. A bright light shines above six bowls. Two of them are covered by a plate, the rest of them hold little balls I think must be peas, but they are a pale, sickish green at best. In one of the bowls, they have turned a deep, disgusting brown. But where does the sound come from? I hardly think Elrick has made the peas themselves cry for mercy from whatever he is doing to them.

Magic prickles as I enter the room. The lighting over the beans is Magical, there also has to be a Magical source for the sound too; a source I can’t see. I purse my lips. Hiding something is easy, revealing something you’ve not hidden yourself is a totally different thing. But as the sound becomes louder and breaks the barrier between annoying and painful, at least I can be sure that my heart will be in whatever Magic I perform. Can I think of a spell on the fly?

Cringing from the sound, I run to the board and write down the syllables for revealing and showing and sound, combining them into a new spell that hopefully will at least reveal to me what I can freeze. That spell will come easily — I was so bad at freezing in the beginning, and so determined to get it right, that I’ve even mastered the art of freezing bits of air.

My spell on the board is very readable. Somehow, all the drawing I’ve done over the last couple of days must have increased my ability to write neatly. I can almost feel the spell itself fall into place in my brain. Concentrating on the noise is hardly necessary as it tears through every fiber of my being, but I do it anyway.

‘Yas Merenth Sowl!’ I call, as if it is necessary for my voice to be louder than the racket around me. Next to the light something flickers. It sort of resembles the patterns I am conjuring on the plate, but it seems broken, askew.

‘Dawnt!’

The silence is instantaneous, so deep that it rings in my ears. The release of my shoulders makes a rustling noise, and my sigh of relief is like a gust of storm wind blowing through the room.

It seems to me that even the peas are relieved.

“Masterling Kayetan, what are you… What happened?” Haenar is in the doorway, his eyes wide. “Where is Masterling Elrick?”

“Probably wallowing in shame,” I grunt. I rub my head — the noise is gone, but the headache proves a bit more tenacious.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I look at the servant, who is breathing fast. “Are you?”

Haenor looks at me as if he doesn’t really believe I have just asked him that. “Yes… Yes, I am. Thank you, Masterling.” He shakes his head. “That sound… I hope the neighbors have all their windows intact.”

“I hope the windows three towns over are intact,” I say, still rubbing my temples. A hint of a smile creeps up on Haenar’s lips, but I am distracted by my thoughts. How far can sound travel? How far can Magic travel? And can I find a way to make the Magic show itself at a distance, so… So messages can be sent further and faster than they’d ever had before? What if…

“Thank you, Haenar,” I say, and then I all but run to my study and snatch my notebook to jot down the stream of thoughts and ideas flying around in my mind.