“Gur, used on its own,” Alistair said, the Arcanus forming over his hand, “adds etherealness to your—”
“Ethera…?” Tibs couldn’t work how to say the rest.
“Etherealness.” Alistair enunciated slowly. “It’s…. The ethereal is the….” He motioned with a hand. “Space in which essence is. It’s what is between essence.”
“Isn’t that air?”
His teacher shook his head. “First, remember, I’m a rogue and not a scholar. This is what I remember being told, but it might be wrong. I expect I had that same confused expression. Air is an element. It, like the others, exists outside of what is real, but they are connected to the real, somehow. That somehow is the Ethereal. It is also around us, but we can’t sense it. What I remember is that scholars think that—”
“I’m getting a headache.” Tibs rubbed his temple. “I’ll ask a scholar if I ever want to know about that.”
“When,” Alistair said, then chuckled as Tibs frowned at him. “When you want to know more. Your curiosity is never ending. It’s just a question of time until you decide this is something you want to know more about.”
“Not if my mind breaks.”
“I’m confident it’s strong enough to take in everything you feed it.”
“This headache says that no, it isn’t.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “What does this etherealness do to water?”
“Have you seen mist, or fog?”
Tibs rolled his eyes. It wasn’t as common here as it had been on his Street, but he was running the roofs when the sky brightened. “Some mornings, when there’s a lot of water essence in the air, it does…something, and there’s fog”
“Something?”
Tibs thought back, trying to remember what the essence had felt like. There hadn’t been any Arcanus that he remembered, but the last time he’d paid attention was before he knew about them. He shaped the essence into what he remembers. Clumps of it, close together, suspended in the air. It didn’t feel right, but mist still formed between him and Alistair.
“Sort of like this.”
His teacher moved a hand through the mist, and wisp followed the currents of air. “This is like etherealness.”
“Then why do I need to use Gur to make this?”
Alistair pulled the essence out of his control, and the mist became a ball of water, which he handed to Tibs. As he absorbed it, his teacher took a knife and etched between them. It was so fast Tibs couldn’t follow. There was a filigree between the threads, and then water stood between them.
It was solid to the touch, not cold. “This doesn’t feel like how you described etherealness.” The filigree had Dur in it, along with other Arcanus.
Alistair grabbed Tibs’s wrist through the water before he could react.
The essence hadn’t parted around the hand. If Tibs had made the wall, the essence would have to have parted as his hand pushed through. he could have made it look like the water wasn’t moving, but the essence would have. Here, the strands of essence, with their filigree, passed through Alistair’s arm. When he pulled, Tibs’s hand stopped at the water.
“Gur is used to set conditions for when, or what it will react to,” his teacher said. “By itself, they have to be simple. To do what I’m doing, I added other Arcanus to define myself, and this is an etching, so I need to will it to remain. The more Arcanus are used, the more conditions can be added.”
“Like making an enchantment ignore someone with the right key.”
“Exactly. Most broad enchantments are created with such a key in mind, since it’s often useful to have someone able to come and go without being affected.
“Like how I get lost in the building,” Tibs said. “The clerks don’t seem to get lost, so they have the ‘key’?”
“They would. I’m not involved in running the guild, so I don’t know how they are assigned.”
“Do you have one?”
Alistair took a medallion out of a pouch Tibs had thought was ordinary. It looked like the one he’d stolen, but the weave wasn’t the same. Closer to that of the clerks.
“Shouldn’t it be secret? What if I steal it from you?”
“I’d like to see you do that.” The medallion was back in the pouch, where Tibs couldn’t sense it anymore. What else was in there? “But, with it, you’d be able to walk around without getting lost.”
“And I could cause trouble.”
Alistair nodded. “And then you’d get caught and put in a cell. My understanding is that the current leader of the guard doesn’t have the affection for you Harry did, so it wouldn’t take much for him to decide it was severe enough to merit a brand.” He tapped his left wrist.
“So… I should make sure I don’t get caught.”
His teacher laughed. “Tibs, you’d get caught before you started. The guild keeps an eye on anyone they think will cause trouble. The instant they seem ready to act, they are stopped. And I’d be quick to realize my key was gone, so they would be looking for someone moving about as they shouldn’t.”
Tibs nodded. The fact he had a double of the medallion had to be why no one raised an alarm when they saw him wander the halls. But it meant he should stop before they grew suspicious. It also meant he wouldn’t get a trial run. Once he got Marger here, he’d have to act.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
The wall of water dissipated. “Now, let’s forget about robbing the guild and focus on mastering Gur.”
* * * * *
Tibs walked through the crowd, listening to his breath, paying attention to how he felt.
Stupid; that was how he felt.
It was one thing to sit on a roof and do this; not easy, since his mind kept wandering away from listening, but he didn’t feel… like he did now. Unfortunately, Don had instructed him to do it among people, since that was how the books had said to do it, and that just made him feel…stupid.
He didn’t have the time to pay attention to how he felt when he was out and about. It distracted him when he reached into a heavy-looking pocket. The fabric was threadbare, which meant they didn’t have as much coins as they wanted people to think. Guilt was what he’d felt then, and hesitated. It was enough to be noticed. Then he was running, not bothering with paying attention to his breathing until he was on a roof, panting.
Or, he’d have a copper in his fingers and realized he’d stopped listening to his breathing.
This was so much bother. He was supposed to be enjoying himself. This was the first day of the bazaar. There were candies to be tasted. Maybe someone would have a puzzle box they’d let him try.
But he wasn’t feeling joy, or excitement, or eagerness.
He was feeling stupid.
It was so much simpler to just do.
He hated how Don was training him. His hand came away from his pocket, empty. Well, there was one thing he’d done without thinking. He’d eaten all the candies he’d bought.
He rolled the copper along his fingers of the other hand. That was another. He didn’t remember reaching into that pocket. But it meant he could buy more.
* * * * *
“No.”
“Tibs.” Don’s tone was the same as Alistair when he put on an air of being patient with Tibs’s stubbornness.
“I said no. It’s not doing anything.”
The sigh was cut short, as if the sorcerer hadn’t meant to show his annoyance, and Tibs considered it a victory.
“It’s only been two weeks, Tibs. You can’t expect results after only that short of a time.”
“I learned to etch in a few days!” A quick, needless motion had a sheet of water dropping on Don, then slowly draping down the way he’d watched one of the artisan mold a sheet of candy over a bowl to make a copy of it that held more candies.
“Really?” the voice was muffled by the waters covering his face. “Isn’t this childish? Even for you?”
Tibs glared at him. “You want me to show you what else I learned in days? And leave you encased in this until the dungeon opens again?”
“I want you to be a Runner and not a child.”
He startled at the intonation of the word. It was the way Mez said it when he used child to describe someone acting in a way unbecoming of the kind of noble he aimed to be.
“I am not a child,” Tibs said through clenched teeth.
Don looked at him, his face distorted by the stretching sheet of water.
With an angry wave, Tibs undid the etching. “Don’t ask me how I feel.”
“I don’t have to; it’s quite apparent.” He motioned to the floor of his room. “How about we sit and breathe?”
He had a lot of nasty replies ready to throw in the sorcerer’s face. But this was anger out of frustration, and that wasn’t Don’s fault. He took a breath and let it out as he sat. He inhaled slowly as he crossed his legs.
Don was helping him. He didn’t have to; he did it because he wanted to. The least Tibs owed him in return was to give this his best effort, as he did with everything.
* * * * *
The string of curses that left Don’t mouth, as he walked in circle holding the arm Jackal had tapped, surprised Tibs. He hadn’t known the sorcerer knew that depth of foul language.
“You didn’t have to hit me so hard.”
“I didn’t,” the fighter replied.
“You nearly dislocated my shoulder!”
“I could have ripped it off.”
“And what would that have accomplished?” Don glared at Tibs. “This is for having you sit on the floor for hours, isn’t it?”
“Tibs has nothing to do with this, Don,” Jackal said. “You’re too comfortable standing at the back, lobbing essence.”
“I’m a sorcerer. It’s what I do.”
“That and cower.”
“Jackal,” Mez snapped as Don paled.
The fighter looked at them, confused. “What? When that Ratling made it to him in that last run, what did Don do?”
“I was nearly out of essence, and I didn’t have the time to drink a potion. Getting stabbed hurts!”
“It’s the dungeon trying to kill you,” Jackal replied in a steady tone. “I’d hope getting stabbed hurts, otherwise you might start looking forward to it.”
“You’re the fighter. You’re supposed to make sure they don’t reach me!”
“I can’t do that. Which is why you need to get used to staying focused even if, no, especially if you’re in pain.”
“So, you’re going to break all my limbs until I learn?”
“Tibs will heal you,” Jackal replied dismissively. He looked at Tibs. “You have told him you can do that, right? I’m not revealing something you’re keeping secret from him, right?”
“Yes, Tibs told me,” Don lowered his arm.
“Good, then we go again.”
“Why in the abyss are doing this to me now? You were supposed to start this months ago.”
“You mean while you and Tibs weren’t talking? I don’t think you would have taken it this well then.” Jackal swiped at the sorcerer, who stepped out of the way.
“I talked with you. I came and asked where Tibs was. You weren’t exactly friendly in telling me.”
Another swipe. “I didn’t know Tibs wasn’t angry at you anymore. That wasn’t in the message he sent me, so I had to be an ass to you. I thought you and Mez had patched thing, though.”
“I was—” He stepped out of the way of the slow punch. “I needed—” Another slow swipe. “You’d just have used that as an excuse to punch me,” he finally said, barely dodging the punch.
“Then—” another punch Don evaded “—I figured you needed time training Tibs.” A series of punch Don couldn’t all dodge, and he raised an arm to block.
Don cursed violently, holding his arm and walking in a circle.
Jackal looked at Tibs, who shook his head. He’d gone to the cliff face and called to Sto, but the dungeon hadn’t answered.
“It’s been over a month,” Jackal said. “I figure in a few days, weeks at most, we are going back in and I want you to be ready.”
“Maiming me isn’t getting me ready for a run,” Don grumbled.
“It’s getting you ready to survive. Tibs doesn’t like it when people on our team die.”
“The way you’re hurting me, I’m going to want to die before the day’s over.”
Jackal grinned. “You’re going to want to get over that. If you die, Tibs is going to kick you. I punch in the face; he aims lower.”
“And you can’t turn to stone,” Tibs added. “Unlike him.”
Don looked from the fighter to the rogue. “I have no idea if you two are serious.”
“Don’t die, and you won’t have to find out,” Tibs said, popping one of the sour candy in his mouth.
“I can easily not die if I’m not writhing in pain,” Don stated.
“That’s the problem,” Jackal said. “You have to not die even if you’re in pain. You have to stop depending on us to keep you safe.”
“You’re the fighter!” Don snapped. “That’s your role!”
“And I do my best. But there are fights where we all take hits. And right now, you’re so scared of being hurt it’s making you stop fighting. So I’m going to get you used to pain so that when you go back in, a sword poking out of your side is going to feel like your girl scratching you where you like it.”
“I’m concerned you think I’d ever equate getting stabbed to something pleasurable.”
“It’s all relative, Don. The more pain I inflict on you today, the less that sword is going to feel like pain tomorrow.”
“This is more about you getting back at me for what I did to your hand the first time we crossed path.”
The smile Jackal gave the sorcerer was feral. “Now, why does it have to be one or the other?”
Don glanced at Tibs. “Tell me you can revive the dead.”
“No, but I won’t have to.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Jackal knows what I’ll do to him if he kills you.”
“I’m still going to be dead,” Don pointed out.
“He needs that part of his body more than he might want you dead.”
Don shook his head. “I swear. You two are the strangest pair I’ve ever encountered.”
“He’s the little brother I never got the chance to have torture me,” Jackal said, then advanced on the sorcerer.