Finding the Inner Landscape is considered to be the easiest step for a Seeker. Depending on each individual, it will take about a fortnight to find it. However, breaking through the Inner Landscape to become a User is much more difficult. Within the Guild, almost one in three Seekers manage to break through, taking somewhere from one month to three.

Hedgewitches, on the other hand, may take as long as half a year to gain break through. It is estimated that only one in ten even gets access to their Inner Landscape. This discrepancy is attributed to the ritual of initiation by the Guild of Mages, which weakens the barrier of the Inner Landscape and therefore helps the Seeker to access it.

From The Stages of the magical Arts, by Zakaria Bates: The Inner Landscape

“For the record, I wouldn’t recommend you to catch things with your face.” The old man lectured his apprentice.

Silas had managed to get his arms up just in time, but the stick had still grazed the side of his head. The boy stared daggers at the old man looking down at him. Even Gnarly seemed upset as it creaked and pointed at Tom.

“I thought you were going to teach me something about the Arts,” Silas hissed through his teeth.

“But I am, my young apprentice. Remember that there is a lesson to be learned in every moment of your life, no matter how inconsequential it may seem,” Tom stated sagely.

Silas fumed inside. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky smirk off the old man’s face.

Tom’s mouth twitched. “Was there anything unusual regarding the branch?

“It came from nowhere and almost hit me in the face!” Silas retorted heatedly.

“Yet you don’t seem to be hurt at all. Why?”

Silas frowned, taken aback. His master was right. The stick had been incredibly fast, but apart from a slight bruise on his arms, he hadn’t even felt it.

“It somehow seemed slower when it came near me,” the boy said hesitantly. “I thought it would hurt a lot more than it actually did.”

Tom nodded. “Every living being has the ability to manipulate the Arts. Depending on the affinity, one will have greater success manipulating one Art or another. However, most people’s Inner Landscapes, like yours right now, are not large enough for it to be noticeable.”

Silas’ eyebrows climbed up. If everybody could use the Arts, then why were there so few Artists and Mages in Ceraviehl?

“When someone is faced with danger, they will subconsciously use whatever means to protect them, be they magical or mundane,” Tom explained. “Do you know what that implies, apprentice?”

The more Silas thought about it, the surer he felt that the stick really had slowed down a bit hitting him. But how had he done that?

“It means that I used magic to slow it down?” Silas replied uncertainly.

“Precisely. Gnarly probably helped, but yes, you did slow down the stick, even if you did so subconsciously.”

“Creak!”His wooden companion puffed its chest out, flexing with one arm while holding onto Silas’ ear with the other.

“Anything else you can conclude?”

Silas thought for a moment, but nothing came to his mind.

“It also means you are very likely to have an affinity for wood. Even with Gnarly’s help, the stick wouldn’t have slowed down that much if you had an affinity for water or some sort of metal,” his master explained.

“Is that good?”

“There are no good or bad affinities. Some are easier to learn than others, but in your case, wood is a very good affinity to start with. Especially considering your companion is bound to have the same affinity,” Tom said, glancing at Gnarly.

“Wouldn’t it be better for me to have a different affinity, so Gnarly and I can cast different spells?”

Tom screwed up his nose and looked at Silas with unconcealed disgust. “Only those nitwits back at the Guild cast spells.” Tom scoffed. “Real Artist don’t need those to wield magic, and trust me, you don’t want to learn the reason why they’re able to cast them without being properly trained. You’re better off joining the Legion’s Invokers. Even if they solely focus on combat magic, at least they are actual Artists.”

Silas nodded meekly, not daring to ask further. Why did his master hate the Guild so much? Everybody knew that the Guild’s Mages were way more powerful than Artists.

“And to your question, having the same affinity as your companion brings multiple advantages. It not only strengthens the bond between Artist and bonded creature, but also makes using the Arts easier for both parties,” the old man explained. “And besides, you can acquire other affinities later on.”

“Getting more affinities? How, master?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that right now, you’re still a Seeker. If you break through and become a User, I will consider telling you how.”

A Seeker! Although this was just the first step, Silas knew it wouldn’t be his last. He already saw himself standing on top of an imaginary hill, an army of soldiers storming towards him. His dark cloak fluttering in the wind, he raised both of his arms.

The earth began to tremble.

Massive roots emerged from the earth below him, hundreds of smaller vines shooting out and striking the unsuspecting enemies. The roots then transformed into a gigantic fist. Silas punched. The wooden fist barreled into the army, sending soldiers and horses flying everywhere. Nature was his to command.

“Are you listening?” Tom’s angry voice shook Silas out of his daydreaming.

The boy opened his mouth, desperately thinking on what to say to avoid getting hit on the head again.

“Could master Tometheor please repeat what he just said?” Silas asked, preparing himself to dodge any incoming strikes.

Tom harrumphed. “I said your first step as a Seeker is to find your Inner Landscape. To do so, concentrate on what you felt when you slowed the branch I threw, and where that feeling came from. If you need help, let me know. I will gladly assist you,” Tom added, smiling as he bent down to pick up another stick.

“N-no I’m fine master, I think I’ll do alright.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked, the stick in his hand creaking.

“Very sure, yes.” Silas had already raised his arms in case Tom threw the stick anyway. One could never be too careful with the old man. A breath of relief left Silas when the old man finally let the piece of wood fall to the ground.

“From now on, after each training session, you will meditate and try to find your Inner Landscape. If you don’t find it within a few days, I will assume you require more… inspiration,” the old man said, his weird smile returning.

Silas gulped, assuring his master that he would find his landscape as soon as possible.

The darkness completely engulfed the clearing by now, so the two decided to head into the cabin and go to sleep. Silas’ bed only consisted of a pile of animal furs, but he didn’t mind it too much. It was comfy, and most of the time he was too tired to care anyway.

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Not today, though. For the first time in his life, he had used real magic. Although the old man was insufferable, he also taught him the Arts without wanting anything in return. Silas wondered why. Surely it couldn’t be just because Tom was bored.

Gnarly lay on Silas’ chest, creaking at nothing in particular. He had grown an inch, now being almost the size of Silas’ hand. His wooden friend stared at the ceiling above, its eyes shining with anticipation. Silas smiled. He would become an Artist, and there was nothing that would stop him.

***

Silas fell, his fingers sinking into the too-wet soil. Blond locks were sticky with congealed blood. The squashed pulp of his father’s head regarded him. Dull eyes flickered. Edgar’s mouth moved.

“Why did you let her die, Silas? Why didn’t you do something?” the corpse rasped, the voice sounding wet and strangled.

“I tried, father!” Silas’ jaw quivered.

Edgar’s eyes were filled with blame. “Did you? Did you really try?”

“But, but I—” He hadn’t. During the whole time, he had hidden himself behind his mother, doing nothing. He hadn’t even tried to save them. All because he had been too afraid.

Too weak.

Why couldn’t he be brave, like those heroes in the stories? A spark of anger kindled from within him, setting loose an avalanche of hot emotion. Pure, unadulterated rage at his inaction shot through him in a scorching blaze, overwhelming the cold fear that had rooted itself into his very being and evaporating it. Yet, even after the fear was defeated, the rage remained, its corrupting touch creeping through his veins like venom.

His nose started to itch. The feeling soon became uncomfortable until it hurt, like something was pulling at it. Silas swept at his nose, yet the pain only increased. His surroundings started to blur, a familiar noise soon reaching his ears.

“Creak, creak! Creak, creak, creak!”

Silas blearily opened his eyes. Gnarly stood on his chest, pulling on both sides of his nose with an arm each.

“Creak?”

The pulling momentarily stopped. “Oww,” the boy complained as he rubbed his sore nose.

“Creak, creak” Gnarly voiced slowly, patting Silas’ cheek.

Silas looked up at his small friend. “Thank you.” The silvery threads in his eyes expanded, circling along the edges before quickly returning to their usual chaotic flow. “Creak.”

Gnarly gestured to the empty bed, jumping up and down Silas’ chest in anticipation. Tom’s voice greeted him once he made it outside.

“There is some porridge left if you’re hungry. For today, you can start by plucking out the weeds in the garden and repairing the fence. Those hoppy monsters broke it again. Afterwards, you will practice your aim with the bow, it’s about time you made some progress there.”

Silas didn’t like tending the garden. At all. It didn’t seem to matter how often he plucked the weeds, they just kept coming back. And while the rabbits were cute, they were also a real nuisance. Repairing the fence time and time again really grated on his nerves.

“What will you be doing meanwhile, master?”

“I will be in the cabin, writing.”

“What are you writing on?” Silas asked curiously.

“A book,” the old man replied with a deadpan expression.

Not wanting to give his master the pleasure of asking again, Silas chose to stare back at Tom. The boy schooled his face to be as neutral as possible. A long moment passed, with neither of them making the slightest sound. However, his master didn’t seem to be impressed in the least. If anything, he looked bored. Silas eventually couldn’t take it anymore and averted his eyes. The old man’s stare was just too much.

Snorting, Tom took his bowl and walked toward the cabin. “Nice try, apprentice.”

The old man could probably win a staring contest against a rock. The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Silas either tending the garden, training with the bow or sparring with Tom. His shoulder ached from drawing the bow, and the sparring left Silas with more bruises than he could count.

“You need to work on your endurance, boy. If you already start huffing like a horse after such a short spar, you won’t last long in a real fight,” the old man stared down dissapprovingly at Silas who laid on the grass on all fours, his chest heaving.

“Yes, master,” Silas forced out, limbs aching as he sat up again.

“From now on, you will meditate after each training session to seek your Inner Landscape. Take deep breaths, and forget everything around you except the rhythm of your breathing. Your Inner Landscape is essentially the origin of your control over the Arts. Thinking back on when the stick hit you might be a good start.”

“But master, how do I find my Inner Landscape? And why is it named that way?”

“Your Inner Landscape is the place where your affinities will manifest. With each affinity awakened, your Landscape will change and shape itself accordingly. To find it, try to find the core of your being, the most essential part of yourself. However, this also includes experiences and memories one might have repressed. Gaining access to your Inner Landscape therefore includes directly exposing yourself to experiences from your subconscious. Beware that you gain control over your memories, lest they will control you.”

The old man and his fancy words. Dealing with his memories was way down the list of Silas’ priorities. Power was needed first.

“Where am I supposed to meditate then?”

Tom spread his arms wide. “Wherever you want, but don’t wander off too far. I don’t want to have to search for you.”

Silas looked around to find a good spot. He chose a nondescript tree to sit under and rested his back against its trunk. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember how he had felt before the stick had hit him. Herald, the old man was annoying. Had there been no easier way to teach him?

Silas took a deep breath to try and dispel the errant thoughts that kept popping up. The sparring from earlier, the feeling of the smooth bow in his hands, even his master’s stern face flashed before Silas’ mind’s eye. Concentrating solely on the rhythm of his breathing, he eventually calmed down somewhat.

His muscles relaxed, his mind was like a ship on still waters, akin to letting his body float with a current of a small stream. He let go of everything, his breathing guiding him deeper and deeper into his being.

Like a limb having fallen asleep, something began to tingle inside of him. Excited, he immediately began to delve further and try to search for its origin. Unfortunately, his sudden excitement caused his breathing to accelerate, interrupting the tranquil state of his meditation.

Silas abruptly became aware of his surroundings again. The light was waning, the high tree crowns waiting to hold the sun in their embrace. A warm breeze whispered through the woods. Standing up, Silas went to find Tom. His master sat hunched over a leather-bound booklet, a quill in his right hand. Turning around, the old man gestured to the pot hanging above the fireplace.

“Let’s eat, shall we?”

Tom took two clean bowls and spoons from inside before shooing Silas out of the cabin.

“What kind of book have you been writing on, master?”

Tom slowly slurped a spoon from his bowl. “How was your meditation?”

“I think I might have found my Inner Landscape! When I meditated, something within me suddenly started tingling.”

“One of your legs probably fell asleep.”

“Creak!” Gnarly waggled one of its fingers at Tom. “Creak creak!” It then raised its chin while patting Silas’ ear. Tom cocked an eyebrow.

“What’s that herb called?” the old man pointed at small bush of zig-zag shaped long leaves.

“Forkleaf. If cooked, the steam may be inhaled to treat a cold.”

Tom grunted in approval.

They headed into the cabin soon after. Silas fell asleep as soon as his head hit the cot.

***

The soft chirping of songbirds filled the trees around Silas. The wind rustled the leaves, bringing with it a smell of fresh earth and wood. Walking through the forest, Silas felt at peace. There was nothing to fear in these woods. He was at home, where he belonged. Even Gnarly felt closer to him than ever.

Silas knew that he was dreaming. Yet, all of it felt too real for it to be a mere dream. The farther he walked, the more familiar everything around him seemed. The trees spoke to him, the wind listened, and the very earth under him embraced his footsteps. A sudden clarity washed over him.

He needed to go deeper, right into the heart of the forest.

Instincts guided him as Silas weaved through the trees. The woods became denser with each step, yet his feet moved of their own accord. The soil beneath his feet, the oaks and pines around him, even the wind ruffling his thick brown hair—all of it was part of him. The whole forest radiated vitality, filling Silas with unknown energy. A pulse thudded from the heart of the forest, urging him on.

Time passed as Silas sped through the forest. He eventually stopped, reaching a sudden barrier made of dense, white mist. It seemed to have neither beginning nor end and completely obscured vision. Standing before the massive barrier of swirling mist, Silas was reminded of his nightmare a couple of days ago when he had slept inside the massive tree and bonded with Gnarly.

Back then, he had floated inside the white mist. Yet now he stood outside of it, with the barrier denying him entrance. Feeling the pulsing energy that came from it, Silas knew he had reached his destination.

The heart of the forest. Concealed by the barrier in front of him.

Yet, Silas felt a bit apprehensive about trying to break through the barrier. He still remembered how lost he had felt, trapped inside the seemingly endless white mist. On the other hand, he had also met Gnarly on that night.

Looking over his shoulder, Silas saw his wooden friend staring at the barrier in front of them. Gnarly’s gaze was completely focused on the barrier as if he tried to pierce the mist with willpower alone.

Seeing the determination in his amber eyes, Silas decided to join his companion in his effort. He lay his hands on the barrier. It was completely solid. Putting all of his strength into it, he began to push.

The barrier, however, did not budge an inch. It still stood there uncaringly, the white mist slowly dissipating into the forest around it. He needed to break through. There had to be a way, and if there wasn’t, he’d just have to pave his own.