There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Al said, putting his pen down.

The door creaked open and a curly head popped around the edge. “Hi, Al!”

“Hi, Salet. What would you like?”

“Who says I want anything?” she said, opening the door and walking inside his office.

“Nobody this time, but the other five times you asked for something started exactly like this.”

She bounced over to the seat in front of his desk. “Did you know that your daughter is cute?”

“Most say that. Did she get into trouble?”

“No. She was dancing for all the students earlier, during lunch. She does this cute little twirl, then nods her head back and forth. It got the other kids laughing and clapping.”

“Is she distracting you?” He folded his hands and placed them on his desk.

“No, no! I was just thinking that maybe she needs a mother.”

“She had a mother, who sadly perished.”

“Well, what about a step-mother? Maybe you and Corida should think about courting.”

Salet was seventeen, but she still hadn’t moved beyond thinking smart matches were made by putting a man and a woman, any man and woman, together for a few weeks. “Corida is a lovely girl, but I’m not interested in courting any of the students here at Samenstrar. Nor the teachers, if that was coming next. Marnie and I won’t be here for much longer.”

“Oh,” she said, pouting. She kicked her stocking feet a few times, then casually asked, “So, how do you feel about the wage markets in Kinto?”

He sighed loudly and in annoyance. “Mistress Cambdel warned me after the last time you pulled this stunt. Go to the library and read books and figure it out.”

“But, it’s easier to come to you! You know everything!”

“I ‘know everything’ because I went to the library and read books and figured it out. Who will you go to when Mistress Cambdel asks the next hard question? Or the one after that?”

“But libraries are so boring.”

“I never said they weren’t. They have a charm that are only felt by certain people. I was lucky to be one of those paramours of text, delving into any and all volumes on any and all subjects. I can smell a library from a mile away, old paper and glue and a bit of leather. I find solace in the creak of old chairs, the turning of pages, the occasional cough.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I hope some day you have a passion. For now, though, you will have to bear the discomfort of reading, taking notes, and compiling what you’ve learned. I am not tell you about the wage markets of Kinto, nor anything Almisori and Kelmenchin might say about them.”

“Almisori? Kelmenchin?”

He shrugged. “Maybe Alga Dise might round out any lingering questions.”

“Alga Dise,” she said, rising. “Okay, Al. Thank you.”

He went back to his work. He would be leaving for Eri Ranvel soon. In the meantime, Breivard kept asking him for more and more favors. He picked up on what he was doing; by giving him tasks a headmaster would do (which they hadn’t found yet), he was hoping to poach Al from the emrys position. While he knew Al would say ‘no’ if asked, Breivard had discovered that making Al feel enough pity would make him amenable to taking on several tasks outside his arrangement. He was sliding him into the job.

He stopped and quickly sipped the rest of his cold tea, taking the tray of his half-finished lunch down to the kitchens. He waved at the students who were walking between classes and made his way outside for his afternoon constitutional. He walked along the beach, far enough away to still be on grass. There was a pile of rocks thirty feet high that he would climb atop and contemplate the sea. It invigorated him for a few more hours until he’d late into the evening he’d quit his work for the day.

Al was in the middle of his thoughts when he heard the frantic steps of a preadolescent boy running towards him. It was Riran, Mistress Cambdel’s eldest son. He leaned over and caught his breath. Al waited. “He’s…here,” he finally said.

“Thank you, Riran,” he said, putting his shoes back on. The boy took off again. Al remembered himself at that age, only wanting to travel as fast as possible.

Breivard, some of the teachers, and another man were already gathered around the fireplace, sipping tea. Al was startled by the man’s appearance, though he shouldn’t have been. Kytren Bi Teleure was from Sonder, the most northern country in Noh Amair. The people there were typically fair in color. But, Al had always pictured him as swarthy with a square jaw and black hair that curled slightly. Before him was a gangly man whose skin was paler than Telbarisk’s. His hair was a blond so light it appeared white, though it could be from age. And his eyes…a blue that pierced like the cold.

Despite his appearance, he wasn’t cold and was quite congenial, laughing at a story Breivard was telling. Al shucked his coat and joined them. “Ah, here he is. .rd Teleure, this is Alpine Gray, the King’s emrys and a great help to us here at Samenstrar.”

“Kytren,” Al corrected. “Since he’s from Sonder, his clan name is Kytren and his given name Teleure.”

“And you are a Ghenian wizard, no? The nature and color name?” His accent was thick, but Al could understand his Arvonnese.

“I am,” he said, shaking his hand and taking a seat in an open armchair. “I came to Arvonne with the King after we met in Gheny.”

“And which of the kinds are you?” Teleure didn’t seem to have a problem watching people.

“Kinds? Do you mean which level am I? Cross-switcher.”

“Ah, not too many of those.”

“Even fewer cyclicals!” Al answered, gesturing towards him.

“Ah, this is very true.”

Breivarn cut in. “We appreciate you making this trip, .rd Kytren,” he said, looking at Al. “Would it be all right if we asked you to make a speech tonight, just something informal to let our students know who you are and why you’ve graced us with your presence?”

“Absolutely, Your Grace.”

Samenstrar was located along the southern coast of Arvonne, not far from the Tepenstri region where the Caudet lady haunted and where Anla’s family’s house was. The climate was mild, therefore the students ate dinner outside on an early spring day that was warmer than most summer days in Baradan. Teleure was introduced to the students, who openly gawked at the man. He stood and waved before speaking, a concise, laid-back speech about working hard and making their country proud. He must have gotten a tip about the patriotism because the kids’ eyes lit up at his words.

Teleure was invited to the parlor in the teachers’ wing for after-dinner brandy. Al wasn’t inclined to join them, but knew it would be insulting if he declined, so he attended. Breivarn was his usual outgoing self, asking questions and smoking his cigars.

“Now, I’m sure you must get the same question, the one I’d like to ask. May I?”

“You’d like to know how I became a cyclical wizard.” It wasn’t even a guess.

“Yes! It’s so interesting to me, how one can be lifted to a higher level like that. If we knew how, I’m sure we’d launch as the premier wizarding school.”

Teleure gave Breivarn a queer look. After several awkward moments, he asked, “You don’t know how I became a cyclical wizard?”

“Well, no! It’s a closely guarded secret.”

“Not to the schools. They’ve known for some time now how I, and others, have become cyclical wizards.”

“That’s news to us. I don’t suppose you’d like to enlighten us?”

“Well…” the Sonderian said, sweeping his icy-colored gaze over the group. “I will because it is not fair for one school to have that knowledge and not another. However, you must promise not to use what I tell you. It would end in the loss of a great many students. They tried this in Ranfitten some two hundred years ago and the results were disheartening.”

“What is the point, then, if we can’t use it?” Brevairn asked just as Al said, “We promise.”

Teleure met his gaze and gave him a slight nod. “A quarter of all humans can become wizards. Two-thirds of those can switch between the Calm and the Unease. One-eighth of those are cross-switchers, like our friend Al here. And far, far fewer are cyclical wizards. I was a cross-switcher for a few years before a very traumatic event in my life. I barely survived it. That is how you make a cyclical wizard. You push a man through the ranks until they are a cross-switcher, you put him through hell, hope he lives, and see if he was one of the rare ones to actually have the capability to be a cyclical wizard. This was the problem Ranfitten discovered. They either never discovered the correct kind of trauma or it is only a small percentage of cross-switching wizards that can become cyclical. Either way, thousands of cross-switching wizards were killed over the course of a few decades for only less than a dozen cyclical wizards.”

There was a heavy silence when he finished. Breivarn cleared his throat. “Well, of course we won’t use that knowledge on our students. That’s atrocious. I didn’t realize that when I asked.”

“It is all right,” Teleure said. “I doubted you would. I haven’t heard of any of the other four schools trying and I visit all of them as frequently as I can.”

“Is that your job?” Master Tandsin asked, an older, but still agile hard wizard.

“A duty, more like. I live very comfortably, some say lavishly, and I’m accepted wherever I wish to go. When there is no hardships in life, one must create interests.”

“But, you could do so much if you settled in one place,” Mistress Cambdel said.

“Yes, I’ve often thought about that. I could settle in some central location and provide my services for free. Or maybe even return home. It never seems like there is a right answer, a right place for me to stay. Live in Kipraud or Breverie and it’s still a long distance for a Berothian or Sonderian to travel. I enjoy traveling, it’s in my blood.”

“Excuse me,” Al said, standing. “I think the brandy isn’t agreeing with my dinner. I need to check on Marnie anyway.”

They all said ‘good night’ to him, Teleure watching him closely. Instead of returning to his room, he went for a walk on the beach, the moon already above the horizon. He sat for some time, pondering the new guest and his story.

The next day he went out for another afternoon stroll. This time he was joined by an umbrella-carrying Sonderian. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

“Not at all,” Al said, though he wasn’t in the mood for company.

Teleure opened his umbrella and sat next to him on the rocks. “My skin is sensitive to the sun. In climes such as this I’ll see my skin burn in little time.”

“May I ask why you decided to meet me here, then?”

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

He shrugged. “It’s a private place.”

“What do you wish to speak about?”

“You. You’re an interesting person, Alpine. I asked the Principal about you and he told me what he knew. A Touch wizard who flees his home and job and meets a group of travelers, one of whom is the King of Arvonne in disguise. You journey across the Gamik, help retake the throne, and now serve as the head advisor to the King. That is quite a tale.”

“I suppose. I’ve just always done what I was drawn to do.”

“That’s what any of us do, though most live rather sedate and boring lives.”

Al nodded, not really wishing to speak to him. They sat, watching the waves crash against the shore for a few minutes. “I’ve been told that what you see when you look out at the horizon is how you feel about your future,” Teleure said.

“I once said the same thing to the King.”

“Come, what do you see?”

Al sighed and shrugged. “It’s hard to put into words. Maybe that it’s endless, that there’s something else just beyond the line.”

“Unfinished business?”

“Perhaps.”

Another few minutes passed in silence. Al didn’t appreciate him, or anyone for that matter, invading his sanctuary. Shoving decorum aside, he finally turned to Teleure and asked, “So, what was your trauma?”

“My trauma? Do you mean what caused me to become a cyclical wizard?”

“Yes. You seem like you wish to chat, so maybe that would be a good topic to start first with.” Al gave him a hard smile before he continued looking out at the ocean.

“You’re a learned man, so you must know what the ‘Bi’ in my name means.”

“’Unwalled’, ‘free’. You’re from the nomadic Kytren tribe that roamed the taigas and tundras of Sonder, herding reindeer.”

“Well, we were more southern than that, but you essentially have it right. My tribe is nomadic and we would sometimes fight against the Anms, the walled peoples who lived in settlements. Most people have a hard time understanding that Anms and Bis are two different people who follow two different kings, even though we share an island. We trade, we avoid, we sometimes war, but we don’t intermingle. A problem, you see, when you’re me and you fall in love with a walled girl.

“We met when we were just coming into adulthood. My father traded leathers for smithy work for our tribe, nails and horseshoes, things like that. Her father was a blacksmith. We would speak while they haggled and our attraction was instantaneous and deep and forlorn. When we grew, we stole kisses behind the smith and promised ourselves to each other. After the kisses, we planned. We were caught, more than once, and I was beaten. I’m sure she was, too. After the fifth or sixth time, things became serious. Her father was going to marry her off and we had little time left.

“I was one of the best hunters in my tribe. I could run faster, run quieter, throw farther, and hit harder than anyone there. I got better shares than anyone else, so I was able to hoard and trade enough money for us. I was still too late; she had been married off before I could save enough. She was unhappy, though, and we still saw each other. Then, I told her to wait for me one night and I stole her away.

“We moved west and settled in a town a hundred miles from our lands. My money ran dry quickly; I wasn’t trained in anything other than hunting. She worked as a laundress, not a prestigious job, and I took what I could around the area. I could chop trees far faster than any man, but there were only so many trees than needed to be chopped. The same with raising houses or clearing rocks or lugging iron.

“For one year, five months, three weeks, four days we were happy. We had a little girl that looked like me, save her nose and chin were her mother’s. Our home was filled with laughter. But, her husband finally tracked us down, along with her father and some others from the village, and pulled them from our home.

“I couldn’t tell you the story behind what I saw, just the sequence of events. There were many tracks, some horse, many men. Not far from the town’s wall I found my daughter laying in the snow, gutted, almost peaceful. Some of the tracks dragged, like someone was being tugged to move. There was a struggle. Then, horse tracks for several miles. Some blood along the way. Then finally, the group had stopped. They were crowded around something on the edge of the road. My wife’s body. I think she had loosened her bonds and flung herself from the horse, hitting her head on a rock. I didn’t know that at the time. I probably wouldn’t have cared. I charged into the group with the spear I had grabbed from someone in the town and began stabbing the men as they protested.

“I killed, in total, twelve men. I took their swords and beheaded them in one swing. Blood poured out in a massive crimson puddle. I didn’t take a scratch. Or maybe I did and healed quickly from it. Who knows? I don’t remember anything past the point of seeing her dead on the roadside. I was held in a jail cell for some time, until I was released to the King’s men. I assumed I was going to be hanged, but it was the Unwalled King, Asquin Me’ra Altreb, that I was released to. He told me that he was proud of me, having slaughtered twelve Walled men and a woman. Her death had been pinned on me. I still didn’t stir from the cold cell of jail that my heart was in. This was seen as impudent, so someone tried pushing me to kneel. He couldn’t. Someone else couldn’t. Both together couldn’t. It was then that the King’s advisor asked if I was a wizard. I didn’t say anything, so they brought me to the jail cell at one of the castles of the King.

“Apparently the advisor checked in daily, but I still stared ahead, not communicating, not eating. I did chug whatever they gave me, water, mead, wine, but I don’t remember. It was weeks before they found me curled into a ball crying my eyes out.

“From that point I answered their questions. I couldn’t stay in Sonder, so the King sent me to Wayzant. There they discovered I was a cyclical wizard. I don’t often tell that story. It’s not something that’s come easier with age, not in the slightest. I still love them.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Reciprocity.”

“You want me to tell you about my daughter and wife?” Al asked bitterly. “Marnie isn’t my issue, obviously, but she’s my daughter. My wife engaged in an extra-marital affair with my best friend. She died of consumption a few years ago.”

“Was that your traumatic experience?”

“It stung a little, but I can’t say it bothered me very much.”

“Something else then?” When Al didn’t answer, he said, “I checked up on you. Your students complain because accessing magic comes so easily to you that they can’t learn well when you teach them. There was a virulent cold that passed through that you didn’t get.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That you’re cyclical as well.”

Al threw up his hands in anger. “You don’t know anything! You’re making half-arsed guesses about someone you barely know!”

“So there was no traumatic story for you, then?”

“Yes! I mean, sure, I had a bad spell for a while. Things were not great for me. But, that doesn’t mean I’m a cyclical wizard! They’re exceedingly rare, like you said.”

“How rare?”

“Once per generation.”

“Which is…?”

“I don’t know, perhaps one every fifty years?”

“You do realize I’m almost seventy.”

Al’s eyes widened. “Seventy? You don’t look an older than forty-five.”

“I’ve been told cyclical wizards don’t age like people do. Our bodies are constantly regenerating in equilibrium. While we’re not immortal, we are long-lived.”

“So, you’ve met other cyclical wizards?”

“One is still living in retirement. He’s a few years older than a hundred. I met another when I was younger who was a great mentor to me.”

“Are you looking for someone to mentor, then?”

“I’m curious to find the next cyclical wizard. There hasn’t been one for some time. We’re due and I’d rather help him or her before I can’t.”

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It’s odd to me that you’re not interested in even considering it. Most people are so disappointed when I tell them they’re only a cross-switcher, as if that’s not enough. Could you at least explain why you wouldn’t want to be a cyclical wizard?”

“Because…” he began. He shook his head. “Because a cyclical wizard is rare. Some would say they’re singled out by the gods, important, worthy. I’ve always been happy being less. My life wasn’t perfect when I lived in Whitney, but I didn’t hate it. My life since then continues to be one where I’ve been pushed into uncomfortable roles, but not a leadership one. When I met Anla and Telbarisk in Gheny, early in my journey, I was happy to be their leader, but I was secretly happy that Caudin took over. I’d much rather he make the decisions. He’s good at it, a born leader. I’m a born advisor. I don’t want to be anything more than what I need to be.”

“What if what you need to be is a cyclical wizard? It might not be your choice, but it may be your destiny.”

“But, that’s for…someone like Caudin,” Al said, waving his hand. “Not me.”

“Most wizards I know are rather self-important. You seem unusual in this.”

“You don’t seem self-important.”

“No, I let others take care of that,” he said, chuckling. “I’m just a hunter from Sonder. Alswer, my mentor, came from a long line of pig farmers. Nothing fancy.”

“My mother is the head of the council of women in Baradan.”

Teleure closed his eyes, nodding. “Ahh. I see now. I had forgotten you were Br’vanese.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Mmm. Constantly remarked that you must be a brute or a thief. Just a man, not a woman. Your mother is powerful and you live in that shadow. What did your father do?”

“Does. He’s a fisherman.”

“A humble man, quiet, loves to be out at sea?”

“Yes, but I think most fishermen do.”

“Perhaps that’s where he can be himself. I think you have been taught to be like your father and you don’t know how to fit into the role your mother holds.”

“You mean I don’t know how to wield power.”

“Yes, to put it nicely.”

“I am a powerful man. I’m the emrys to the King, I am helping to found this-”

“Helpful roles. You don’t know how to believe in yourself and allow people to see you at the top. You don’t mind speaking your mind when you need to, if you feel it’s right, but you don’t like being the center of attention.”

Al thought back to Tel’s trial, to his speech in front of the Principals. “This doesn’t prove I’m cyclical…”

“I haven’t even started making my case for that. I’m merely trying find the reason why you dislike the consideration. Let’s for the moment look at cyclical wizards as just the next step in the chain, from wizard, to switcher, to cross-switcher. Did you feel uncomfortable when you were labeled a cross-switcher?”

“I…never let them. I pretended I was just a switcher so they wouldn’t make me do any hard wizard work.”

Teleure furrowed his pale eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Because they warned it would age you, drain your vitality and cause an early death.”

“A fair point, if you don’t take care of yourself. Then, how did you feel when Amandorlam said you were a switcher?”

“A little scared. I learned from that, hiding my cross-switcher ability.”

“If I said you were cyclical, you would be afraid then?”

Al shrugged.

“Do you need to think to tap into the Calm or Unease?”

“No.”

“Do you feel like it’s always there, waiting for you to use it?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you were ill?”

“I was seasick when I crossed the Gamik, from Gheny to Kitstuar.”

“How long?”

“About a half-hour.”

“And before that, did you cross any other waterways?”

Al knuckled his lips. “On the trip from Genale to Sharka, I was ill for a few hours. Before that, from Sharka to Tektorn, it was a day. If I got sick, then that means I’m not cyclical then.”

“No. It means your body hadn’t had the chance to fix whatever problem sea travel causes to some and not others. It took a few times, as it did for me. I was so sick from Sonder to Tondeiva. Now, I’m chipper and well on the sea. Haven’t had a problem in decades. Have you been ill? Colds, perhaps the consumption you came into contact with when you saw your wife?”

“No.”

“Do you often forget to eat and sleep?”

“I’ve had some long days,” he admitted.

“Have you ever touched someone presumed dead only to see them rouse again?”

“Um…yes,” he said, swallowing. “There was a baby in Mount Kalista I saved from the wreckage of a house. It was pale and blue, hypothermia. It cried out after I held it while I was bringing it down from the house. And…”

“And?”

“There was a man who was in a duel. He was run through and suffered a grievous injury. Everyone left him alone to die. I held his hand in order to comfort him. He was breathing blood, then he got better.”

“Anyone else?”

“Anla, my friend, the Queen. She was whipped severely and they couldn’t find her heartbeat. They said she was dead. I held her hand and begged her to live…and she did.”

Teleure held out his hand and Al tentatively took it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Yes,” he said.

“What? What did you feel?” Al asked when he broke contact.

“Nothing.”

“So, I’m not a cyclical wizard, then?” Curiously, he was unsure if he was disappointed or not.

“No, you are. It’s how I can tell immediately. I felt nothing different. Our abilities are the same, like pouring water into water.”

He turned to face Al. “We can’t bring people back from the dead, but sometimes we can take the tiniest ember of life and coax a fire from it. We cannot cure certain things, just give people our perfect ability to heal. We push the boundaries of what a body can sustain much more than the strongest or fastest hard wizard. We are perfect wizards, our bodies in harmony with magic. We constantly absorb it without problems. Or perhaps there are withdrawals, but the magic heals them. That’s a source of debate in the schools.”

“What does it mean, then?” Al whispered.

“It just means you are more talented then most of the wizards in the world. What you choose to do with it is up to you. I’m assuming only you and I know and I’ll keep it that way until-”

“Al!” the air said around the two of them.

They both looked around for the source, but they were alone. “What was that?” Teleure asked.

“It sounded like Anla,” Al said.

“Al! Tel is helping me. Sayen has declared war on Arvonne on Ap Jorsen’s Day. You must go to Payenre and help Caudin. Ride safe and with my love.”

“Kriskin malor,” Al swore, standing and scrambling over the rocks. Teleure was on his tail.

“What do you need to do?”

“I need to get to Payenre, wherever that is, in two weeks to help the King negotiate the terms of battle and war.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“What? No, you stay here and wait while I help the King. I’ll return.”

“No. You may need to know what I teach you.”

“I’m just negotiating.”

“And how are you going to get there?”

Al said nothing as they reached the school. Breivarn was reading a newspaper by the fireplace on the first floor. “Ah, Al, how was your-”

“I need a horse and provisions. Do you know where Payenre is?”

“Payenre?” he said, standing. “That’s…on the border of Sayen, right next to the Mielsa. Why? What passes?”

“Sayen has declared war on Arvonne. The battle negotiations are set for May the First.”

“That’s two weeks from now. You won’t reach it in time. That must be six, maybe seven hundred miles from here.”

“We can do it,” Teleure said. “We’ll need help. Four swift horses, provisions, a pack with clothing.”

“And can you care for Marnie?” Al asked.

“Of course!” he said. “Riran! Salet!” he bellowed. He sent Riran to the stable master to prepare the horses. When Salet arrived from her class, he said, “You’re going to be in charge of Marnie for the next few weeks, on top of your classes.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, where is she know?”

“I don’t know, but fetch her.”

Teleure and Al were packed within fifteen minutes. Salet brought Marnie to the main sitting area. Al put his canvas bag of food and bag of clothing and tools down. “Marnie, Dada has to go help the King. You have to behave for Salet, okay? No hiding from her. Do what she tells you to do.”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Will you be back soon?” she asked.

“Soon, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “As soon as possible.”

The two wizards climbed on their steeds and grabbed the reins of their additional horse. Breivarn was next to them, handing Al a rolled map. “I marked the towns you’ll need to hit until you reach the Mielsa. Then take the road north. Gods speed.”

They trotted their horses on the back road. “What’s our plan?” Al asked.

“We’re going to have to push the horses until they’re blown, then let them go.”

“And after?”

“We run.”