Nature Mage (42 page)

Gaspi didn’t mind showing them around, but in all honesty he felt a bit excluded from the emotional reunion, and was glad when the light faded and he could leave them all at the Rest. Emea was normally sensitive to his feelings, but she was so caught up in the excitement of seeing her Ma that she seemed oblivious to what was going on with him. This suited Gaspi, who didn’t want to cast a shadow on her joyful experience. When Emmy’s Ma dragged her up to her bedroom, he was quick to say goodnight, and headed up to the campus and to his dormitory.

Gaspi lay in bed that night, wishing he could control his emotions better. Why couldn’t he just turn off that feeling of vulnerability? He knew in his head that he had Jonn, and Emmy and Taurn, but something about families always made him feel lost and alone. Perhaps everyone felt this way sometimes? Gaspi sighed deeply. He’d just have to hope he felt better in the morning, so he could enjoy the long visit from the villagers along with everyone else.

Chapter 31

The next few weeks turned out to be much more enjoyable for Gaspi than he’d thought they would. After that first night he didn’t feel so vulnerable again, and enjoyed hanging out with Jonn and Seth, who seemed to have taken up permanent residence at roadside cafés near the barracks where they chewed the fat and smoked tabac whenever Jonn was off duty. They welcomed Gaspi whenever he wanted to join them, and around his classes and studies he found his life wasn’t that much changed; he just had a few more people to hang out with. Seth had a kind of dry humour that made him laugh, and he treated Gaspi like an adult; something Gaspi pretended not to notice, when in fact it made him swell with pride and contentment every time it happened.

He saw Emmy a bit less than before, as she was often with her Ma, but they still had plenty of time together. Taurnil’s Ma had taken to stealing Lydia whenever she could, and disappearing off into the city. Taurnil complained to Gaspi that they were probably hatching plans about the rest of his life, but Gaspi had no sympathy, and teased his friend endlessly until the day Taurnil quite seriously threatened to hit him, which put an end to that little bit of fun. All in all, it was a good time. Despite his initial feelings, Gaspi felt included and part of it all, and was happy when the visitors decided to extend their stay from one month to two.

Several weeks into the visit from the folk from Aemon’s Reach, Gaspi was lying in bed, unable to sleep. Without really knowing why, he took his Koshta seed out from his bedside table, and examined it in the faint light filtering through the large dormitory windows. He turned it over in his hands, observing with pleasure how the smooth, dark wood caught and reflected the silvery glow of moonlight. He missed playing Koshta. Football was fun, but he missed the feel of a good whacker in his hand, and the skittering of the seed across the ice as it slid into goal.

Ice! That was the key. If he could get ice to form across the courtyard, he could set up a game. Suddenly excited, he started thinking of the possibilities. He was a Nature Mage, after all. All he’d have to do is place and hold a layer of water on the ground and freeze it. He’d have to tap into an energy source to tie it off and make the spell self-sustaining, but there would be plenty of those available deep in the ground.

Mid-thought, an uncomfortable prickling sensation made him suddenly aware that someone was watching him. Keeping his movements slow and subtle, he turned his head just enough to scan the room; and, as he expected, there was a brief glitter of unblinking eyes from Ferast’s bed, before the skinny boy realised he was being observed in turn. Feigning sleep, Ferast groaned quietly, and turned his back to Gaspi. Uncomfortable that Ferast had caught him in such a private moment, Gaspi put his seed away and tried to sleep; but unbidden thoughts of playing Koshta again skittered through his mind like a seed whacked back and forth across a frozen pond, keeping him up well into the small hours of the night.

Emea sat between Gaspi and Lydia in class, listening carefully to Professor Worrick’s lesson on spirits. It was no surprise to her to hear of demons, after their experiences on the road and after seeing the dJin, but she was surprised by the existence of other types of spirits. Apparently there were spirits of water, wind, earth and fire called elementals. They held different shapes depending on their exact nature, but they all fell broadly into one of these categories. 

Emea glanced at Gaspi, who listened with his usual intelligent curiosity. Emea loved the way he saw into the heart of things, and asked all the right questions. His hand was up right now.

“Yes, Gaspi?” Professor Worrick asked.

“Why do we never see these spirits?” he asked.

“That’s a good question,” Professor Worrick answered. “Spirits are by nature shy and avoid human contact. There are a few people – we call them druids – who spend their lives working alongside these spirits, to preserve and nurture the land. Their branch of magic is often underrated by the practitioners of traditional Mage craft, but that’s just an old prejudice. They are powerful in their own way, and they tend to be as reclusive as the spirits they commune with. Gaspi, you are in a unique position among us with your particular calling. It may be that in the future you will have more interaction with elemental spirits than any of the rest of us.”

Gaspi nodded thoughtfully, as Emea put her hand in the air.

“Yes, Emea?” Professor Worrick said.

“How are these spirits different from demons? I mean, are demons a bad version of the same thing?”

“Ah, well, that’s the crux of the matter right there,” the professor said. “That may well be the case, but little is truly understood about the origin of any kind of spirit. There are theories, of course, but all we know for certain is that they are different from us. They don’t eat or drink and aren’t corporeal in the same sense. They don’t procreate, and they don’t need to relieve themselves.”

A couple of the girls broke into titters at this. The professor looked up, bemused, and carried on.

“One difference between demons and these other spirits is that demons must be summoned and are not comfortable in our realm for any extended period of time. They inhabit this plane for brief periods, and then return to wherever they come from. Elementals, however are fundamentally comfortable with this physical realm - they are an integral part of it, in fact – and do not seem to come and go as demons do. But that is all I can say with any clarity, without departing into conjecture. Perhaps you can take this up with Hephistole, Emea,” Professor Worrick said, with a smile. “He is the most able philosopher among us.”

At the end of the lesson Emea waited for Gaspi, who was asking Professor Worrick a question, when she caught an odd movement out of the corner of her eye. When Everand’s back was turned, Ferast quickly slipped something into his friend’s satchel. She couldn’t make out what it was, but it was dark and no bigger than his hand, and it certainly seemed odd behaviour between friends. Ferast left the room with Everand and his gaggle of girlfriends while she was still waiting. In all honesty, Emea wasn’t all that curious about what Ferast or Everand got up to, and quickly put it out of her mind.

After lunch, Emea found herself in a tutorial with Ferast again. However much she felt sorry for him, something about the scrawny boy was making her increasingly uncomfortable. He stared at her too much, and spoke in a kind of secretive half-whisper that made her have to lean in to hear properly, and she didn’t like being too close to him. Miss Emelda was talking them through the basics of bone reconstruction – a very tiring process – when Ferast interrupted her.

“Miss Emelda, what can you tell me about using healing power as a weapon?” he asked in his quiet, intense voice. He hadn’t quite spoken over her, but she had clearly only been pausing for breath in the middle of explaining something, and both Emelda and Emea looked at him in surprise.

“Where did you hear that, Ferast?” Emelda asked quietly. Her expression was deadpan, but Emmy couldn’t help sensing that her normally jolly teacher was not happy with this line of questioning.

“I read about it in a book about the Ancient Arcane Wars,” Ferast answered, his gaze losing none of its intensity.

“Yes, I suppose you could have come across it there,” Emelda said hesitantly. “I will answer your question,” she said, making up her mind. “But just so you can fully appreciate the importance of using your power for the right purposes. Is that clear?”

“Of course Miss,” Ferast responded, the very picture of respect.

Emelda was quiet for a long moment, before beginning. “There was a time, long ago, when some magicians treated with dark powers, engaging in unwholesome rituals until they became something other than human. More than human, or perhaps less. The powers they treated with were demonic, and the terrible rites human magicians willingly underwent lent them extraordinary powers. But they also corrupted their souls, rendering them a twisted form of creature; neither fully human nor fully demonic. Their powers were such that ordinary magicians couldn’t stand against them, and in those desperate times it was discovered that the magic we use to heal could damage these perverted creatures.”

Emelda paused for a moment, clearly troubled by what she was saying. “It was a horrible choice to make. The soul of the Healer is not designed to destroy, but when our very existence was at stake, we struck back, putting our Healers in the front line like holy knights, throwing bolts of pure healing energy at the demonised Mages, causing them great pain and even destroying them. It was a close-run thing, but eventually we prevailed.”

Emelda took a deep breath. “It is my sincere hope that we never have to use healing energy in that way again. The calling of the Healer is to mend what is broken, not to tear down and destroy. Can you understand this?” Her gaze flickered between both of her pupils. Emea found it easy to agree. There was not one single part of her that wanted to kill. Ferast smoothly responded that he also understood, but even in Emmy’s trusting heart she found a degree of doubt. The strange boy she shared these classes with seemed filled with a kind of restrained, glittering energy, reflected in the over-bright gleam of his eyes - eyes that could only be called hungry. Emelda looked troubled as she continued her lesson.

After the lesson, Emea stepped out of the classroom to find the boys in her class milling around, ready to play football. Gaspi spotted her and waved as he jogged onto the makeshift pitch, waiting impatiently to start the game. As usual he was on the opposite side to Everand, the large athletic boy stretching his long legs before play began.

“We need bags for the goal,” someone shouted from Everand’s end of the pitch. She watched Gaspi’s nemesis jog lightly to the sideline and pick up his bag, carrying it back with him onto the pitch. Emea noticed a furtive movement nearby, and glanced over to see Ferast flicking his fingers and muttering under his breath. The movement was well disguised, but it was clear to Emea that he was performing some kind of magic. A snort of disgust brought her attention back to the pitch, where the contents of Everand’s bag has spilled out onto the floor. He held up his bag in annoyance, exposing a large rip along the bottom. Emea watched him grab as many of his books and belongings as possible and start to carry them to the side of the pitch, when all of a sudden Gaspi came boiling in from his side of the courtyard.

“What are you doing with that?” Gaspi asked, furiously snatching up a dark, hand-sized object that was still lying on the ground.

“With what?” Everand asked.

Gaspi thrust out his hand at Everand. “My Koshta seed!” he said indignantly, his voice loud and angry.

“I never saw that before,” Everand said, defensively.

“Yeah right,” Gaspi said, taking a step towards the larger boy.

Emea glanced once more at Ferast, who was watching the argument unfold with avid attention, and all of the pieces suddenly fell together in her mind, filling her with a cold anger.

“Stop!” she shouted, stepping onto the pitch towards Gaspi and Everand. The two boys looked at her in surprise.

“Emmy,” Gaspi began, but didn’t get any further.

“Everand didn’t take your seed,” Emea said.

“What?” Gaspi said in surprise. “But he’s got it right there!”

“Someone else put it there,” Emea said with certainty. “To start a fight between you two.”

“Eh?” Everand said, as confused as Gaspi. “Who would do that?”

Emea turned to face Ferast. “I saw you put something in Everand’s bag at the end of class,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was the same colour and shape as Gaspi’s seed.”

“Rast?” Everand asked, his face a picture of confusion as he struggled to believe what he was being told.

“Of course I didn’t,” the skinny boy said. He turned to Emea. “Why would I do that, Emea?” he wheedled, and Emea shuddered at his unctuous, oily tone.

“Because you want me for yourself,” she said quietly. Ferast froze. “You’ve been jealous of Gaspi since the moment you found out we were together. You know I hate fighting, and you’re always talking him down behind his back, trying to get me to think badly of him. You saw how upset I was when he and Everand fought in Voltan’s class, and you’ve been planning a way to get them to fight again so that I’d leave him.”

“Emmy...no! It’s not true,” Ferast said, unconvincingly.

“Don’t call me Emmy!” Emea said icily. “Only my friends call me that. And I can’t be friends with a boy who wants to hurt the person I love most in all the world.”

She turned to Everand. “I saw him cast a spell just as your bag ripped open. Your friend has been trying to set you up.”

Everand strode angrily across the courtyard. “Ferast, tell me it’s not true!” he said, his eyes fiery with anger.

Ferast glanced at him as if he barely heard him, all of his attention reserved for Emea.

“Emea, please. I’m only trying to help you. He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, with contempt. Emea was in no doubt who Ferast was referring to. “You should be with someone who understands you,” the greasy-haired boy said, with frightening intensity.