Part 2

Blood and Nightmares

So long as I cannot see beyond either door or window,

this room exists without care to time or place, and

it can be, for me

both sanctuary and

home.

Here, dreams live freely.

~ from The Room,

Ruminations on Vampirism (1811),

Wilhelm d. Blanc

“Among the accounts I have read of Alti, one described it as a land of merciless warlords. Its people lived among the trees, cavorted with beasts, and bowed their heads only to those with the most powerful magics. Blood curses, it claimed, were all that bound Altian society together. I can only imagine what the author would have said about our modern world.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

A warm, thin breeze wafted through the openings in the trees, smelling of pine and summer flowers and the heady dust of the well-traveled road leading past Illian’s house. From the shaded interior of the Issurak forest, where myriad golden patches danced amongst the darker pitch and leaf litter and the shade cast by the trees, there was little view of the busy road or the traffic that pounded its length even in the early morning. This was due in most part to the houses that obstructed it, sloped against the promised rains of fall and spring, latticed with summer in intricate webs of green foliage. Even the birdsong that rang in the air, herald to the sunrise when all else was silent, served only to obstruct the murmur of human voices.

So it was that the Silver and her companions, who watched from the trees, were offered only the briefest impressions of browns and greens, pale blues and deep reds, and then the odd glint of scale or feather or the twist of a tail half concealed by a building, no matter how they tried to penetrate the secrets of the city with their eyes. It was a useless venture. Realizing this, Silver sighed and rolled back on her heels, squinting up towards the trees. She was currently working her free fingers against the slick arches of Seijelar’s eye ridges, clutching a small bag fit for her back with her other hand. It was stuffed with a single change of clothes and an ebony flask of water. She missed her modern-day backpack, which was probably somewhere in the Castle of Divides. It was hard for her to even say when exactly she had lost it – in one of the Zara’s attacks, most likely. If Seijelar had not decided to balance with two paws against Silver’s shoulders and two against her hips, tail marking a thin swatch in the earth at her feet and head draped across her chest, Silver might have actually worn the backpack. Instead she was stuck with the dragon, and carrying a dragon felt a lot like carrying a Great Dane on her back.

Turning her gaze back to her companions, she pursed her lips grumpily. Elorian rested in the dappled shade, apparently asleep. Skourett had been ordered off of Bek’s shoulders hours ago, and had settled contentedly around his feet. The crimson-streaked hatchling might never be allowed on his shoulders again. Of course, since Bek’s injuries from the Zara had not entirely healed yet, the decision might not have been his as much as it had been Illian’s.

Fleetingly, she glanced in Cevora’s direction. The princess stood a little off to the side and alone, staring mutely at Illian’s house. She had a stormy expression that made Silver thing it was best not to bother her. They were waiting together for Illian’s signal to move, something long in coming since his men planned to amass at the gates of Altiannia before entering the forest. Technically, he had explained, that was the starting point of any patrol. Silver felt that patrol might not be the best word for what they were about to embark on.

She darted another glance in Cevora’s direction. Deep in thought, she was so focused on the princess that she started when Bek’s elbow against her ribs jolted her gaze back to him.

“That’s our signal. Stop dozing.”

Her eyes caught the flash of silver metal in the deeper trees to their right, and she tore her attention from the streets.

“Let’s not keep him waiting,” Bek added.

Silver was only mildly surprised when Cevora allowed Bek to take the lead, drawing them through what was quickly becoming the humid, stifling heat of the forest. It did not take them long to find Illian’s company, although the city of Alti had long since faded from view by the time they did.

“Seven people, including Illian,” Bek counted, his bronze eyes settling on the heads of each of the waiting patrollers. Even from their distance, Silver could tell that Illian’s patrol was completely different from what she had expected.

“Townspeople?” Silver asked in surprise.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Cevora answered softly, “No living thing is guaranteed safe passage through these woods, whether their flesh is beast or human, save a few that have begged passage for some favor to the dragons. Although the council now mandates that the kivgha keep watch over the beasts of the Issurak, they can’t afford to lose trained guards right and left, victim to the beasts’ jaws. Illian proposed an answer only he could benefit from months ago – a civilian patrol. King and council support him because he tends to take the criminals from the city’s retention centers. They’re disposable men at best. I suspected he was up to something when they started disappearing. Illian values his men highly.”

“How would they be useful to Illian if they’re dead?” Silver asked.

“I suspect that Illian doesn’t lose nearly as many people as he reports losing,” Bek responded for her, “he enlists them instead, like us.”

“And I suspect that he has indeed made some pact with the dragons,” Cevora added, after which the discussion ended. They had arrived into an unwelcoming silence. Six new people, as Bek had counted - one woman, four men, and a boy - stood ranged around Illian. None looked surprised to see her or Bek or the wolf, but only one of them, a man dressed in the same MASO uniform as Illian, managed to keep the surprise from their face when Cevora and the dragons came into view.

“Dragons already, eh,” one of the men, a red-headed youth roughly Silver’s age, remarked. He laughed then, causing the chopped red curls above his eyes to bounce, as he clapped the man beside him on the shoulder, “I didn’t expect to see any so soon. Smaller than I expected, too.”

Silver eyed the red-head curiously. He was the most relaxed of all of them, without a doubt. Dark eyed and fiery-haired, there was something impish and quick-witted about his expression. Hints of gold at his throat and fingers suggested he worried about his appearances, and Silver had the sense that worry tended towards vanity.

Her eyes trailed to the man beside him, then, who was pushing the redhead’s hand off his shoulder. This man was slightly older than her, and he wore an expression that could have frozen magma. Slender, tan-skinned, and dark haired, with a number of black tattoos painted sharply across his face, it was clear he was not amused by whatever the redhead beside him found so funny.

“We’ll be seeing a number of them soon enough, Hiyein. You really shouldn’t be so surprised.”

It was the single woman who had spoken. She stepped forward slightly, peering between Bek’s legs at Skourett. Her dark eyes were dancing, a mixture of curiosity and sheer joy. She had the same coloring as the tattooed man, Egyptian, maybe, but with a hint of Asian ancestry…her hair was raven black, tied back from her face. Like the princess, she had the look of someone without a care for authority, but the self-assured way she surveyed all of them made Silver think this woman was more accustomed than Cevora to reading the atmosphere of a group.

The stranger’s arms folded neatly across her stomach as she said, “Truthfully, I’m more surprised by the appearance of our esteemed princess. Why didn’t you tell us she was coming, Hiyein?”

“Wha? Even if I could sense her magic, if I’ve never met milady, how would I know who she was?” the redhead, clearly Hiyein, responded indignantly.

“Roped in no doubt, like the rest o’ us,” a much larger, balding man to his right declared. No one challenged him on the matter. It was possible that they knew better than to mess with him, but more likely that they agreed. At least, that was what Silver decided when she realized there was a boy, maybe twelve years old or so, standing half behind him. Wide-eyed, with gentle features and broad shoulders for his age, the boy was nonetheless staring at the dragons as if one of them might snap him up.

“Silver, Bek, Cevora,” Illian gestured to them, then turned and began to name off his companions one by one, starting with the large man and the boy behind him, “Ibald, Jin, Hiyein, Rendorn—”

“Ren,” the dark-haired man interrupted, pointing to one of the smatterings of dark tattoos across his cheekbones. “Don’t call me Rendorn.” His cold emphasis and the dark glimmer in his black eyes made it clear that he was serious. But Silver’s heart still squeezed, thinking of Ren, her brother, lost somewhere in another era entirely. He had never been so far out of her reach as he was in that moment. None of her family had.

Her throat tightened.

It felt like everything she had known was growing father and farther away. Even the night of the fire was becoming surreal in her memories. It might as well have happened to someone else. No flames, no fire, no death. Maybe Ren was at her house even now, waiting for her, with Lena, with her parents. There was no finality. No end. She had never even seen the remains of the house.

A warmth on her shoulder startled her from her thoughts. The conversation had continued, as all things did in life. But Bek’s hand remained, almost protectively, where he had rested it. There was one person there with her, at least, who understood what she must be thinking. Someone who had met her brother, however briefly.

Silver did not dare look at him. She did not dare say anything as the dark-haired woman laughingly said, “They’ll remember that, Ren, I’m sure.” Then the woman turned her gaze sharply onto Cevora and said, “You three can call me Sorian, or Sori if you prefer. I highly recommend you get to know Ren, here—”

“And this,” Illian stated pointedly as he wrested control of the introductions from the patrol party and pointed to the soldier at his right, “is Dirk.” Dirk looked at them all, but said nothing. He was blonde and blue-eyed, the shape of his face and jaw making him look somehow like he might be a distant relative of Illian’s. Whatever the case, his thin-lipped frown did not encourage much in the way of questions.

“Now,” Illian said, eyes raking the lot of them as he tapped a finger against the sword at his hip, “we have at least six hours of ground to cover. I suggest we be on our way.”

“He means more like ten,” interjected factually.

“Let’s ‘urry then. I don’t want to be sleepin’ in the dark ‘o these trees,” Ibald muttered, pushing Jin along by the back of his shoulders.

And that was that. Silver had the distinct impression that every one of the people Illian had selected for his party were well-used to taking everything in stride. They simply followed after him, not seeming to notice or care when she hesitated.

“The terrain here will be harder to deal with than back home,” Bek observed, glancing at her. She met his gaze as Cevora passed them, not looking back once. Silver knew they needed to go as well, but she was rooted to the spot. “It’ll get easier, Silver,” Bek said when the silence stretched too long between them, “but that doesn’t mean you love them any less. We’ll find your family. You said they’re still alive.”

“They are,” she agreed.

“Then—”

“But you don’t have to help me find them. That has nothing to do with you, or Zien,” Silver added.

“You know, you could just say thank you,” Bek said, possibly with a hint of frustration. He peered ahead of them, watching the retreating backs of the rest of the patrol party. Illian had stopped to look back.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. Bek’s mouth twitched when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Believe me, I never do. Let’s go.”

“Bek,” she said, trying to keep up as he waved a hand at Illian and lengthened his stride. “You have no reason to help me. I’m serious.”

“So am I, Silver,” he said without glancing back. “So were you when you started meddling in the affairs of the beasts and took the dragon eggs. You had no reason to do that, by the way.”

After that, she walked in silence, unsure what else to say. The wolf clearly thought she was being difficult, but merely flicked one silvery ear at her when she tried to ask why. Surprisingly, the rest of the patrol part was equally silent. After their earlier outbursts, it was almost eerie. A few of them whispered, most notably Ibald and Jin, who were trailing the two soldiers at the front of the line by mere inches. Their footsteps were muted in the lower reaches of the trees, scuffling and uncertain when pitted against twisted and knotted tree roots as thick as their thighs, and alien compared to the shivering bird song that filtered down from the upper canopy of the trees.

As the day drew on, there were periods of silence broken by outbursts of rolling birdsong and the buzz of summer insects, which were at their peak in the humidity of the day. Then, always, that same stifling hush returned. The trees seemed to lean closer, and strange beasts tailed them through the shadows, causing the wolf to grumble and the dragons to chirp and chatter. Eventually, however, the air grew cooler and less choking, and the dust of the Altian roads was replaced with the dewy dampness of the mud and crushed needles underfoot. The trees grew farther apart as the berth of their trunks widened with age and grew more pitted and wrinkled and gray. Green and red mosses dripped from the upper reaches of the trees to form a velvety fur over everything.

It was, in the end, an uncomfortable trek, sticky and sweaty and so chilly in the shade of the canopy that by the time they reached their destination, Silver was shivering. Alti had no shortage of stinging, biting insects, and she suspected no shortage of blackberry bushes. But they arrived, nonetheless, in one piece, at a narrow stone arch engraved with the unfamiliar Altian characters for outpost or guard post, bekiginn. Illian took them through it without hesitation, and as he did Silver felt the warm buzz of a barrier across her skin, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. It was just like the Veil of Icthuria; an invisible form of protection against the Zara and who knew what else.

Once inside, she could finally fully appreciate the place that Illian had brought them to. There were six-foot walls of earth and stone surrounding the entire encampment, buildings with the same sloping architecture as those of the port city, and the same clay roofs and rocky pillars. Most appeared to have two floors, apparently sprung from the surrounding earth. There were trees left standing at the edges of the stone wall - trees bowed beneath the weight of walkways and platforms bristling with men and women and beasts. At least half of humans were visibly armed with longbows. No one appeared surprised by the arrival of Illian’s party, which received only a cursory glance.

“This way,” Illian said, guiding them forward, between the buildings of the outpost. There was no apparent road, and Silver wondered after a few minutes of sharp turns and narrowly avoided barricades whether that was not entirely intentional. They were a hunted people, after all, hidden deep within the heart of the beasts’ territory.

Finally, Illian brought them to a halt before a house that glowed, even under the hazy light of midday, with the now familiar channels of light. There was a crowd around it, people who appeared to have been expecting Illian and his patrol party. Seijelar snorted appreciatively.

“See brother,” the little dragon chirped, “we are greeted like kings even here.” Silver rolled her eyes at the beast as the wolf huffed laughter.

“Welcome to the outpost,” a woman’s voice called over the general noise of the crowd, drawing Silver’s gaze towards the gathering. The chaos subsided somewhat, and a few people parted ways to allow an elderly woman to descend from the steps of the house. She was followed closely by a girl of perhaps fourteen, whose coppery hair was tied back in pigtails that ran like fire down her shoulder blades. They were an ironic contrast, one hunched and enfeebled by age, the other sprightly and quick, but clearly concerned. But even the old woman, whose skin was crinkled and splotched, her hair white as snow, had a vivacity that might have been the result of magic or charisma…or both. She walked with ease and certainty, and a gesture of her wizened arms suggested the capacity for quick and decisive motion. Her dark eyes twinkled as she raised a finger to her veined jowls.

“Yes, yes, Illian, you’ve brought us a treat. I see some familiar faces, and some unexpected ones. I see things are finally getting exciting.”

“Sara, will you look after them, please? There are some things that need my attention,” Illian asked.

“Yes, yes of course.” The old woman clapped her aged hands together quickly as the much younger girl jumped in front of her, grinning from ear to ear. “Cara, show them to their rooms, please.”

The girl, Cara, bowed to her waist, and then straightened so quickly Silver was amazed she kept her balance. That, however, was not the reason that she found herself eyeing Cara’s bright blue eyes and pale cheeks, or the length of braided rope that she held coiled between her fingers. Seven centuries in the future, Silver had met a woman who resembled her so much it was eerie. That woman even shared Cara’s name.

“This way,” Cara said, turning on her heel and leading them forward.

As they passed her by, the elderly woman fixed them all with her crinkled gaze and said, “Settle in, and then find your way to the training grounds. We have much work to do.”

“Crazy old witch,” Ren muttered as they left the old woman behind. Cara did not appear to hear; she was busy pointing out a large, flat expanse of cleared earth at the center of the outpost to Sori, Hiyein, and Ibald. There were wooden stakes driven into the ground at regular intervals on its far side, one of them riddled with arrows. These, apparently, were the training grounds.

“Does he mean a literal witch?” Silver asked softly, directing the question at Bek. “Can’t we all use magic?”

“This is different than what you’re thinking of,” Bek informed her a bit stiffly, as if he did not entirely want to talk to her. “Witches are people who use words and symbols, and often herbs and plants, to channel their power. Some don’t have any magical capacity at all. A skilled witch can be…difficult to deal with.”

“Difficult?” Cevora asked from ahead of them, seeming mildly intrigued by his explanation, or possibly by the fact that Silver had asked him for one to begin with. “Difficult in what way?”

“Where magic users draw on their own power, witches draw on their knowledge of nature, and they strengthen their spells through rituals,” he responded grimly, and Silver sensed in the brief pause between his words that there was more he might have said if they were alone. Instead, he finished with, “I’m not familiar with their work, and I don’t trust it.” When Silver turned to ask him another question, she was disappointed to see that Ren had approached him to discuss something about the training grounds. They both turned away from her as the group plodded on after Cara.

For some reason, as she trailed the group in silence with her fingers dangling against the wolf’s spine, Silver felt lonely for the first time in weeks. Among the tree wolves, she had never felt lonely quite this way. As the only human among beasts, yes, but that was simply the loneliness of being misunderstood. This…this was different. She did not quite fit into this era, with these people. She was not assured of her magic, was out of breath where they all appeared at ease. This sensation sat at the pit of her soul, and she was not sure how much of it was fatigue and how much of it was the memory of what she had sensed in the dark abyss of the Zara’s heart in the moments before she had saved his life.

In silence, the wolf swished its tail against her thigh, peering up at her with inquisitive emerald eyes. There were no words between them, but Silver understood. As Cara stopped them at one of the buildings at the edge of the wall, she pursed her lips and quashed her inner turmoil.

“This is the one,” Cara stated. It looked like every other building in the outpost. The doorway was molded from knobby tree roots, the door a heavy slab of wood, the walls a mixture of clay and wood strung between red-stone pillars and carpeted with greenery, from the climbing vines and flowers that let off a faint glow at night, to the heavier ferns and creeping plants that burrowed into the clay of the house itself. Cara led them through the door, and Silver followed her and Cevora into the building.

As it turned out, the house was divided into two floors and three cramped rooms. Clay steps bridged the two floors, spilling out into the entryway. Their fiery-haired guide smilingly explained that men were to remain on the bottom floor, women on the top, and beasts wheresoever they chose.

“There aren’t as many women here,” Cara explained as Silver and Cevora followed her to the top floor, leaving Sori to a loud argument with Hiyein. The girl pulled a stack of discolored linens from a chest against the far wall of the room before opening a window to air them out with a soft exclamation of irritation, “I suppose more women stay with their families.”

“And what about you?” Silver asked.

“No parents,” the girl answered cheerfully, “I’ve lived with Sara my whole life, and she’s taught me a lot. I was excited when the outpost became a training center for Illian’s troops.” She stopped shaking out the linens to stare at the wolf peering between Silver’s legs. “And I’m glad we’re siding with the beasts.”

“How many people are here?” Cevora questioned as she watched Silver go to help Cara. The air in the small room was slowly filling with dust.

“About six hundred at a time. They come and go. Seems like they’re several encampments like this one. Most of them used to be something else, ruins or lookout points that were abandoned. I even heard one up north used to be a thieves’ camp before Illian raided it and cut off the leader’s head. This is the only one that started as an outpost.”

“That many people?” Silver asked in surprise, choosing to ignore the story about Illian beheading people.

“Well…” Cara paused, seeming to reconsider, “I wasn’t really supposed to tell you that, but yeah. Illian already forbade me from coming to town with him because I can’t keep my mouth shut.” She said this with such a rueful smile that Silver guessed it must be common knowledge. “As far as getting you caught up…Illian pretty much makes the rules here, and Sara keeps us in line when he’s not around. Ibald, the one who came with you today, is a bit famous; Illian’s been promising to recruit him for ages. Jin’s always with him because he can sense the flow of magic in metal, or so Sara told me back when Illian first started talking about getting us a blacksmith. I’m sure Ibald will be running the forges and making a name for himself out here pretty quick. We have three guard captains, but I wouldn’t bother any of them unless you want to be put to work. Holtson trains the recruits, and he’s fairer than the captains. Galbi and Tiszeral handle the food, so if you’re hungry, don’t take anything without asking.”

Cara busied herself arranging the linens into bed-like shapes then, stacking the thickest ones at the bottom. All the while, she looked up at the ceiling as if trying not to forget something important.

“Ah,” she stopped suddenly, “and Sara is our healer. Make sure everyone downstairs knows that as well. Holtson tries to avoid injures, but they still happen all the time.”

“What exactly is Holtson training people for?” Silver asked, smoothing out the sheets Cara had stacked. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew, given their discussion about impending war the night before.

“War, of course,” Cevora answered before Cara could say anything. “How else do you expect to survive if we’re found by the king’s army? In the eyes of the crown, all of us are rebels and criminals. The Altian army is well-trained and provisioned because of our proximity to Atlantis and the beasts. That’s what we’ll be facing.”

“She’s right,” Cara agreed, looking a bit uncomfortable, “Illian has recruited plenty of people who know how to fight, but few of them are used to fighting as a unit. And a lot of people never so much as touched a weapon till they came here.”

“How long has this place existed?” Cevora asked as the girl pushed past them to get to the door.

“Four years,” she paused to say, “Sara always claims it’s not long enough.”

“It isn’t,” Cevora agreed without hesitation. Cara nodded slowly, then flashed a grin.

“Well, it’s the best we have. I’m going to go make sure everyone else is situated. You remember the way to the training grounds?”

Silver glanced at Cevora, who nodded.

“Good. Holtson will want to meet you.”

Then the girl was gone, leaving them alone in the simple room with its single chest, a glass mirror – the only glass Silver ever seemed to see in Alti was in mirrors – and a clay basin that she suspected would serve as their sink. Her mind, given a moment to its own devices, spun tight, confused circles. The wolf seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts, and rumbled softly, “She has the scent of the one we call Onkelhra.”

“She wasn’t hundreds of years old,” Silver disagreed, knowing from Cevora’s glance that the woman was not entirely sure she was not talking to herself.

“Her scent is the same,” the wolf growled softly at her side, “I know no other explanation but that she came to be in our era just as we came to be in hers. We know it is not impossible.”

Silver could not disagree with that.

“Come on,” Cevora said absently, “there will be plenty of time for discussion once the sun is set,” before leading the way back out of the house. Silver said nothing until they were outside, and then did little more than exclaim in surprise when Seijelar nearly knocked her over to join Skourett in a sunny patch on the roof of the house. They did not have long to wait before everyone else joined them outside the building anyway. Cara collected Ibald and Jin to take them to the smithy, leaving the rest of them to make their way to the training grounds alone.

They did not have far to go.

Within minutes, Cevora was leading them all across a broad field of dirt and rock, replete with sprightly tufts of yellowed grass that had sprung up between the feet of countless, sweaty-necked recruits. As Silver had noted earlier, running a near straight line several feet from the barrier on their left was a row of narrow stakes, each cut to the height of a man, stripped of bark, and firmly pounded into the dirt. She had not noticed what looked like straw cones beside them. The dull thwack of wood on wood and the hiss of dead grass reverberated in the open air – trainees hammering at the makeshift targets with staffs or spears or swords.

“Holtson?” Cevora called. Halfway across the flat earth, a large man turned to stare at them.

“Hurry it up,” the man bellowed in their direction, “no ambling on the flats. One line. Let me get a look at ya’—I said one line!”

Silver followed suite as everyone broke into a jog. Somehow, they managed to form a crooked line in front of the bellowing man. Every part of him was huge, from his meaty hands and thick legs to his sweat-stained gut, but she doubted most of it was fat. Balding and red-faced, he was easily taller than Illian, and likely twice as heavy. His red-tinted blonde hair was swept away from his face to give way to an unruly beard, giving him the appearance of an Irish smith. As they fidgeted and readjusted in line, he waved Cevora over to say, “A fine day to see ya’ again, Princess. Lookin’ sprightlier now than when I saw ya’ last.”

“Thank you,” Cevora said as he glared around her at their line.

“Illian has need o’ you, ‘round that path there.” He pointed off in the direction of the archway where they had entered the outpost. “You’ll find ‘im easy enough, I swear it. There’s a great oak there, front o’ the kitchens. That’s where he’ll be.”

Cevora nodded before setting off in the direction Holtson had indicated.

“Special treatment,” Sori leaned a little closer to say to Silver, “I wonder if the princess remembers how to fight?” Silver knew firsthand that Cevora did, but one look from Holtson kept her from saying so.

“Bored enough fer chatter already?” Holtson barked, glowering as he walked past the two of them. Silver did her best to look as silent as she had been. Beside Sori, she saw Bek standing very still beneath the scrutiny of the older man’s slate gray squint. Holtson was close enough that Silver could see the streaks of gray catching above his brows, the same color as his eyes.

“Holtson’s my name,” he said, pivoting to stand directly in front of them. “Those o’ ya’ who don’t know me will real soon. I used to work as the arms master fer the king. Taught the kivgha the finest swordsmanship I did, till one of ‘em asked me here to train the lot of ya’ to uphold all that’s right and good in the history of our lands. If ya’ wanna know why I talk funny, it’d be ‘cause I grew up in the mountains down past Sorendell, which we call the Sor’ndell, and you call the edge o’ the world. It’s colder up there, but no further from trouble. Now…”

He paused, sliding his massive hands across his chest.

“Out here, there won’t be none o’ those flashy magics ya’ learn in the guilds’n universities. If the king finds us, we an’ our wet-behind-the-ears soldier bunch are gonna be the first to feel the weight o’ the ten thousand men in his employ. Most of ya’ probably don’t have enough magic to catch anyone’s eye anyhow, but it goes worth sayin’. Don’t know what Illian’s told ya’ neither, but magic ain’t goin’ to win us this war. Good ol’ fightin’, sword’n bow, fists and keenness o’ mind, that’s what’ll win it. Ya’ hear?”

He waited for them all to answer, glaring until Silver finally stopped nodding emphatically to reply out loud.

“Whatever gods ya’ believe in, they gave ya’ a tongue,” he informed them all, “Ya start noddin’ I might think yer noddin’ off. Ya’ don’t want that. Yer all familiar with the MASO’s ranking system?”

Everyone answered immediately, and Silver was glad Bek had explained it to her weeks ago so that it was still fresh in her mind. She did not want to get any special attention from Holtson if she could help it.

“Good. Any of ya’ think ya’ know yer rank?”

Bek and Ren both raised their hands, and Holtson eyed them both before continuing.

“Rare that. Let’s have it then,” he pointed at Ren.

“Two,” the man stated flatly. Holtson nodded as if that were reasonable. He pointed at Bek.

“Five.”

Holtson contemplated him for a moment, but did not remark on his answer. He simply turned to the rest of them and said, “I’m not askin’ ya’ about lean, so keep it to yer self. All this talk o’ sorcerers’n witchy folk that’s so popular on the mainland is jus’ a lot a name callin’. Magic is power, nothin’ more. It’s all the same, just differs in how ya’ use it. And now, we’re gonna measure it.”

From a deep-set pocket in his vest, he withdrew a dark, narrow pole, maybe six inches long. Ebony cords rose like mountain ridges down its length, meeting at an inset stone with the inky, crimson hue of a garnet. Holtson took a step away from them as Silver stared, gripping the pole with one hand so the end with the stone was pointed away from everyone.

“This is my tenyan. It’s been used to measure the magic o’ hundreds o’ folks like yerselves. If yer not familiar with ‘em, the end with the core goes up, pointed away from the rest o’ us. Away, ya’ hear?” He paused for a moment for them to answer. “Yer gonna manifest a weapon, whatever comes to mind, and I’ll be usin’ it to measure three things. Capacity,” he held up one thick finger, “control,” two, “and weapon preference.”

As he spoke, a long, narrow bolt of solid white magic shot from the tip of the hilt, twisting and convulsing until, in the blink of an eye, it had formed the glowing, pulsing white blade of a broad sword. Briefly, Silver wondered if magic could be heavy – if the broad sword weighed more than the wooden rod had alone, Holtson did not let it show.

“This is what ya’ want. Focused blade, clear shape, large size, and o’ course ya’ know what kind o’ weapon this is. I like a good blade. We’ll start on this end.”

Silver peered down the line, realizing with some relief that she would be last to try her hand at weapon manifestation. It was hard enough for her to get her magic to do she wanted when there were no extra tools or special requirements. Bek’s gaze caught hers, and she scowled. He knew what she was thinking, clearly. There was a very good chance she was not going to be able to do anything with the tenyan, as Holtson had called it. She was not sure what that would mean for her.

Holtson had handed the tenyan to Ren, who manifested something roughly the size and shape of a kitchen knife, but with striking clarity.

“Pushin’ the bill on that two,” Holtson informed the man, moving to the red-headed Hiyein. His magic sprang from the tip of the ebony pole into a multi-pronged blade. He smiled impishly over it at Holtson, who seemed pleased, but not amused. They muttered back and forth for a moment about experience before Hiyein was labeled a solid three.

Bek took the pole thereafter, directing it away from them as his magic sluiced from the hilt rather than exploding as Holtson’s had done. It formed a cutlass twice the length of his arm. “Seems to me this is fer show,” Holtson remarked, retrieving the tenyan from him. “Ya’ said five, and a five it is, but yer no swordsman.”

“I use ranged weapons,” Bek said, and Silver wondered if he was referring to a gun. She doubted they existed in Alti, and they certainly did not exist in their modern interpretation.

“I hear we’ve a new blacksmith now. We’ll pay ‘em a visit soon, get ya’ squared away. I’ll make a swordsman o’ ya’ yet, though. Never doubt that a good blade’ll save yer life on the battlefield.”

Bek did not respond, though his dark gaze followed Holtson to Sori, who flicked her wrist to form a hazy rapier and was branded rank two.

Which left Silver. She took the ebony pole as Holtson handed it to her, surprised to feel the warmth of the worn wood against her palm and pleased by the way her narrow fingers slid into the grooves between ridges. It was true that she could sense the magic in it. A faint, honey glow lit the garnet stone, and there was something she could not quite put her finger on…she knew what it was, but not how to describe it. But the magic she felt was not hers or anyone else’s, just the remnants of what everyone before her had passed through the tenyan.

Holding it as Holtson had, she attempted to focus her power into the narrow pole. More easily than ever before, she felt the magic gathering in her fingertips.

In a flash, the power was there, waiting to be released, waiting to be manifested. But the magic did not flow anywhere. It simply remained, heat in her fingers and arm, pooled power without direction, spinning in her mind’s eye, endlessly. Silver narrowed her eyes in concentration, suddenly unsure. There was a cold weight in her stomach, a gnawing unease.

“Seems like ya’ got the spark there,” Holtson prompted, peering at her hands, “a bit o’ magic, but not the fine control. Most rank one’s have trouble with this, so we’ll start there. Couple o’ months we’ll have ya’ to manifestation, at least. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

Holtson’s voice sounded far away. Whatever he saw, it did not even begin to hint at what she felt. Silver knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was not skilled with magic. Sure, she could use it. Oftentimes, she used it without meaning to, without even understanding what she was doing. The magic she had inflicted on the Zara had been like that – a ball of pure power. Her barriers were better, her healing more natural, after days of practice. But magic that required precise control was the bane of her existence.

This was such a magic.

But that was not the problem; the problem was that the magic she was drawing on hardly felt like hers at all. The gentle glow she had come to recognize from the center of her being felt like it had cracked open, exposing the raw heat beneath.

“Hand it here,” Holtson said, starting forward.

His movement triggered something. Panic suddenly bloomed in her chest. Hot, wild; the magic pounded in her veins. And it escaped the one place that it could; through the tenyan.

With a blinding flash, the magic poured out, white hot, and completely uncontrolled. It was like lightning, sizzling and sending thin cords of light dancing wherever her eyes touched. They ripped across the earth at her feet to leave it blackened and seared. Vaguely, she was aware of the electric tendrils coiling away from the tenyan, stinging the earth at Holtson’s feet. She was aware of her hands, locked in a white-knuckled grip so tight she thought her fingers would break. It felt like ages before she realized Bek was behind her, his hand on her shoulder, grounding her. He had stepped close enough to whisper something in her ear; she could not hear it, but some part of her must have understood it anyway.

Her breathing slowed. The red-hot panic in her chest subsided into a much cooler calm, and she could feel the magic changing shape, drawing from the stillness that had settled into her again, freezing at the touch of her will and recoiling from it as she formed the boundaries she needed to give it shape. Only when she was sure - absolutely sure - that her work was done, did Silver realize she had closed her eyes and dare to open them.

There was the sword as she had imagined it, smaller than before, but still much too large. It was also much more solid than she had thought possible seconds before.

Holtson was staring at her. She met his gaze, swallowing slowly. Everyone…everyone was staring at her. Only Bek was still close enough to touch. She felt his hand still on her arm, and saw that he was watching not her, but Holtson. Silver felt a guilty lump of shame settle in her stomach. She tried to ignore the sweat on her arms and face, and the fact that she was breathing as heavily as if she had just sprinted two miles.

“Rank five capacity,” Holtson said calmly, now striding forward and glancing down at her two-handed, white-knuckled grasp of the tenyan. “Rank one control.”

He watched as she drew the magic back into herself, slowly because it still felt so much more wild than she remembered it ever being, until the tenyan was nothing more than a piece of black wood gripped tightly between her pale and shaking fingers.

“This was my mistake,” Holtson said then, eyeing her thoughtfully, “Illian told me one o’ ya’ was sufferin’ from magic exhaustion, but I didn’t realize how bad. More’s the fool. Let this be a lesson to all o’ ya’,” he looked at the rest of the group, and at the few people around the training grounds who had turned to see what the commotion was, “When you’ve exhausted yer magic, even somethin’ as simple as this can cause undue harm. You,” he turned to stare at her, “In a week, I want ya’ to come get this from me, and practice yer control from then on with it. I’ve an idea you’ve never done this before, exhaustion aside. No magic till then. Ya’ hear?”

Silver nodded sharply, caught herself, and said, “Yes.” He stared hard at her for a minute, then looked at Bek. She felt his hand drop sharply from her shoulder.

“Yer name’s Bek?”

“Yes.”

“I want ya’ to stand right here, and don’t move. Everyone else, trainin’ starts now. I’ll be gatherin’ suitable weapons fer each of ya’, so I expect that when I say you’re goin’ to run a mile startin’ now and then get straight to a hundred push-ups, I won’ have to be watchin’. ‘Round the town, now, round the outpost. Three hours till sunset,” he continued to bellow as Hiyein and Ren and Sori picked up one by one. After a brief hesitation that earned her a barked, “Two miles fer whichever o’ ya’ finishes last!” Silver trailed after them.

She glanced back once, as the four of them turned out of sight of the training grounds. Bek was walking in the other direction, back into the center of the outpost. From the edge of the flattened earth, the wolf watched them both, silent and still as a ghost.