The next day we passed by a river, and Zhervaol said that we were making good time so we should take an hour to properly wash ourselves off and fill up all our water containers. Everyone bathed fully clothed, probably because the humans didn’t want to be seen naked, and once we were clean I helped Yaayowjh bring down the half-empty water barrels to the river. We filled them up by submerging them, then he and I brought them back up to the wagons. As we loaded them, Zhervaol came by to add something to each barrel.

“What’s that?” I asked as she poured a liquid from a small flask into the fresh water.

“Aangzoylf,” she replied, “keeps the water from spoiling.” I leaned in and smelled the water, detecting a hint of alcohol. Was that in there before? I wondered, I didn’t taste anything odd. Koyl approached from the back, carrying an old, worn-out crate with dirt all over it. It was only about fifty centimeters by twenty-five, and around thirty centimeters tall. The grin on his face told me that whatever was inside was something valuable. But then why would he show it to everyone? I wondered.

“Found this by the river,” he grinned. Yaayowjh looked over at him, then also began grinning.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“Oh it is,” Koyl replied, flipping the box open and revealing ten bottles of some unknown liquid. “Ztawth, looks like some higher quality stuff too.”

“Where’d you find it?” Zhervaol asked. Her driver had walked over, as well as the other guard and Vaozey.

“Halfway buried about two hundred paces that way,” Koyl said, gesturing roughly west.

“What is it?” I asked, and everyone looked at me with different expressions.

“You’ll find out tonight,” Koyl smiled.

It turned out that whatever ztawth was, it was psychoactive, and much more so than the ihv that I had drank in Vehrehr. It seemed to simultaneously invigorate the humans and raise their mood, leading to the normally quiet night campfires turning into a celebration of some sort. Zhervaol’s driver sang a song in a language I couldn’t understand while the other humans danced around the fire, laughing and joking about things that probably should have been private while roasting skewered animals for food. Good thing I didn’t drink any of it, I thought, who knows what I might have said to someone.

The only other sober person, Vaozey, had been sulking a fair distance away from the celebrations. Unlike me, she was actively trying to pay less attention to the others, rather than watching them. However, it seemed that she eventually got bored, and instead of trying to join in on the festivities, she made her way to where I was sitting.

“We should fight again,” she said sternly, as if trying to contrast herself to the others. How long will this veneer of emotional stability last if I refuse? I wondered.

“So you can accuse me of cheating?” I asked, being deliberately snide. “I think not.” Vaozey huffed, then sat down about two meters away from me and unwrapped her face. She also started to watch the others, who had begun to play some kind of game involving hopping around on one foot and trying to push each other over. “Why don’t you just go join them?” I asked. “It would be more entertaining for you than fighting, surely. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Why don’t you?” Vaozey countered. She probably thought that turning my question around would irk me, but I wasn’t being secretive about why I wasn’t with them.

“I don’t see the point,” I replied. “Besides, it seems like I would put myself at risk of saying something that I didn’t want to say.” I do need to make sure she isn’t going to implicate me in anything, I reminded myself.

“Is that why you’re watching?” Vaozey asked. “To keep an eye on the Zae’ey’yaob boy?” it’s funny that she calls him a boy, when I’m fairly sure she’s younger than he is, I thought. Instead of waiting for a reply, she got up and walked to one of the wagons, filled a mug of water, then came back and began to drink it. “Disgusting,” she muttered.

“I don’t see the problem with ensuring that Koyl doesn’t say or do anything he shouldn’t,” I replied. Vaozey looked at me, then raised her eyebrows as she realized what I meant.

“I was talking about the water,” she said. “It’s warm. Warm water with fresh aangzoylf in it always tastes awful.” I got up and got myself a mug as well, then sat back down and took a sip. There was an odd taste to it, but nothing compared to the water I had tasted back on Earth. I don’t even know how a warbreed digestive system could process liquids that were that contaminated, I thought with a half-grin, I think the river water back in South America would probably have killed these people despite their rapid healing. The winner of the one-legged pushing competition was Zhervaol, who was in the process of deciding the next game to be played.

“It’s not so bad,” I said. “I’ve certainly had worse than this.”

“You haven’t had it when it’s cold,” Vaozey grumbled. “You wouldn’t say that if you had.” I looked down at the mug, then had a thought. It’s been a while since I tried this, I recalled, maybe I’ve gotten better at it. I inserted a finger into the mug, enough to let my magic range encompass the majority of the water, then closed my eyes and began to concentrate.

Something I had realized gradually was that my assumption that magic gave no sensory feedback wasn’t quite correct, as evidenced by the fact that I could feel the energy leaving me when I engaged it successfully. It’s more accurate to say that it doesn’t give feedback about anything besides its own state, I thought, though that does imply that some of the information processed by whatever is manifesting the effects feeds back into my mind. When working with electricity it was more apparent than with many other types of magic, with the effect informing me somehow about how much effort I would need to increase the amount of stored energy.

As I felt around for the right “angle” to begin cooling the water, I realized that I was also using some kind of sensory data from the magic to do so. I didn’t need to actually test each angle by putting energy into them, I just had to “feel” which one would produce the correct effect. I hadn’t noticed the extra information before, but because of my increasing magic aptitude, I could now perceive it clearly. Much faster than I had managed in Vehrehr, I began to cool the water down. Once it sat at what felt like five degrees Celsius, I stopped and checked my remaining magic energy. Still costly, I grumbled, seeing that the small trick had used almost five percent of my immediate reserves.

“What are you doing?” Vaozey asked. In response, I sipped the water, and found it to be sweet instead of stale-tasting.

“You were right,” I replied, “it is better when it’s cold.” Vaozey looked at me for a moment, then down to the mug, then back to me, confusion evident in her expression.

“What?” she blurted.

“The water tastes better when it’s cold,” I reiterated, taking another sip. “It’s sweet, like it has some kind of fruit in it. Before it tasted like it had a… chemical cleaner mixed in. Harsh, but not undrinkable.” I had no idea what the Uwrish words for the concept would be, so I just used English. Vaozey looked at my mug with narrowed eyes, as if trying to tell if the water was cold by its appearance.

“You cooled it down with magic?” Vaozey asked. That chemist was surprised that I could cool things down too, I recalled, though Vaozey has seen my light magic, so it’s not like admitting this would make me any more unusual.

“Yes,” I said.

“I didn’t think magic could do that,” she muttered. “Then again, I'm not an expert like you.” I could tell she wanted to say more, but I was occupied with watching over Koyl. He was in the middle of a dice game, and by the looks of it, he was winning. It’s strange to see people looking so happy, I thought, if they were warbreed, I would think this was bad acting. “Can you cool mine down?” Vaozey asked, so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.

“No,” I replied.

“Wha-” Vaozey blurted, as though she didn’t expect me to hear her.

“It’s difficult, and it takes a lot of power,” I explained, lying to try to avoid having to re-demonstrate.

“Then why did you do yours?” Vaozey asked.

“I wanted to know what it tasted like,” I replied.

“Give me the rest then,” she pressured. “You already found out, I want some as well.” I looked at her incredulously, then laughed quietly. “Npoyt,” she swore, sounding more grumpy than angry. We sat in silence for a while, watching the rest of the dice game as Koyl somehow cleaned house and won a grand total of eight ngeyt. Despite the small earnings, he was elated. “You said I can do magic,” Vaozey finally spoke, voice strained.

“You can,” I replied without looking at her, keeping my tone level and respectful.

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

“As I told you, if you can heal rapidly, you can do magic,” I reiterated. I had decided that, instead of just trying to deny my words from the previous day, I would come up with an alternate explanation for how I acquired the knowledge.

“I don’t know what you mean by heal rapidly,” Vaozey said. “I’m like everyone else.”

“If you had no magic, even a cut like this would take a few days to heal,” I said, pulling out a throwing knife and lightly slicing my arm. As expected, it sealed up so quickly that it barely had a chance to bleed.

“How do you know that?” Vaozey snapped. Now she’s getting angry again, I sighed, I knew it was only a matter of time.

“It’s a well-known fact among my people,” I lied. “I also used the effect in Vehrehr to try to alter my appearance with implanted bones in my face.” I gestured to the faded scars from when I had removed the implants in the prison cell. “These are from when I took them out. When I put them in, I used up all my power, pulled off the skin from my face, then had Koyl nail the pieces in.” Vaozey looked speechless, then doubtful, then confused.

“But then… why?” she asked quietly.

“It was part of a plot to assassinate a local crime lord-” I began.

“Not that,” she hissed. “If that’s true, then why can’t I do magic?” The volume of her voice was steadily rising with her frustration, but unlike the previous night, it wasn't directed at me. “I can’t even light a candle, why? Why can’t I do it? If you’re so smart, explain that.” Even her challenge felt more like pleading than taunting.

“Have you tried being taught by someone?” I suggested. “I had to be taught, at least for the first steps.”

“Of course I have you jhoytshahjh,” Vaozey retorted. “I told you, I wasn’t always like-” she paused, taking a moment to breathe deeply and calm herself. “My father paid for tutors, but they never helped. My brother and sister tried too, but they were too young. They all gave up eventually. I’m pretty sure my family died thinking that I was just stupid. So, you can see why I have some trouble believing you.” I would expect a natural variance in ability, but the fact that her healing works as well as anyone else’s means that it’s not some kind of variance in storage or output, I thought, that only leaves one possible issue.

“How were you trying to light the candle?” I asked. “What was your technique? Specifically, what were the steps you used?” Clearly, there are multiple methods for casting magic, I thought, the method Koyl uses is very different from my own. The people in Suwlahtk said prayers, and Koyl once said that he does something similar, but I don’t and I don’t think Yaavtey did either. In fact, I don’t think anyone who uses magic in combat needs to pray to use it, or else they’d be too slow. For them, and me, it’s reflexive. We just engage the part of the brain responsible for it directly, instead of going through an intermediary. I don’t even need to gesture anymore.

“The way everyone does it,” Vaozey replied. “Put your hands near the wick. Quiet your mind. Make the flame in your mind. Pray to the spirits-” She spoke as though she was reciting words she had heard many, many times.

“And you did all of these steps?” I asked, cutting her off. Vaozey frowned again, then scowled and exhaled sharply, looking away and rubbing her brow.

“Yes,” she muttered. Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever seen one, I thought.

“Did your instructor believe you when you said that to them?” I asked. “I certainly don’t.” Vaozey looked like she would get angry again, but then she tightened her jaw and grunted.

“I-” she began, pausing to take another deep breath. “I put my hands hear the wick, I quieted my mind, I said the prayers, I know I did all that.”

“And the visualization?” I asked.

“It’s the only thing that I can’t know for sure that I did right,” she admitted. “Even at the time, I knew I couldn't do magic, so sometimes I wasn't trying very hard. If you’re saying I can do it, not that I believe you, that’s the only step I could have been making a mistake on. All the rest I know for sure I did right.” Vaozey stared out at the other members of the caravan, who had begun to dance around and sing loudly, her expression stone-like. “I really am just stupid,” she muttered, looking away into the darkness.

“You never visualized a fire?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “How can you not know if you did that part correctly? It’s simple.”

“How can I know if I did it correctly?” Vaozey asked back, looking over at me with a hard stare. The firelight glinted off her yellow irises, making them appear to glow for a moment.

“In your mind, you construct an image of a fire,” I explained. “It’s like recalling a memory, but instead it’s something made up. You can control it, adjusting its composition, size, and so on.” Vaozey’s shoulders slumped and she looked at the ground, obviously not understanding what I was telling her. Conversely, I put together a number of things in my head very quickly. Magic must have access to the ‘mind’s eye’, I thought, using a warbreed term for visual working memory. That much I know for sure, but visual working memory isn’t always conscious. When developing the reflexes for casting magic, conscious access to that working memory is critical, along with the intent to use it. What if she has an issue with visual working memory? How could I determine that?

“Can you imagine a cube for me?” I asked. Vaozey looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Just do it. Close your eyes and imagine a cube.”

“Fine,” she said, “I’m imagining a cube, I guess.”

“What color is it?” I prompted.

“What?” Vaozey huffed.

“You are imagining a cube, what color is it?” I reiterated.

“You didn’t tell me it had to be colored,” she said. “What color is it supposed to be?”

“You can see the cube, you’re looking at it right now,” I said. “It doesn't matter what color it is, just tell me its color.”

“I’m not looking at anything, my eyes are closed,” Vaozey replied, shaking her head slightly to indicate confusion.

“How do you know you’re imagining a cube?” I asked.

“I told you I’m doing it,” Vaozey replied, sounding irritated. “What the seyt is the point of this?”

“To be perfectly clear, you are imagining a cube in your mind right now, but you do not see any representation of the cube in your mind,” I said, being very specific with my word choice and tone.

“I’m imagining a cube in my mind,” Vaozey said. “I don’t see anything. Am I supposed to see something? Do you see things when your eyes are closed?” She probably doesn’t have any conscious access to visual working memory, I thought, suppressing a smile. I remember learning a word for this, but I don't think I've ever used it. Other creators must have had this condition though, if there was a term for it. This isn’t a magical dysfunction, it’s a mental condition. In the back of my mind, I could feel myself trying to fit the information into my mental model of magic, and working out new extrapolations about its nature.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, I do,” I replied. “You can open your eyes if you want, I’ve learned what I wanted to learn.”