“Go on with you, get yourself cleaned up,” Yerlow insisted. “I’ll let you have your privacy. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” She turned to head back to the kitchen.
“Please, will you sit and talk with me?” Chihon asked. “I’m so worried about Lorit. The Wizards think he is dead, but I know he’s not. I can feel him.” She reached her hand over her heart. “I feel him, here. I know he’s alive.”
“Maybe you can feel him because you two are close. How long have you known each other?”
“Not really that long, but we’ve been through a lot together,” Chihon said. “Lorit found me in the market. He was going to escort me to Amedon where I can be trained. Then we got caught up in a little trouble, and just when we got out, he’s gone missing. I think they took him - the Priests – and the Wizards are no help. It’s like they don’t care about him anymore.”
“You really like him, don’t you? What’s he like?” Yerlow seated herself on the stool next to the tub.
“He’s brave and strong. He would do anything for his friends. He stood up for Ryvor at the court house, when most people would have let him hang. He snuck into the temple in Bebrook to free Ardser, but the Priests had already killed the boy. When the Priest realized he was in the Temple, he raised his shields and walked right past him and out the front door.
“He is powerful. Most of the time he keeps his shields up and it’s hard to tell, but once in while he drops them. Then I can feel the power in him. It shines like the light of the sun. Yerlow, I’m worried. What do you think they’ve done to him? Why can I feel him but no one else can?”
“I don’t know much about Wizards. That’s Gareb’s specialty. He may have a better idea,” Yerlow confided.
After the bath, Yerlow helped Chihon dry and get dressed.
“This is beautiful,” Chihon said, looking at herself in the mirror. Her long brown hair cascaded in curls to fall about her shoulders, covering the collar of the robe. She twirled in a circle, watching the hemline flare out in response. Chihon wasn’t used to the finer things in life, having grown up around her Grandma’am’s bakery.
“You look great,” Yerlow said. “Like a proper young lady.”
While Chihon luxuriated in the warm water, Yerlow had prepared the evening meal. The sun was just setting when Gareb stomped up the stairs. He shouted ahead before entering the loft, “Is everybody decent?”
“It’s safe,” Yerlow replied. “You can come on up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Gareb headed to the dinner table. He shoved one bench out with his foot, but before he could drop to his seat, Yerlow held up her hand. “Forget how to wash up?” she asked. She pointed over to the sink that now held steaming water topped with suds.
He rolled his sleeves up and doused his hands into the liquid. He swished them around, grabbed the gray block of pumice soap from a dish at the edge and scrubbed his rough hands. He tossed the soap back into the dish and rinsed his hands once more. He looked around, shrugged his shoulders and wiped his hands on his pants before turning back towards the table.
“That’s much better,” Yerlow said. She pushed the bench out from under the table with her foot while carefully balancing the tray filled with roast fowl meat and potatoes. “Don’t be shy, grab a seat.”
Chihon took her seat in front of a mat woven from rolled scraps of fabric. On top of the mat was a slightly battered brass plate and accompanying spoon. Beside the spoon was her hunting knife, cleaned and polished. It looked like it had been sharpened recently.
Yerlow sat on the bench next to her. She lifted the bench and scooted them both up to the table. She cocked one eye at the knife. “I hope you don’t mind, but your knife needed attention almost as badly as you did.”
Chihon picked up the blade and examined it. She ran her thumb over the edge, careful to avoid any pressure but enough to feel the edge. It was as sharp as she’d ever seen it. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said.
Gareb hefted his knife and swiftly cut a section of the meat free. He skewered it and transferred it to his plate. Soon he had a heaping pile of meat and vegetables. He dipped his spoon into a pot of thick brown gravy. He smothered the pile on his plate indiscriminately with it.
Chihon timidly cut a small piece of meat. She paired it up with a small potato and a few stalks of asparagus. Gingerly, she dipped her spoon in the pot and drizzled a few lines of brown gravy over the meat. She sat back, and waited for her host to serve herself.
“What are you waiting for, child?” Gareb asked.
“She has manners,” Yerlow said. “She’s waiting for her host to be served.” She stabbed a piece of meat and a few vegetables and quickly transferred them to her plate. She lifted her glass towards Chihon and said, “To our guest.”
Gareb quickly grabbed his cup and likewise lifted it, “To our guest,” he said. He took a large swig and thumped the cup back down on the table. The beer inside sloshed at the roughness of it as some made its way out of the cup and slopped onto the table.
Chihon raised her glass and said, “To my hosts.” She gingerly took a sip and placed it before her.
“Yerlow tells me that you’re suitably rested and ready to begin your lessons after the meal,” Gareb said. He looked her over and said, “You certainly look a lot better.”
“I feel much better,” Chihon said. “Thanks to your lovely wife.” She looked over at Yerlow who gave her a slight bow.
“Well, the first thing you need to learn is to raise your shields, so the priests don’t come running every time you practice magic. They’re very good at finding unshielded young boys. I figure you being a young lady and all, probably threw them off a bit.”
“So I understand,” Chihon said.
“You say you’ve been in contact with Rotiaqua?”
“Yes, do you know her?” Chihon sliced a bit of fowl and stuffed it into her mouth careful of the sharp edge on her knife.
“Do I know her?” he asked with a laugh. “I know of her, yes. Know her, as in personally met her? Never.”
“Why do you say that?” Chihon asked. She leaned in to get a clearer look at Gareb as he explained.
“I already told you, I’m not one of the mighty ones. I’m just a lowly wizard with very limited powers. The mighty ones don’t mix much with the likes of me.”
“She certainly knows of you. She told me to come see you specifically. She told me to trust you implicitly. She must know you.”
“She knows me, I suppose, but I certainly don’t know her. Nor wizard Zhimosom, either. They’re the mighty ones, after all.” He emphasized his words with a gesture of magnificence, as if taking in a grand sight.
“I don’t understand,” Chihon said.
“Zhimosom and Rotiaqua are the most powerful of wizards. Together, they are part of the council of Wizards that rule all those with the gift who do not serve Ran,” Gareb explained. “They concern themselves with matters great and mysterious, not the likes of poor Gareb here.”
“They sent me here,” she reminded Gareb.
“And there must be a good reason for that,” he said.
Yerlow stood and started clearing the dishes.
Chihon made a move to get up and help, but she waved her back to her seat. “Sit,” she said. “I’ll take care of these. You must start your lesson.”
“Yes, lessons,” Gareb said. “We need to begin your lessons. He stretched out his arm and opened his hand. Chihon followed his gaze to the back of the room. A dusty bookshelf stood in one corner of the seamstress shop. It had several books haphazardly placed on the shelves. One of them quivered, righted itself, and floated across the room to land in Gareb’s outstretched hand.
He grasped it and dropped it on the table. Dust rose around it as it hit the table’s surface. He blew on it and raised an additional cloud of dust. He opened the book to the first page. On the page was a drawing of a short wall surrounding the image of a young boy. He smoothed out the page and looked up at Chihon. “First, we’re going to learn about shields,” he said.
For the next several days, Gareb drilled her in the use of shields. How to raise them when she needed to hide her magic. How to create a shield that obscured her image, or made her look like someone the observer would take as ordinary or unremarkable.
Day by day, she felt more confident in her ability to manage her shields, but each night her fear for Lorit grew. She could feel him but only distantly; sometimes she could not find him at all. He seemed to fade in and out of existence and she worried that one of these times he would fade away, never to return.
“Your shield,” Gareb was saying.
“I’m sorry,” Chihon said, returning her attention to her teacher. Gareb had been demonstrating how to leave an opening in her shield where Lorit’s thread could pass through. “I was thinking about Lorit.”
“I can tell. It looks like you were leagues away. I know you’re worried about him. Can you still feel his thread?”
“Yes, I can, but it seems to be getting weaker.”
“Hold on to what you can of him. Learn as much as you can and soon you may be able to help him.” Gareb picked up his staff and approached her. “Ready for a staff lesson?”
“Not really, I can’t seem to focus today,” Chihon said. She sat on the stool near the table.
Gareb sat down next to her. “I know it’s hard. You’re doing all you can. You’re growing stronger by the day. You may soon be able to find out where he is and what’s happened. Just try to have a little patience. It will come to you.
“Come on. I think you’re done with shields. It’s time to move on.”
Chihon knew he was only trying to cheer her up, but no shield practice sounded good.
“No more shields?” she checked.
“No more shield practice,” he said. “You’re already well beyond what I can do. Next, we conjure.
“Living things are easiest,” Gareb explained. He hefted and apple and tossed it up and down in his hand. Suddenly he was juggling two apples.
“Once-living things are next,” he pointed to the wooden spoon on the table. He held his hand over it and removed it. Where one spoon had sat, now there were two.
“Never-living things are much harder,” he said as he placed a coin on the table and tapped it with his hand. “The more dense metals are extremely hard to work with.”
Chihon looked at him in expectation.
“Sorry, my powers are not that great,” he said. He picked up the coin and placed it in his pouch.
Yerlow set Chihon up in their guest room. “I had this prepared for my mother,” she said. “She passed a while back, so now it’s yours.” She ushered Chihon into a small bedroom with its own desk.
Alone in her room each night, Chihon searched for the thread that connected her to Lorit. It was tenuous, but it was there. If she focused on it, she could feel him, even if only weakly. As she progressed in her lessons, the periods when she could feel him strengthened. She could feel the thread that connected them more clearly. She could almost grasp it and follow where it lead, but then it would vanish all together only to return the next day. The periods where she could sense him were growing shorter day by day.
Each day, she practiced the lessons that Gareb taught her with more and more dedication. Her fear for Lorit drove her until she fell exhausted into bed each night.
One day, Gareb pushed his chair back and shoved the magic book toward her.
“Final exam. Conjure your own copy of the book.”
“Conjure the book?” she asked. The book was thick and heavy, the cover made of wood bound in brass. The hinges were worn and loose and the pages ragged and stained.
“Conjure the book,” he said. “Everyone eventually does.” He gave it a slight shove again. “Go on, you’re more than ready.”
Chihon put her hand atop the book and felt the pages with her senses. She felt each knot and whirl of the wood, each dog eared fold of the pages and the sloppy looseness of the hinges. She visualized the book surrounded in light, sitting next to itself. Slowly, the imagined book solidified until, after some time, it was as solid as the original.
Gareb picked up her copy of the book. He paged through it, looking at each page and illustration. He brushed his hand along the spine and pulled at the hinges. He opened and closed it a few times until he finally set it back on the table. He snorted and sat back, crossing his arms.
“Did I do something wrong?” Chihon asked. She looked at the book. It was an exact copy of his, down to the scratches. It even had a gravy stain on one of the pages.
“You copied it exactly,” he said.
“Wasn’t that what you asked me to do?” She was confused. She’d made as perfect a copy as she was able, yet Gareb seemed displeased.
“My copy is old and worn. Do you really want an old worn out book?” he asked. “Don’t you want a nice shiny new one?”
He passed his hand over her book. When he withdrew it, the book was shiny and new. The hinges were tight and the wood gleamed. The pages were perfect and pristine. “There, that’s better,” he grinned.
Lorit came awake to a cold and damp morning. He must have woken before sunrise because it was dark, so dark nothing showed, not even the stars or the moon. He turned over and ran into something hard and cold. He felt behind him, thinking he must have rolled up against a tree, only to find cold smooth stone.
He startled and tried to sit up, only to bang his head on something. He reached his hand carefully over his head. He felt more of the polished stone. He explored the extent of his prison. He was inside of something made of smoothed stone. It was cold and confining, with only a small space between his shoulders and the walls of his prison. It was closed at the top. The ends offered no purchase.
He extended his senses outside of his prison. He could make out other enclosures like the one he was trapped inside. Their images were vague and indistinct. Something was binding his power, blunting his abilities. He vaguely felt the outside of the enclosure. Finally, it dawned on him. He was trapped in a crypt!
Lorit pushed at the cover, attempting to raise the stone lid from atop the sealed box. It was so heavy it might as well have been sealed in place. Try as he might, he was unable to get a grip on it, or cause it to move in the least.