Welcome to The Children of Una series. Here’s a handy index of the published chapters.
Last chapter, Aster mediated between Danen and his uncle as Lewison struggled to direct Danen away from foolhardy experimentation with a special rock. Aster’s own lessons in spell casting were overlooked, but the acolyte dutifully remained attentive to the many odd jobs he could do to help the High Mage perform his burdensome responsibilities.
When Aster had returned to the Aerie after taking a lunch in the kitchens on the first floor of the tower, he found the room deserted. Going to the desk, he wondered if Lewison had left more tasks for him.
Better get this down to research, Aster thought, picking up the box that held that troublesome rock.
These humble tasks — fetching, tidying, annotating — didn’t bother him. The way he saw it, the High Mage had enough to do without occupying himself with secretarial work. Whatever Aster could take off his hands would allow Lewison’s more vital tasks to go more smoothly. As it was, he wished he could help the old man provide the mentoring Danen desperately needed.
Outside the suite, Aster took a narrow, winding stairwell downwards. Even with magic, the mages of Celandra hadn’t come up with anything better than good old muscle power for getting around inside their multi-storied towers. It made Aster feel like a slow, plodding donkey as he wound his way down the dozen flights, passing robed mages and other acolytes. After all those stairs, the air of the subterranean tunnel network was refreshing. Cold as ice.
He passed through torchlight every thirty paces. The rest of the way the smooth, level floor was invisible in the dark. Following the light, he came to another stairwell marked with a runic two. Aster climbed one last flight and introduced himself to the resource coordinator.
“The High Mage’s acolyte, with an item to record.”
The spectacled spider of a man looked down at Aster, still taking notes with one hand, while he reached across his desk with the other to open the box of the lid. Leaning until he cast a shadow over Aster, he peered inside. His scribbling stopped.
“There’s nothing there,” he stated.
Aster turned the box and took a look for himself. He snapped the lid shut. “Er, right. I must have dropped it along the way . . .”
He was sure if he’d done any such thing, there’d have been a rather heavy clunk accompanying it.
Hurrying back the way he’d come, Aster recounted the day’s events to himself. When had he last seen the stone in its box?
When Danen had snatched it and threatened to use the unknown powers it possessed, of course. That was hours ago.
“I wish Danen would listen to his uncle, at least about his own safety.”
Aster shook his head as he passed a torch and delved into the darkness beyond. His soft shod feet were growing numb from brushing against the freezing cold floor. He lengthened his stride.
Danen left the Aerie at lunch, promising to eat with his classmates before the History & Politics lecture. I finally got to enjoy some quiet reading of my own, in the middle of putting away more books. Lewison went into the bedroom and still hasn’t emerged.
“Napping, or just lost in his thoughts? I bet he’s worried.” Aster shivered.
The truth was, Aster was worried too. Ever since Lady Maudline Vinier’s funeral, Danen had been different. Danen had grown more and more careless of his own wellbeing, and he didn’t seem to have any respect for either Lewison’s guidance or warnings.
A group of mages passed by Aster’s left side and he brushed shoulders with one of them. The Fingers was full of uninitiated students, as well as the scholar mages. The group almost went by without Aster recognizing Danen among them. He walked half-slouched with his cowl pulled up over his bushy hair. It grew in tufts around his ears now, and his beard was coming in scruffy.
On an impulse, Aster stopped him, finger and thumb gripping the thick wool of the other acolyte’s robe. “Do you have a minute?”
Danen almost started.
Aster remembered then how he’d said yesterday that he wouldn’t talk to Danen until he was ready to apologize to Lewison for the angry words he’d flung in his Uncle’s face.
Aster grimaced at his own forgetfulness, then plunged on. “I wouldn’t be saying this if it wasn’t official business for the High Mage. He is my employer.”
Danen put space between them, crossing his arms. “What is it?” He eyed his friends, who were walking ahead, unaware he’d stayed behind.
Aster studied them too. “You’re keeping company with Maltbie now?”
Danen sneered. “I thought you had official business to ask about.”
Aster bit his tongue. Instead of speaking, he opened the Elven box in front of Danen’s face.
“It was there this morning. How’d you lose it?” Danen said, the lie poorly cloaked in mockery.
“It was there this morning. And yesterday Lewison said he thought none of the mages could understand its purpose yet.” Aster cocked his head, looking at Danen with a squint. “You like to prove your talents. Have you figured it out yet?”
Danen grinned. It was the old grin — pleased with himself. Digging deep in a pocket, he tossed the rock at Aster.
Catching it, Aster felt the rough edge of the stone bite into his palm. He was losing his callouses after all these months spent among books.
“It stores magic power, I think. That’s why I tried to get Uncle to let me use it this morning,” Danen said. “Hey, should I take the box with me? I’m going to pass the resource coordinator on my way up to the Solarium. I could have it recorded for you. Uncle’s got a lot of stuff piled up on his desk for you still.”
Aster put the stone in the box, wondering why Danen was willing to help all of a sudden. His toes were going to cramp soon if he didn’t get them warm. He wanted to take Danen’s offer, hurry away from this awkward interaction, and hide behind the pile of work.
But something was off with Danen. Had been ever since he came to The Fingers. Ever since he’d stopped joking around and getting into mischief, since he’d become a ruthlessly determined mage who didn’t listen to his teachers or his friends. Aster wasn’t about to entrust Danen with anything Lewison hadn’t.
Aster clutched the box under his arm and turned back the way he’d come. “Walk with me? My feet could use some of that warmth magic you’ve been practicing.”
“You know I’m no good at sustained spells!” Danen laughed, though not in the old, carefree way. It was more in the vein of false modesty. A little too much like Maltbie Rawls and his set of noble prigs.
“I can practice too,” he told Danen. “With a supportive channel, like Lewison was showing me yesterday.”
“You’ve got that down already?” Again, the condescension.
“I’m actually a decently talented mage, myself.”
Aster knew Danen wouldn’t have noticed. Danen’s expanding power was the light, flash, and boom of a fireshow — the gunpowder and dye concoctions King Mervin shot off at royal celebrations. Aster’s was more like the spark that became a bonfire, then a burning tree, and ended as a forest aflame. His was growing, but slowly. It didn’t worry him, moving at his own pace.
Danen lit the corridor with an orb of warmth and light which surrounded them as they walked toward the Second Tower. The yellow spell-light ate the golden wash of two torches before Danen picked up their conversation. Aster wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been quiet all the way back to the resource desk.
Danen’s voice was muffled by his cowl. “I’m sorry . . .”
It was the last thing Aster expected.
He was struck dumb till they’d almost reached the third torch, then he stopped walking. Danen reluctantly turned, crossing his arms again. He almost looked sheepish. Aster wondered if this was all for show.
He decided to make sure.
You’re going to have to be more specific, he communicated, though by doing so he had to cast a second spell alongside his supportive channel. His grasp of the casting couldn’t sustain both, and he dropped everything abruptly. Without Aster’s support, Danen’s spell flickered, too, then plunged them into darkness. The torch light behind Danen made his cowl appear empty.
I’m sorry, Danen repeated, within Aster’s mind.
There was not only deep sincerity, but more specificity than Danen could’ve put into words. He was a whirlwind of sorrow, and out of that sorrow, he kept lashing into Aster and Lewison in ways that only spread the pain. He couldn’t stop doing it. But he regretted every misspoken word.
Quit keeping us at a distance, then.
Danen’s reply reverberated in both their minds. I can’t!
You can’t fix this. Nobody can.
Aster wasn’t cruel enough to put it plainly, but the knowledge was already there, strung taut between them, like a rope that secured the drowned anchor and kept the tossed ship safe from the wild sea.
Danen’s mother was dead. Gone away where no one could bring her back.
She’d left more emptiness than the space she’d filled inside her son. As if her going had pulled and ripped at bits of him. It was going to be a long time before Danen could put himself back together. Aster knew he’d need help. You’ve got me. Your uncle. I know it’s not the same. But you’re not alone, so don’t make yourself alone.
Danen kept walking.
Feet stiff with cold again, Aster followed him. Then, he thought of something. Running to catch up, he threw an arm across Danen’s shoulders.
“You’re married now, too! You know what that means?” He gave his friend a good-natured shove. “You could be surrounded with nosy, well-meaning friends all the time, if you wanted to be. At least, it seemed like Lady Pearelle was happy to see you.”
Danen scoffed. “You thought so?”
“I, uh —“ Aster laughed a little. “I guess I don’t know too much about women, but I think it’s considered a good thing when a lady can’t stop staring.”
Danen shoved him back. Like the setting of a bone, things fell into place again. And, to Aster, it felt good.
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HARVEST MOON — WANING CRESCENT
It was too late in the year for insect hum. Gowell lay with his back against a boulder the sun had warmed and soaked up the last bit of heat before night’s chill would envelop him. He couldn’t sleep. The moon rose overhead, arcing and finally dipping down toward the western horizon, before he gave up. He pushed himself up off the chill ground and hugged his knees. He began to shiver.
Thee could light a fire, El-Una said, not unkindly. Its voice was tempered with compassion, though Gowell knew the creature had no knowledge of cold, hunger, or discomfort — only a sense of Gowell’s struggle with these unfamiliar companions. They’d been shadowing him for a day and a night, robbing even the colorful landscape of any pleasure.
The dry leaves underfoot were inedible and their crunch made him think of Golda’s hot, baked potato chips, greasy with pig’s fat. There was less and less forage, the higher the hills crept. Despite the awe-inspiring wonder of light playing across the craggy cliff faces that loomed overhead, closer now than ever before, Gowell was unimpressed and wished fervently that he’d never left the comfort of the farm to wander along in Gubarashi’s shadow.
Too much work, Gowell muttered inwardly. He had brought a flint and steel, but even gathering a few sticks to burn felt like it would sap all his strength. He’d grown very weak since his provisions had run out.
There are probably trout in that pool, El-Una suggested. They would be safe to eat raw, in this cold.
Gowell looked down from the embankment of boulders where he’d made himself a little nest of pine needles and dead leaves, at the bubbling fall of water that filled a basin between the many rocks before escaping further down the slope. He’d been following this stream for such a long while, listening to its voice fill the background, that he’d forgotten about fish.
“I don’t feel like getting wet.” Gowell shivered.
El-Una materialized, or so Gowell thought at first. For a silver light moved in among the boulders. But then, when the figure stepped out in front of Gowell, he saw that it was not in the form of a shaggy wolf, and somehow, it did not feel as present and alive as El-Una. It had a watery, wavering sort of translucence, like a half-formed shadow or a drifting mist.
Gowell saw that the figure was like him — a tall, powerfully-built Osakk with long, pointed ears and nearly waist-length, thick chords of hair. He wore a skin around his waist and no shoes, but carried a stout branch in one hand. As he stepped over the rocks — with a focused purposefulness, and not hurrying — he was followed by a thin girl-child who carried in her hands a javelin and a hide-wrapped shield. On her back she carried a skin sack stuffed full and strapped snug to her body with leather.
The two did not speak to one another. Gowell followed them, stumbling over the boulders they traversed with predacious grace, until they stopped before the deep pool of the stream. He watched the Osakk man direct the child with several motions of his hand. She was shown where to stand, so that her shadow did not fall over the water, and then how to hold her javelin steady. They waited, frozen as the boulders surrounding the pool. And at the opportune moment, the wooden weapon was dexterously thrown at just the angle to slice down into the water with hardly a splash. It floated to the surface bearing a bleeding, wriggling trout nearly as long as the girl-child’s forearm.
She fished it out of the pool with a branch, pulled her weapon from the squirming body, and whacked the fish head hard against the rock she stood on. Gowell watched her strike thrice more, bringing up two more fish. Then the Osakk man left the pool and motioned for her to follow. He did not offer to carry her catch, but left the girl-child to figure out how to manage it herself. After a moment or two of struggling, she speared all three fish onto her javelin and carried them that way, running to catch up with her teacher, who had not waited for her before melting into the silver moonlight of the woods.
These two were father and daughter. They dwelt on this mountainside so long ago that even their bones have melded with the earth as minerals, and those minerals have already brought life to many saplings, and those saplings have already grown into many large trees, dropped their fruit, and made many more. El-Una materialized beside Gowell, sitting on the rock with its canine nose pointed high, toward the starry sky overhead, as though he scented the trail left behind by the two Osakk.
Gowell looked at the trees surrounding them. My kind taught their young how to survive. But I am alone.
El-Una the wolf lifted a ululating howl, echoing Gowell’s sorrow. Then it crept closer and nuzzled its nose into his elbow. They teach thee, too. Follow in the footsteps of the girl-child and learn from her father as well. I will show thee all thy kind needs to know.
Gowell growled an assent, something between frustration and grim determination. He pulled himself to his feet and crept slowly along the boulder tops until he lay on the rim of the pool. He winced, but buried his arm up to his shoulder in the half-frozen water. Waiting. The moonlight was sparse, but his eyes had no trouble seeing in the dark. He set his jaw and stared at the plump, sleeping grandfather trout lying at the dark bottom. The creature blinked up at the ripples Gowell’s breath made on the surface of the water, stirring itself curiously.
Yes, El-Una encouraged him. Thee shall eat and thee shall live.
Dear Reader,
If I haven’t mentioned it before — all of my writing is done by the arduous toil of my own mind and comes straight from my heart. My process never does and never will include the use of AI.
Without compromise, I labor over my stories for you, dear reader. And while a finished book isn’t completed as easily, or as quickly as I would like, the investment of my time and effort is given in hopes that these stories will resonate with the humanness we both share.
Resist the machine.
Cheers~
LL