Finally - the rest of it :)

[winterdrake.livejournal.com]

Anyway. This has all got rather off-track. I’m not supposed to be wallowing in memories of the good times, however attractive. To cut a long and doubtless astonishingly tedious story short, Dain eventually decided that Arman and I had enough experience to be let loose on Airil as a whole, rather than just on the clearing. Don’t get me wrong, we’d been to several places for short visits, like Arman’s home, and Dain’s, but we’d never stayed long. So, anyway, when I was about fourteen as we count things here, and (as I said) about twenty as far as life in Airil was concerned, Dain reckoned he’d taught us about as much as he could on our own. He told us he was going to take us to where he worked when he wasn’t with us, and that we’d be there for a few months. Now, that was the longest time by far that I’d ever spent in Airil, and I was more than a bit nervous. I didn’t want anything here getting in the way of the time I could spend with Arman, and I was worried that a trip that long might be noticed. That I’d oversleep and never wake up, or something. Dain and Arman both told me that wouldn’t happen and they were right, as usual, but it was the first time I’d really realised that my life was following two completely different paths and that there would be trouble if they ever crossed. It seems crazy, looking back, that I hadn’t got worried before, but somehow it was never an issue. I figured out very early that I was better off keeping quiet about the dreams. The odd looks when I talked about them and the rapidly sharpening concern when I insisted I was telling the truth were enough of a hint. No-one here knew what was going on, which was exactly the way I wanted it. Up until that first long trip, ‘normal’ life here with my parents, and school, and all the ordinary stuff, hadn’t been much more than background to the hours with Arman and Dain. Something to be got through quickly and efficiently, attracting as little notice as possible, so I could get back to my real life.

I suppose I should tell you a bit more about Dain, before I tell you about the trip. It’s going to take a while to cover all the stuff that happened in those three months, and some of it won’t make much sense unless you know what he was, and how that fitted in with the rest of the stuff in Airil. You see, Dain wasn’t just an unlucky sod who’d got landed with nurse-maiding a couple of overly precocious infants. For a start, he’d volunteered for the job. Secondly, he was a magi. You remember what I said about them? That they’re Airil’s version of doctors? Well, there aren’t many of them at any one time, they’re a truly rare commodity, even rarer than any of the other types of magic-workers. It’s almost as if there’s some kind of natural limit on how many of them can be alive at any one time, as if there’s only so many that the universe can handle. Then again, from what we came to learn about their ruling council, they could be tracking down kids with the potential and killing them off. You see, Dain wasn’t a typical example of a magi. He was a nice guy, all round. Honest, honourable, caring and with a huge amount of integrity. So good, in fact, that we wanted to punch him half the time. No-one should be that close to sainthood and still be breathing.

The rest of the magi were a different matter, particularly the ones at the top of the pile. I’ve never met a more avaricious, callous and just plain evil bunch of screwed-up megalomaniacs in my life. Part of that comes from what they are. I think I said before that there’s a price to pay for being a magi. Well, it’s not something they can ignore and it’s not something they get a choice about. If they’re going to use their powers at all, they have to put up with it. What it comes down to is this. Every time a magi heals someone, whether he’s closing a cut or curing some hideous plague, he ages. He loses some of his own life. How much tends to depend on what he’s trying to heal, but it’s also affected by things like how old the injury or disease is, and the age and general condition of the person he’s healing. Basically, the more power a magi has to pour into someone to get them back on their feet, the older he’ll be when he finishes. I’ve seen one magi bring someone back after they died. It was amazing; the guy was blue with cold, not breathing, pretty much frozen. The magi put his hands on the man’s chest and chanted a bit, then you could see the guy’s chest start moving as he breathed in and out. The magi, on the other hand, was on the floor. If you’ve never seen twenty years hit someone in the space of a few seconds, I don’t recommend it. He was grey with exhaustion, half his hair had changed colour and it was about a week before he could walk without looking like he was carrying the universe.

What this tends to mean is that magi have a pretty short life-expectancy. Most of them never make it past their thirtieth birthday, even though they look about a hundred and fifty when they die. At least, most of them who use the powers they’ve got die young. Like everywhere, there are magi who prefer to stay alive and they refuse to heal anyone or anything. The ethical arguments that get the rest of the poor sods keeling over on a regular basis don’t matter a damn to these guys. They sit there and watch their colleagues die and congratulate themselves on having survived another day. Unfortunately, it’s these bastards who tend to end up at the top of the tree, controlling everything else. They’ve been around longer than any other magi has even a hope of managing precisely because they couldn’t care less what it costs to stay alive and they make the most of that by getting themselves entrenched into all the powerful positions on the magi’s ruling council and making all the laws. Anyone with any sense of morals or ethics is out there literally killing himself to save other people and doesn’t have time to overturn the corrupt patches of slime that are running things.

Anyway. As I said, Dain was one of the other sort. When he wasn’t with us, he was out doing his job, healing people. He did put some restrictions on what he did while he was teaching us, since he reckoned that he’d better be around to finish the job, but he was still noticeably older by the time we took that trip. When I first met him, he looked about twenty two or three; I found out later that he was seventeen. By the time he took us with him to his Hall (what they call the places where magi work; sort of like a specialised university), he was looking forty, although by a normal count he wasn’t more than twenty five. I think he took us with him then, rather than later, as much because he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be around as because he thought we were ready for it. Not that he told us that, of course. So. We went with him, and that’s when things really started to happen, and when we first realised that there were people in Airil who didn’t like what we were doing and who would try almost anything they could think of to stop us.

You meet in the clearing, as usual. Dain and Arman are waiting where they always do, but this time there are packs and bags round their feet. You go to Arman, spending a few minutes greeting him, as usual, but for the first time you can remember, Dain interrupts you both. He starts unpacking the bags, piling clothing and equipment in untidy heaps around the clearing, then he orders both of you to strip and starts handing things out. There are new clothes for both of you; Arman’s very similar in style to those he took off, but newer, better made and of what looks like finer material. Yours match his exactly, down to the sunburst device stamped into the belt and boots. While you both dress in shirts, trousers, boots, tunics and cloaks, with belts fastened, Dain rummages around in the other piles of equipment and comes up holding two short swords. Both are in dark leather sheaths, again decorated with the sunburst, and both have hilts bound with silver wire, with a carved gem set into the pommel. Arman’s is green, yours is red; otherwise, like the clothes, they’re identical. Shields, knives, bows, quivers of arrows and walking staffs quickly follow and every single thing has the sunburst stamped, or carved or engraved upon it. Finally, when most of the piles have disappeared, Dain stands back and looks at you both. Arman has edged closer to you while Dain has been handing things out, and you to him, so that by the time Dain looks up you’re nearly standing on top of each other, and both of you look nervous. Dain grins,
“What’s wrong with you two, then? Apart from looking nothing like the two untidy brats I’m used to?”
You keep quiet, letting Arman answer for both of you.
“It’s – all these weapons, Dain. It makes it feel real. It’s been easy to forget that we had anything to do but learn, and be together. All these years with barely a mention of what was coming. Now it feels like it’ll happen tomorrow, and we’re no better prepared than we were the first night we came here.”
Dain laughs.
“Of course you’re prepared. What do you think we’ve been doing for the last fourteen years? Anyway, most of this is just for show. People need to recognise you; they won’t do that if you scrub around looking like you’ve just crawled out of bed.”
You take over from Arman, trying to make Dain see what you mean.
“We know, Dain, and it’s no slight to your teaching. It’s just that we don’t really want this to end, and it has to. We know we can’t stay here forever, but we’re nervous about what’s coming. It’s a very large step onto a road leading nowhere known.”
Dain’s eyes are sober as he replies, filled with everything he’s trying to convey.
“Look. I know you both. None better – I’ve worked with you for years. And I say that you can do this. There’s nothing you can’t do if you choose to try. But if you should find yourselves over-matched, then there will have been nothing you could do. If you can’t succeed, it’s because you’re facing a situation in which no-one could succeed. You are ready for this, whatever it may turn out to be, whenever it may come. Hold to yourselves and to each other. Use the trust between you as a guide, and you won’t go wrong.”
All three of you stare at each other for a while, caught between the certainty in Dain’s voice and the increasing fear of the unknown. Then Arman grins, breaking the tension.
“The wise master speaks! Well, then, oh master, lead us to our task.”
And he bows mockingly, in full court style, one hand extended towards Dain. All three of you start laughing, and Dain shoulders the last pack left on the ground.
“Come on then. Let’s get you two where you can really cause some trouble.”
You walk towards the edge of the clearing, curious and a little nervous. This is only the third time that you’ve been out of the woods surrounding you, into Airil itself.

The half-familiar cold of the transition out of the magically-shielded clearing hits you, making you shiver and gasp despite the warm cloak. Then you’re through, standing in bright sunlight on the verge of dense forest, with a patchwork of cultivated fields spreading out before you. Away to your left, a large house looms over the horizon, and a dusty, rutted road wanders past. At the edge of the road, three horses are tethered. You recognise Arman’s usual mount, and Dain’s, but the third is new. Dain walks over to the animals and begins to unhitch them from the trees. Arman takes his reins and mounts, and Dain hands you the reins of the third horse. Looking it over, you can see strength and speed in its legs and chest, and what you hope is a pleasant temper in its eye. Dain watches you, then says
“That one’s yours from now on. Her name’s Fairill – fire-gem, if your translation isn’t up to scratch.”
You grin with pleasure, delighted with this gift more than with any of the others, even as you blush at Dain’s reminder of your poor scholarship. Then, as you mount and prepare to ride, you turn your mind to the journey and the days ahead, reaching out for them as a starving man reaches for bread. The clean, light air fills your whole body with the fresh smell of early autumn and you laugh aloud, delighted to be spending so much time in Airil. You reach for Arman’s hand as you ride, and the two of you take off at a gallop down a shallow slope, holding hands, riding with thighs and knees, laughing into the wind, leaving Dain to follow behind.