The Kindly One

XV. New Beginning

"There are some who would tell thee that knowledge is power," Radek began, surveying his small class. There were eight, including Iona, but that was more mages than she could have ever, ever expected to see in her lifetime if she'd remained in Yssa. Iona was close to them in age, if a bit older, but she was the only non-Leyan. "All of thee possess knowledge. Thou dost ken the Sigília. Thou dost ken the history. Thou dost even knen the basic principles of magic. Tell me, dost thou feel powerful?"

Iona stayed very still, but there were a few nods.

Radek chuckled. "Next to giants like Dušan Cipris? Nicol Kysely? Aurel Jelen? Lieren Alathyra? Thou art minnows in a great ocean, my little magelings."

Lieren. Iona held her breath for a second, wondering if it was possible. That was certainly an elvish name...and the same one as the unexpected visitor in Tamaris. Is she known here?

His audience properly chastised, Radek continued, "No, knowledge is not power. Understanding is power. Until now, thou hast experienced magic only through the words of others—a necessary part of learning, a vision thou wilt refine for the rest of thine lives, but I want thee to understand it. All of thee have had meditation drummed into thee. This is where we see if the lessons have stuck. Velane."

Iona's eyes widened when she heard her name. "Yes, Magós?" She used the correct pronunciation instead of the bastardization of the Sigília that had seeped out into society. Mages didn't correct the mundane version, as it served as a useful way to distinguish between the educated and uneducated.

Radek's expression seemed to hint that the word might have raised her slightly in his esteem. "Thou art to reach out and energize a few of the threads in the room so that they are visible...unless this is too difficult of a task?"

"I can try, Magós," she said with a small nod. She didn't even really need to concentrate, immediately reaching out to some of the gossamers strands that ran imperceptibly through the air. It was like grasping at a spider's web, a vast interconnection that spanned the world. Her other senses dulled slightly as she focused only on the invisible weave of existence. She could feel the heartbeats of the others in the room, their vitality seeping into the world around them. People left echoes, their lives and thoughts and emotions. She felt the layers and layers buried below the surface. The Pharos had been in use for a very long time, after all. It had a history that stretched back more than a thousand years, to the First World. Iona captured a handful of those in the room and pushed some of herself into the threads, exhaling life into them.

She heard soft gasps from the others in the room as the threads took on a glowing, strange, silver-green fey light. Her energy would forever be touched by her magic and that called back to an ancient power. For a brief moment, the naked eye could see the threads. There were thousands of them here in the room, making up everything, but only a hundred or so were visible, those that coursed through the air and floor nearest to Iona. They clustered around her, glowing softly.

Radek gave her his thin-lipped smile. "Very good. Now, I want thou all to pay attention to the threads. See how they connect, winding together? Power comes from life, but these threads allow the manipulation of existence and are given many names: níma to the druids, klostés to we mages, lanya to the immortal elves, and ley-lines to the scholars. They are conduits of control. With them, one may do the impossible. Tell me, what may magic not do?"

"It can neither create nor destroy, only transform," one of the others said, a quiet young man with studious eyes and mangled fingers. He had the same northern accent as Benedikt, lacking Zaeylael's mode of speech, and if Iona had to guess, she would have wagered he was from the area near Xisholis too. Then again, her grasp of Leyan geography was less than perfect. "It cannot act without a source. It cannot alter time. It cannot restore the dead to life."