The Mages of Royas Bay (Mages of Wrystan 1)

Chapter 12: Lessons, Part 1

MARA DIDN'T LET him win, of course. In fact, she didn't even let him finish the race, overtaking him a few hundred yards from the city gates and motioning for him to slow down. When they were walking, she raised a hand for her mage-beast to land on. Woman and jackdaw studied him thoughtfully.

"If you're going to do this, Azarien, you have to understand you can never hide again."

Reaching up to stroke Rowan's head, Arien swallowed nervously. He'd stopped the flow of magic again without noticing; he was too used to keeping it hidden.

Mara gave him a firm look and stopped her horse, making Arien stop too. "When you hide it your magic starves. That's where the Hunger comes from. You're not like other mages, Arien, and not only because you weren't born on the roots of the Rythen mountains. Most Wrystani and Firthene mages hold their magic inside them. It's deeply connected to their personalities, being shaped by and helping to shape the people they are and will become. That's why Sidony is a battle mage, while your other friend Hawk is a healer. She's all fiery impulse, he's calm intelligence. You can't have an impulsive healer and you can't have a calm battle mage. Life doesn't work that way. Mostly."

Arien hunched a shoulder, not sure he wanted to let the magic in anymore. Not if it meant he was still different, still an outsider. He'd thought that once his magic was straightened out he'd be like everyone else, but no. He was destined to never fit in. A freak of nature.

Reaching across the space between their horses, Mara gripped his shoulder, but he couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes. Supporting Rowan as the pine marten crawled out of his tunic and onto his shoulders, Arien stared at his saddle and wished he had never come here.

Mara gave him a shake. "Just because your magic is different, doesn't mean you're alone. You're just rare, that's all. A mage whose magic comes from the world, and because you don't carry yours within you, in theory there's no limit to how much you can wield.

"In practise it's somewhat different," she added with a rueful smile. "There might be no limit in how much you can call, but there's only so much your body can take." She sounded like she knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I'm like you," Arien whispered in dawning amazement. "My magic is like yours."

Her smile was rueful. "Oh no, Ari. Your magic is better." When his face fell, she laughed. "The only good thing I can see about starving your magic for so many years is that it's developed quite an appetite. Even at this age I'd say you have the potential to be twice as powerful as I am, possibly more by the time you're done growing."

He felt light-headed with relief and disbelief. "Then it is like yours. You get your magic from the world too. It doesn't come from inside you."

"I get my magic from the world too," she agreed. "It doesn't come from inside me. Though we can store a certain amount, which can be useful for the fallow seasons."

Arien stared blankly at her.

"Later." She patted his shoulder and nudged her horse onwards again. "We'll talk about it later. You've got a lot to learn." Nodding to the city gatekeepers, she stroked the jackdaw on her shoulder. "A student," she grumbled, almost too softly for Arien to hear. "At my age. What are the mountains thinking, Ni?"

The jackdaw chuckled and Arien smiled as he re-entered the city by the sea.

Then he remembered: "Hey, Mara!" As the streets widened he nudged his horse alongside hers. "Who's Sparrow?"

* * *

HAWK STARED OUT of the window during what was supposed to be a magic theory lesson – except it was temporarily lacking a teacher – and sighed at the view he was in no mood to appreciate.