The Last Orellen

For two whole days, Kalen studied.

It wasn’t as frustrating as he had feared it would be. Always before, he’d been so anxious to cast spells that reading about them and mastering the patterns for them over the course of days had felt like a torment. A necessary one that he valued, but still…

It was different with New Developments in Swift Wind Magery. Every line of the book seemed to contain worlds of shocking information that he had to sit and ponder. For example, some of his pathways had names.

Until now, Kalen had just built his pathway pattern wherever and however he could manage within the tangled horror that was his own magical structure. But mages were apparently at their best when they were using specific threads that were common to most practitioners who shared the same affinity.

Kalen was completely flabbergasted.

Yes, Zevnie had shown him a basic version of the structure she used once, and things she’d said had implied that it wasn’t just hers but one similar to that of all the amphoras in her clan. And yet Kalen had never really imagined such a thing for himself.

But Swift Wind Magery contained lines like, “For most effective casting, align the outer currents of Mett and Nore within yourself and build the pattern on their foundation.”

Which ones are Mett and Nore? he wondered, sending magic through the twisting loops and tiny tributaries of his pathways wildly, as if one of them might suddenly shout, “Me! Hello! I’m the current of Nore!”

Three spells in the book included recommendations for pathways that were actually labeled on difficult-to-read nucleic maps. So many colors of inks and variations in line weight had been used to draw a neat, circular network of pathways that Kalen had to stare at them for hours to make sense of them all. The same map had been used each time, with different areas highlighted to suggest that the recommended path might be found in that general location.

If Kalen understood right, the map was literally a diagram of Echune Batto’s own wind nucleus. Which was why the smaller pathways he was suggesting for usage in those spells might not exist or be in the exact same place for other practitioners.

Why does Mage Batto get such a nicely embroidered-looking nucleus? That’s not fair.

A small owl living under the eaves of the inn had coughed up something on the windowsill last night. Kalen’s nucleuses were more like that.

But at least he had spent almost a year mapping and re-mapping his pathways. They were complicated, but he knew what they looked like.

Since he was apparently missing the main pathway maps he should currently be studying as a newly fledged wind magician, he would use what he had access to. He would just pick something in more or less the right spot and hope for the best. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it should still be better than off-affinity casting, if he understood some of the implications in the book correctly.

Of the three spells with maps, only one of them made use of his other purchase from Barley and Daughters, and since he was eager to try the flags out, he chose that one.

“Ears of the East,” he informed Yarda, as they climbed into the carriage she had ordered for their trip to the enclave. “It’s a spell that carries sound to you on the wind from far away.”

It was the middle of the night, and the only lights in this part of the city were the lanterns hanging from the posts by the driver’s seat. Moths and other nocturnal bugs batted at the glass. It was an open carriage, big enough for four normal riders, though Yarda took an entire bench to herself.

“How far away?” Yarda asked curiously.

This was one of the excellent things about Kalen’s cousin. Unlike most adults he had met, she saw no reason to chide him for learning a spell that was best suited to spying on the conversations of others. He felt sure that when he mastered it, she would be equally happy to hear about whatever gossip he collected through its use.

“‘Up to an hour’s march,’” is what it says. But I don’t know how fast of a march, so that’s not very specific.” Kalen pulled his sun crystal and his book out of his satchel as the old man driving the carriage clucked his tongue, and the pair of large bay horses set to work. “Do you mind if I read on the way there?”

Yarda gave him a wave, and he dropped deep into the text again, biting his lower lip as he tried to decipher the casting patterns for a mage-level spell. He tweaked and tugged at pathways as he read. He tried out a mana-flow technique he thought might be similar to one Mage Batto mentioned in passing as being highly effective for wind practitioners.

Maybe it made the process a little easier if he used it while manipulating the threads of his power? It could have just been enthusiasm making it feel that way, but he liked to imagine he’d landed some small success already.

I need more books, he thought while he worked. He needed one with the beginners’ maps for wind practitioners. And one with the flow techniques. I need so many more books.

#

Kalen’s expectations for his first visit to a practitioner family’s Enclave were high. His vague memory of the Orellen Enclave hardly counted, since he had been so young and confused and, he thought, under the influence of some sort of spell or potion besides.

He imagined the Acress Enclave would be full of fine houses and halls of knowledge. Definitely there would be buildings as large as the Granslip Port churches. And practitioners of every age would spend their days casting spells right in the streets.

It wasn’t quite like that.

The road that led from the city to the Enclave made a straight, broad line. It was solid, packed clay, and the carriage moved over it with even less jostling than it had the cobbled city streets. To either side there was nothing to see but freshly harvested fields lit by moonlight. There were also lots of cows, sometimes sleeping right in the middle of the road in the way of the horses.

And then, in the dim hour before sunrise, they arrived at the Enclave itself. And Kalen finally set aside his book to look around with deep disappointment.

“It’s just a town.”

Admittedly, it was a wealthy-looking town. The lights shining behind some of the windows seemed to be the same clear, clean ones used by the bookshop. The streets were tidily paved, and the tall houses were all painted in the rich jewel tones that were popular in good areas of Granslip Port. But there wasn’t even a dramatic wall around the place to keep out strangers.

Where were all the arcane mysteries stored? Most importantly…

“Do you know where the library is?” he asked the driver.

The old man shook his head.

Maybe daylight would render the place more impressive, Kalen hoped, as he hopped down from the carriage with his satchel slung over his shoulder.

The driver had parked the carriage in front of a long low building with a tile roof. It was painted white, and a small group of people huddled in a side yard by a heavy curved door. One man lay in a handcart that seemed to have been pushed there by a pair of exhausted girls who were sleeping on the ground right against the cart wheels. When Kalen and Yarda passed, he caught a chokingly foul stench from the man’s bandaged leg.

This was where you came if you hoped to see an Acress healer on the compassion days.

As they all stood waiting for dawn to come and the door to open, Yarda made friends with the other waiting patients. There were around a dozen people. They’d been standing in grim silence when Kalen and Yarda first arrived, but the sight of Yarda prompted curious stares even from those in dire need of healing. And as was her habit, she responded to the staring with smiles and open concern for everyone else.

It made Kalen feel like a horrible person.

While he would have wished every one of these people well under normal circumstances, now he found himself in the strange position of judging them as competition for Sorcerer Nigel’s time and care. What if Yarda didn’t get help because of that woman with the boils all over her face? That boy with the fever looked like he was on death’s door. And the man with the hurt leg…

The thing about excellent healers is that someone always needs them badly.

That was what Lily Acress had said, but Kalen hadn’t thought deeply about what it meant.

Also, he had read Sigerismo, Volume 12, and even if he didn’t understand most of it, he thought Yarda should not be having such a close and enthusiastic conversation with some of these people. She did not need some continental plague on top of everything else.

Kalen should know. His body had died of one before.

He tried to think of how to tell her to get away from the fevered boy without saying something that would sound strange and awful to everyone else present. But fortunately the door opened, and a pair of people in gray robes came out to talk to the ill and injured. One was a boy and the other a girl, both of them several years older than Kalen.

“All right, all right,” the boy said in an officious voice that sounded ridiculous from someone his age. “Let’s have everyone stand or…uh…lie at least an arm’s length apart from each other.”

He can sound as annoying as he wants, Kalen decided as he watched everyone separate out exactly as he himself had thought they should.

The boy and girl went around asking everyone’s name and getting information about their ailments. They didn’t write anything down, but they seemed to do a good job of remembering details.

A few more sick people arrived to join the group, and Kalen, standing off to the side with Yarda, forced himself not to glare at them.

As the sun rose, the boy disappeared inside, and a moment later, a pair of men came with a contraption of canvas and poles that they used to carry the man with the hurt leg into the building. The boy came back and consulted with the girl.

They were both looking at Yarda. They’d been obviously confused after they interviewed her. She appeared to be healthier than many of the other people waiting, but her enormous height and the fact that she and Kalen both swore a sorcerer had diagnosed her already and sent her across the world in search of healing seemed to stump them.

“Mrs. Yarda!” the girl said loudly after she’d finished talking to her partner. “You can go in, too!”

Kalen’s heart leaped. Yes! She was the second person. That had to mean she would be seen by a very good healer, didn’t it?

He trotted after her eagerly only to be turned away by the boy, who was scandalized at the thought that he would presume to accompany a patient. Instead, Kalen was sent off to “play in the yard.” It was an insult so uncalled for that he barely kept himself from arguing with the young magician.

He stalked back to the carriage. The driver had parked it in front of a stable on the opposite side of the building. And when Kalen approached he was unhitching the horses.

“She’s inside,” Kalen reported to the old man. The driver was going to wait for them all day if need be, so it only seemed polite to keep him informed. “I don’t know how long it will take.”

“Long time.” He pulled a twig he’d been gnawing from between his teeth. “Big, big woman like that—they’ll have all the students here look at her. For growing their smarts.”

Kalen frowned. “Have you driven people here before?”

“Few times,” said the driver. “Come once or twice myself, too.”

I guess he’s still alive at least.

But he didn’t like the idea of Yarda being some kind of educational experience for young practitioners. He wanted her to get the help she needed from someone who knew what they were doing.

With nothing else to do, and no intention of playing in the yard, Kalen wandered through the Enclave in hopes of finding the library. And finding out that it was welcoming of visitors on compassion days.

He knew there should be a large library. He’d read and heard about them. Some of his old books had stamps in them indicating they had originally come from practitioner family libraries. He’d always wanted to see one.

As the day began in truth, the Enclave started to bustle with people, and it became a bit more like the magical place Kalen had hoped to find. Robes weren’t the standard outfit, but there were enough folk wearing them to make the streets feel markedly different than they did in Granslip Port. And Kalen began to spot signs of enchantment in places he wouldn’t normally expect to see them.

A door opened when a man approached it, even though nobody was on the other side. In a grassy area, large smooth rocks that seemed to be intended for seating were giving off a pleasant warmth. And a fountain at the back of a blue house was making far more elaborate tinkling noises than Kalen thought fountains ought to make, based on his limited experiences with the few he’d seen since arriving on the continent.

He stood watching the fountain curiously through the bars of an iron gate until a very fat man in black robes came out to sit beside it in a cushioned chair.

“Like my garden?” he called as Kalen turned to go. He propped his feet on a wooden stool and took a bite from some kind of tart.

“It’s nice. I was listening to the fountain.”

“ ’s enchanted,” the man said around a mouthful. He brushed crumbs from his robes. “Don’t know you. You somebody’s new apprentice?”

“No,” said Kalen. “I’m here with a friend who needed to see a healer.”

“Ah, that’s right. Compassion day for the public, isn’t it?”

Kalen nodded.

The man looked down at his tart then back at Kalen. “Want some breakfast?”

#

For some reason, Kalen had expected the practitioner to pass him food through the iron bars. Maybe it was just because the courtyard garden looked luxurious, and he didn’t feel like he fit in with the place very well. But the man in the black robes heaved himself out of his seat and walked over to unlatch the gate for him.

“Cob,” he said, holding out a crumb-covered hand for Kalen to shake.

“Nerth,” Kalen decided, wincing a little at the strength of the fellow’s grip.

“Tiriswaithan?” the man asked curiously.

“Yes!” Kalen tried not to feel too proud of himself.

He followed Cob in, examining the painted tile floor and the large clay pots full of flowering plants and herbs. A couple of minutes later he found himself installed on a magically warmed rock by the fountain, eating an egg and cheese tart and trying to decide if he liked the hot drink Cob had given him in a cup made of silver and glass.

It was something called coffee with quite a lot of cream and spices in it.

The practitioner didn’t seem to want to talk. He just propped his feet back up and ate his own breakfast while he listened to his fountain.

Once Kalen stopped feeling nervous about the company and the setting, it was a nice way to spend a meal. But then he couldn’t figure out how to excuse himself. If the man wasn’t talking at all it felt rude to interrupt.

Finally, he squirmed a little too much, and Cob took notice of him. “Rock not comfy?”

“It’s a good rock,” Kalen said automatically.

Cob snorted.

“Thank you for breakfast. Sir. I liked it a lot. Would you mind giving me directions to the library?”

The practitioner raised his eyebrows. “The Acress library?”

Kalen nodded.

“What makes you think we have one?”

“Do you not?” Kalen asked in surprise. “I just assumed you did because I heard lots of practitioner families have them, and I thought maybe because it was compassion day someone would let me in to see it…”

“Library building burned nearly a hundred years ago. It was over that way.” He waved a plump hand to gesture behind him. “Took out a dozen homes and the school. Fire got so hot, most of the enchantments on the scrolls and books couldn’t take it. Lost generations worth of knowledge. ”

Kalen’s eyes widened.

“Anyway, after that somebody got clever and decided we wouldn’t have a dedicated library anymore. Instead we have a couple hundred small collections in private homes, and a librarian who keeps track of them all. Supposed to be community building to have people knocking on your door every day to look through your books, but I can’t say I like stomping around the Enclave in three different directions when I’m trying to research a subject.”

It sounded almost as extraordinary to Kalen as the library he’d been imagining. “Do you get to keep some of the library books?”

“Just inside and to the right,” said Cob, nodding toward the house.

Kalen stared at the door with longing.

“You can go look,” the man said dryly. “I’m leaving in an hour, though, so don’t settle in.”

Kalen didn’t need another invitation. He sprang up from the rock and dashed forward eagerly.

The room the practitioner had given him directions to was not a large space. It was just big enough to comfortably hold the square table and four chairs at the center of it. But it more than made up for that by being packed from floor to rafters with shelves of books. The only wall that wasn’t covered held a tall, narrow window with a thick, dark curtain over it.

Kalen pulled it aside so that he could have light. It looked onto the courtyard, where Cob was still sitting by his fountain.

I only have an hour, he thought. How do I make the most of it?

He settled on being methodical about it. There was a sand glass on the center of the table. He flipped it so that he wouldn’t lose track of the time. For the first half hour, he focused on reading every title on the spine of every book that had one.

Most of them were about plants. Several of them were about poisoning people with plants, which was more interesting but not useful to him. Any time one looked like it might contain a general collection of spells, he pulled it from the shelf and flipped through it as quickly as he could without risking damaging the pages.

He was looking for anything that might help him figure out pathway names or anything about wind.

As the sand flowed away, he changed tactics. Now that he’d at least glanced at each book with an obvious title, he would look inside the ones that had none. He would start with the most expensive-looking ones. He selected a black tome so large he had to hold it in both arms and examined the title page. Soil Manipulation for Fertile Growth Seasons— Best Methods and Practices.

I can’t believe someone filled this many pages on that one subject. He hefted the book back into place, and reached for one of the others that had caught his eye.

It was a slender book with a cover in a striking pale blue. Instead of a title on the spine, it had a series of dark gold runes and elegant scrollwork, and Kalen assumed it was part of a large set, since there were similarly bound books scattered throughout the shelves. He grabbed it, noticing first how soft the leather was, and then he turned it over to see the cover.

He sighed when he saw it was full of spells for taking care of plants, too. He slid it back on the shelf, and stepped over to grab another one of the blue books, just in case they were different.

To his surprise and delight, they were. This one said it was Elemental Magics One - The Book of Stone.

And it had a completely different author than the other blue book. So maybe they weren’t a set after all?

But they clearly matched each other.

Curious, Kalen went around pulling them from the shelves and reading the front covers one by one. When he found Elemental Magics One - The Book of Water, he paused his search to leaf through it. It would be interesting to find a real copy of Summon Blob so he could compare the notes he’d made with the official casting instructions.

He turned the fine, creamy white paper carefully. It was a useful book, probably intended for magicians learning spells outside their affinity. Beginner magicians like him. The spells were fairly simple compared to his new mage book.

The Book of Wind could be around here somewhere, he thought. That would be the perfect thing. He flipped through the pages more quickly, and reached the end in no time. But his fingers stilled before closing it.

On the inside of the back cover, there was a decoration almost the size of Kalen’s spread hand. It was a picture drawn in glittering gold—a constellation of stars that formed a series of interlocking circles, pierced through by a large arrow. Below it was a familiar name.

ORELLEN.

Kalen felt a chill. For a while, he stared at the picture, then he carefully shut the book and put it back where he’d found it. He scanned the room, counting.

There were sixteen of the matching blue books. That seemed like a lot. Did they all have the same mark?

He pulled another from the shelf and checked the inside of the back cover. There it was again. ORELLEN.

He stood on his tiptoes and stretched to grab a third. Again.

Another one.

Another.

All of them had it. Different titles, different authors. But all of them had the gold mark with the name in the back. They must have been ordered special or re-bound to match each other so that they would look lovely side by side on shelves.

Obviously they came from the Orellen Enclave, thought Kalen. That makes sense. It’s only one country away, and they probably left behind a large library when they all ran. Maybe the Acress family went and took some books. Or bought them from people who did.

It could also have been the four Orellens living in Granslip Port under the protection of the churches who’d sold them.

But it still felt strange for there to be so many of them here in this one small room. Like Kalen was surrounded by something threatening.

There was indeed a book for wind magicians. Now, though, he didn’t feel comfortable reading it where someone might walk in and see him.

The last grains of sand were running through the glass quickly.

Breathing a little too fast, he grabbed a non-Orellen book that had a picture of flowers on the cover, and sat in the chair to stare at its first pages without really seeing them.

Why do they have so many Orellen books? If there are two hundred libraries like this in the Enclave, and they all have a similar number…. Is it just happenstance, or were the families friends? If they were friends then why are the Orellens living in the Clywing church instead of here with these other practitioners?

What does this mean for me?

Nothing. He knew the answer should be nothing.

He hated that he was too scared to even open the book he wanted to read for fear of being connected to a family he didn’t know.

When Cob came in to say it was time for Kalen to go, Kalen thanked him politely and left with a sigh of relief. The fountain tinkled behind him as he shut the iron gate.

#

Kalen’s enthusiasm for exploring the Acress Enclave had been dimmed. He decided to lurk around the white building where the healers worked so that he would be ready to leave as soon as Yarda was finished. The line of people waiting at the side door for help was growing.

Lily was right to recommend they show up before dawn.

He headed back to the stable yard and sat in their carriage to keep himself out of the way. The driver had disappeared. He tried to meditate, but it wasn’t as good when he was anxious. So he worked on his pathways some more. Carefully, carefully he aligned strands in the area he’d chosen to build the spell pattern.

It wasn’t nearly right yet, but he wanted to try casting through the pattern anyway. Just to see what kind of thing might happen. There was so much mana around now that he was on the continent. Kalen could use as much magic as he pleased.

Of course, it had occurred to him that the thing that might happen could be disastrous. Or at least noticeable. In his experience, forcing magic through patterns that weren’t quite right usually did nothing at all. Especially if you didn’t use much power. But he was less cavalier than he had been before.

Maybe if he got away from the Enclave, he could try?

That sounds good actually.

The carriage seat wasn’t particularly comfortable. The stable smelled a little. Kalen didn’t want to knock on doors and ask to be let in to libraries full of books with the name Orellen on the cover.

He could walk down the road until the Enclave was distant and do some magic in a nice field with some nice cows who wouldn’t care about it at all. It wasn’t like he could get lost. There was only one road between here and Granslip Port. As long as he didn’t travel out of sight of it, the carriage could pick him back up on its return journey.

Mind made up, he tucked his book into his satchel again and went to ask someone if they would tell Yarda he planned to meet her on the road instead of waiting.

He wasn’t surprised to find that the crowd of people outside the curved door had grown larger during the hours he’d spent practicing, but he was surprised to find that an entirely new group of people were now waiting by a table that had been set up by another door at the far end of the long building.

Kalen tried and failed to catch the attention of the girl who was questioning the sick, and though the officious boy definitely saw him waving, he turned and ignored Kalen completely.

They are rather busy, he admitted to himself with a trace of embarrassment. Too busy to deliver a simple message.

Hoping to find someone less involved with their work, he headed toward the new group waiting by the table. It was much smaller, just over a dozen children ranging from a few years younger to a few years older than Kalen.

They seemed to be bored, and there was no sign of what they were doing here beyond the empty table.

Kalen approached a tall freckled boy who was teasing an equally-freckled girl of around eight in a way that made him sure they were siblings. “Excuse me,” he said. “Do you know if there’s someone around here who can carry a message to a patient in the building?”

The boy paused in the act of tugging on his sister’s hair, and they both looked at Kalen.

“You talk strange,” the girl informed him.

“I’m not from Circon. I’m just visiting.”

“Nobody from the hospital has come out here yet,” the boy said, tugging the hair after all so that his sister yowled and swatted at him. “Been over an hour.”

“All right. Thank you anyway.”

Kalen turned to go.

“You should stay,” the girl said. “And get the money.”

“Money?” Kalen asked, looking back with interest. Money was much more important to him now that he’d seen the prices of books.

“It’s easy,” the boy said. “They bring out this glass plate with a lot of magic marks on it. You hold your hand on one end and one of the Acresses holds their hand on the other, then it feels warm for a minute, and it’s over.”

“It’s not a glass plate,” an older girl said.

“Yes it is! I did it last month.”

“I’m sure it’s not a glass plate,” the girl said, smoothing her heavy skirt. “It’s probably made of some kind of enchanted crystal. I should know. I’m here to take the test because it’s required for winter Entrance. Not for money.”

“So you want to be an Acress yourself. Fancy,” the boy said sarcastically. “But I actually saw the plate, and it was made of glass.”

He turned his attention to Kalen again. “You can only do it once. But they give you a half silver and one of these.”

He stuck out his wrist, and Kalen saw a narrow leather band around it. The name Gurad Lom was stamped on it.

“You put your hand on a plate with a practitioner and they give you money and a bracelet?” he asked, startled. “Why?”

“The Acress does a magic thing to you through the plate,” Gurad said confidently. “And he can tell that your mum’s your mum and your pa’s your pa. Then they write it all down with where you live and give you the bracelet so that you can’t get more money for doing it again.”

“Your pa could be anyone under the sun and they’d still give you the bracelet,” the girl who wanted to join the Enclave said in a superior tone. “So long as it isn’t Iven Orellen.”

The air itself turned to ice inside Kalen’s chest.

It was good he’d already had one Orellen-related shock today, or he might not have been able to react well at all. As it was, he was sure he was pale and wide-eyed. But at least he managed to speak.

“That’s interesting,” he said slowly. “I really need to find someone to help me get a message to my friend, though. In the hospital. So maybe I’ll come back for the money later.”

Gurad nodded. “Make sure you do. It’s easy. That’s why I brought my sister. The only bad thing is that the bracelet won’t come off, so you can’t do it twice.”

“That’s because they don’t need to scry you twice,” the girl muttered. “It’s not like your parents are going to change.”

“I’ll definitely come back,” said Kalen. “Maybe I’ll see you all later. If you’re still waiting.”

Hands clenched around the strap of his bag, he forced himself to walk away instead of running like he desperately wanted to. He pushed his way through the crowd of the ill and went straight for the Acress girl who worked for the hospital. Stepping rudely between her and a woman with a cough, he said, “Tell Yarda Strongback her cousin decided to walk back to the city. I’ll meet her on the road. Or at the inn.”

Then, before the girl could refuse or rebuke him, he spun and left.

He walked away from the hospital and through the fine paved streets with all the curious little enchantments around if you knew where to look. He passed practitioners in robes and houses he was sure were full of books of useful magic.

He kept going. And despite what he’d said to the other children, he was never coming back.