12
Outcast
When Shalla and I used to get into one of our interminable fights as children, my father would wait patiently until one of us had won or we’d both simply run out of energy and then he’d look at each of us in turn and say, ‘So, done then?’
One of us – usually the one my mother had commanded to sit down so that she could place a cold compress on a swollen eye or bruised cheek – would take note of my father’s tone and mumble, ‘I suppose.’
‘Good,’ my father would say, and clap his hands once as if he were banishing a spell. ‘Then we’re all friends again.’
Most times we were too exhausted to question his rather dubious logic, but on the one occasion when I challenged him on it he took me aside and said, ‘You fought. Victor and vanquished were decided. Whatever began the dispute is now resolved.’
‘I’m supposed to be friends with her? She—’
‘She won this time. Next time perhaps she will lose. Either way, there is no virtue in continued hostility. The Jan’Tep do not hold grudges.’
At the time the idea was inconceivable to me. Every fight, whether with Shalla or someone else, felt like a life-or-death struggle waged over the greatest of causes, even if that cause was merely determining the rightful owner of a toy. But Shalla would do just as our father requested and act as if nothing had happened. ‘Just a little game Kellen and I were playing,’ she would say when Abydos asked why one of us had an arm in a sling. Not knowing what else to do, I would just nod and agree, convinced that Shalla was somehow mentally defective for being able to so convincingly pretend a fight had never happened.
It wasn’t until the day after my fellow initiates had tried to cripple Ferius Parfax and myself that I realised Shalla was the normal one.
‘Will you be joining us today, Kellen?’ Master Osia’phest asked. I looked up to see him standing a few feet away from where I sat on a bench between two of the columns. The other initiates, waiting around the oasis, pretended I wasn’t there.
Osia’phest’s question was stupid of course. He’d seen my magic fail – everyone had. I wasn’t going to be able to draw a soul symbol, or craft a spellstone, or summon a power animal, or perform any of the other tasks that could be used as proof of passing the second test. So the old man already knew I wouldn’t be participating in the trials today. But – and here’s the ridiculous thing – for him not to have asked the question might have implied that there was some other cause for my present weakness, such as having got involved in an unsanctioned duel on the side of a suspected Daroman spy. By now the whole town must have heard about it, but legally I hadn’t done anything worse than anyone else who’d been there. So now, just as my father used to do after Shalla and I got into a spat, we were all going to pretend nothing had happened.
‘No, master,’ I replied. ‘I’ll just watch from here for today. I’ll continue the trials when …’ When what? When the insane dowager magus decides to give me an object of power so I can fake my way through the test? No, don’t think like that. I was going to find a way to make my magic work again. If I could convince Panahsi and a couple of others to help me, there were still things I could try to get my bands to spark. In the meantime I’d be damned if I was going to let Tennat or anyone else think I’d given up. ‘I’ll be coming here every day to observe,’ I said defiantly.
He nodded sagely, and then came closer and quietly asked, ‘Have you tried casting one of the simpler forms, perhaps one of the evocations of breath? Perhaps here in the oasis you can—’
‘You know I can’t,’ I said, practically growling under my breath. I felt immediately guilty for my outburst. Master Osia’phest had been the most understanding of my situation out of everyone. And yet I still couldn’t keep the anger down. ‘Even if I could, what good is casting a stupid breath spell? It’s the weakest form of magic.’
He took a seat next to me on the bench. ‘Do not underestimate breath, Kellen.’ He slid the right sleeve of his robe up to reveal the silver tattooed sigils representing breath shimmering brilliantly under the withered canvas of his wrinkled forearm. ‘Breath is the power of movement, Kellen, of channelling. It can give voice to other forms of magic. Perhaps on its own it’s not quite so impressive as ember or iron, but combined with other magics, breath can be … remarkable.’
At this point I’d settle for mediocre.
‘Go on,’ Master Osia’phest said. ‘Show me the first evocational form for breath. Unless of course you’ve forgotten the fundamentals?’
‘I haven’t forgotten anything,’ I said. I could recite by heart the intonations and cantillations for all the breath spells. I’d mastered the somatic shapes, the envisionings, the anchorings. All of it. Just like I had for sand and ember and iron and all the others. There wasn’t a single initiate in my clan who knew the forms as well as I did, not even Shalla. It just didn’t make any difference.
‘The first evocational form,’ Osia’phest prodded me.
I forced myself into a moment of calm, softened my gaze and envisioned the movement of air. That’s always the hard part with breath spells: holding something that can’t be seen in your thoughts. I reached out with my hands, extending my index and middle fingers to form the somatic shape of direction, pressing the tips of my ring and little fingers into my palms, the sign of restraint and control. My thumbs pointed straight up, the sign of Please, ancestors, let me cast this one stupid spell.
I set my will upon the air and spoke the single-word incantation. ‘Carath.’
A tiny sliver of wind passed through the space between my hands, following the line of my index and middle fingers. It was barely enough to trace a thin line in the sand at my feet no more than six inches long.
‘Well …’ Osia’phest said. ‘It’s not … so bad. Your abilities are not as promising as they used to be, but they are not entirely gone either.’
To understand just how pathetic that statement was, you’d only have to remember that this close to a Jan’Tep oasis you could take a deaf, dumb and blind Daroman sheep herder, show him the spell and he’d probably summon up a more vigorous gust of wind than I just had.
Osia’phest patted me on the leg before rising from the bench. ‘As it turns out, you aren’t the only student feeling unwell today.’
It was only then that I noticed Tennat some forty yards away across the oasis, sitting on a bench just as I was, hunched over and looking, from this distance, utterly miserable. He had none of the cuts and bruises he deserved though, no doubt because his father had healed them. Ra’meth, in what can only be an injustice on a cosmic scale, was an even better healer than my mother.
‘Initiate Tennat found himself unable to perform the preparation spells this morning,’ Osia’phest went on. ‘In fact, his situation appears to be worse than yours. I had him attempt the same spell I requested of you, and he couldn’t summon any of the breath magic whatsoever.’
Well, maybe there’s some justice in the world after all.
‘Four other initiates are similarly afflicted. The sudden onset of this condition among so many is … improbable.’
A thought came to me, and a sudden hope came on its heels. ‘What if we’re all suffering some kind of temporary illness? Maybe I’m not—’
‘Your magic has faded gradually, over weeks and months. This is a natural occurrence for those called to the life of the Sha’Tep. What is happening to the others is not natural.’
Considering how casually Osia’phest spoke of my becoming Sha’Tep, I couldn’t imagine anything I cared about less than Tennat’s suffering, but I still found myself asking, ‘What do you think is weakening them?’
‘There are poisons known to cause such symptoms … though the formulations are complex and known to only a few. However, it’s not impossible that a particularly clever and determined person might uncover them, given time and motivation.’ There was something in the old spellmaster’s eyes as he gazed at me … Was it concern? No. Suspicion. It was as if he was waiting for me to confess something. ‘Your house has feuded with that of Tennat in the past, has it not? One cannot help but note that most of those afflicted come from families who support the House of Ra, or who might make their own claim the title of clan prince.’
‘You can’t possibly think that I—’
Osia’phest put up his hands. ‘I make no such accusation. I know you to be a good lad, though reckless and, forgive me, somewhat callow at times. But what I have noted, so too will others. They may seek justice even in the absence of proof.’ He took in a deep breath and seemed to hold it for a while. ‘A people bound together by magic, and yet so often we seek to unleash the worst of that magic upon each other.’
I was trying to imagine any way in which this day could get any worse. Without success. I stood up and grabbed his arm. ‘Master Osia’phest, I didn’t do anything to anyone. I’m not responsible.’
He gently took my hand away. ‘Kellen, I’m afraid there is a great deal of difference between not doing something and not being responsible for it.’
I spent the next few hours watching and listening as Master Osia’phest ran the other initiates through recitations of incantations, hierarchies of mystical strictures and endless meditations during which, I was quite confident, Osia’phest took a few naps.
After a while I found it impossible to keep my own eyes open during the endless droning and repetition. Each time I opened them, I instinctively looked over at Tennat across the way, expecting to see him charging at me, his hands blazing with magic. But he never moved. Sometimes he would glance back at me, but he never said anything. That suited me just fine.
What had happened to dampen his magic? And what about the others? I knew I hadn’t caused their sickness. There was one explanation that didn’t require anything nefarious: fear. Magic requires perfect concentration and indomitable will. Emotional trauma made those almost impossible, and Tennat had done quite a bit of sobbing last night.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ Panahsi said, rousing me from a brief doze.
‘I didn’t see you coming.’ I shuffled over on the bench to make room for him but he didn’t sit down. He had his arms crossed in front of him and I noticed right away that something had changed with him. ‘You sparked your ember band … That’s great,’ I said, struggling to inject sincerity into my voice.
He nodded with grim satisfaction. ‘Did it this morning.’
‘How did you do it? Maybe you could help me later. I have some ideas about how I might be able to—’
Panahsi cut me off with a sneer, which was an unusual expression for him and looked just comical enough that for a second I thought he might be joking, until he said, ‘You know what, Kellen? I’ve figured out why you don’t have any magic.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Because you don’t deserve any.’
He took a step closer to me, his wide frame blocking out the sun. ‘Magic is the gift of the Jan’Tep. Not the Daroman. Not the Berabesq. Not whatever you are.’
I stood up, rather too quickly, and all my various cuts and bruises from the night before came screaming back at me, making me dizzy. ‘I’m just as much a Jan’Tep as you are,’ I said, and tried to push him away. It was stupid for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that Panahsi had been, up until that day, my best friend. He was also very heavy. My shove didn’t move him an inch. His sent me reeling back over the bench.
‘You sided with that Daroman woman over your own people, Kellen.’
I looked up from the ground, past Panahsi, to where the other initiates were doing a poor job of pretending to be oblivious to what was happening while sneaking quick glances towards us. Tennat, sitting on the bench on the other side of the oasis, wasn’t pretending at all. It was the first time I’d seem him smile all day.
I got to my feet. With the bench between Panahsi and myself I decided to try a different tactic. ‘They were going to hurt that woman, Panahsi. Is that what magic is for? To lord it over and torment people who don’t have any?’ Oh gods, please let that not be the case or I’m completely screwed for life.
‘Ra’fan says she’s a spy.’
‘Ra’fan is an idiot. So’s his father and so’s Tennat, who nearly crippled you last week in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Tennat beat me because he’s strong, just like the rest of his family. He’s going to be a mage who fights for our people. Just like I need to be.’
That made me snort. ‘Panahsi, you’ve got more potential than Tennat’s whole family. You’re going to be three times stronger than—’
‘Not if I keep hanging around with you I won’t,’ he said, his palms open by his sides.
My people learn not to clench our fists when we get angry. It makes it harder to form the somatic shapes needed for attack spells.
‘Are you going to beat me up, Panahsi?’ I asked.
He hesitated. ‘I could, you know. Even without magic. I’m stronger than you, Kellen.’
‘I never said you weren’t.’
For a moment he just stood there as if he was about to say something else, or was waiting for me to say something, but neither of us did and so he just turned and walked away from me, back to the other initiates. I couldn’t hear what he said to them, but I doubted he was singing my praises, because a few of them laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
It should have been obvious to me what was going on, but I’m a little thick sometimes. It was Tennat who illuminated things for me when he came over shortly after Panahsi left.
‘I told them you’d come today,’ Tennat said, coughing through the words.
‘You don’t look so good, Tennat. Maybe you ought to—’
He ignored me. ‘So arrogant. So full of yourself. We’ve all known for years that you’re going to end up with the Sha’Tep, cleaning the floors of proper mages or, better yet, working in the mines where you belong. Kellen the magic-less trickster thinks he can lie his way through life, and worse, you act as if you’re better than everyone else.’
‘Not everyone else.’
‘So clever, aren’t you, Kellen?’ He gave a fake little laugh followed by a more genuine-sounding cough.
‘You should probably get some rest, Tennat. Sounds like you’ve got a nasty cold.’
‘I’ll get better,’ he said, mastering himself. ‘I’ll get well again because my blood is strong. Whatever sickness you’re carrying inside you that’s infecting our people, it won’t get a hold on me.’
There was a thought I hadn’t considered. What if I carried some kind of illness? I’d spent most of my life with one cold after another. But then, why would it affect the others faster than it had me?
Tennat was grinning down at me as if he’d won some grand debating point. Such an idiot.
‘Guess you’d better run on home, Tennat. Wouldn’t want you to catch a double dose of my deadly magical disease.’
He actually looked scared for a second, which told me that whatever this was, he wasn’t faking. ‘No,’ he said, turning and starting back towards his bench across the way. ‘I think I’ll stay and watch.’
It took me a while to figure out what was happening and recognise that by coming to the oasis today I’d managed to toss myself headlong into a trap. See, my people have a ritual for exiling a criminal. It requires that the outcast’s family and friends, colleagues and teachers, all tell him or her that they are no longer welcome among the clan. It can take hours or even days for the ritual to be completed. Only once every person that the outcast knows has rejected them will the council finally exile the criminal forever. Without family, without a clan, it’s rare that anyone ever tries to appeal.
The scene with Panahsi repeated itself over and over again for the rest of the afternoon. Every hour, when Master Osia’phest gave the initiates a few minutes to rest, someone would come over to me and make some snide remark to make it clear to me, and to everyone else, that we weren’t friends any more.
Every time they did, my father’s words came back to me.
The Jan’Tep do not hold grudges.
Sure.
I wanted more than anything to get up off the bench and run back home, lock myself in my room and do my best to forget the first fifteen years of my life. It wasn’t that the things people said to me were cruel – I mean, they were cruel, obviously – but rather the things they didn’t bother to say which stung. I was the outsider. I was the other. I wasn’t Jan’Tep or Sha’Tep or anything else.
I kept glancing over at Panahsi, hoping that he would stop the next person from coming or even just look back at me. He didn’t. I was like some kind of unwelcome insect that had burrowed its way into the garden. It wasn’t that he or the rest of them wanted to see me dead. They just didn’t want to see me at all.
I guess that was why I couldn’t leave. As much as every part of me was screaming to get up and run, as small and alone as I felt, somewhere inside me was a tiny shard of anger that wouldn’t let me go. I swore to myself I’d still show up every day at that oasis to sit through those lessons, to make everyone see me. Every day until my naming day, when I’d be forced to join the Sha’Tep forever.
I’d just about convinced myself I was doing something noble by staying when Nephenia walked over to me.