Renegade's Magic

It was hard to pin down what I was anymore. I could not even decide whether to think of myself as “I” or “he.”



My other self was a frightening mystery to me. I didn’t know what he had already done in obedience to the magic or what he was capable of doing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, I abruptly realized. He had been capable of turning the Speck plague loose on the Gernian capital city. He’d deliberately infected my fellow cadets of the King’s Cavalla Academy, successfully wiping out half of a future generation of officers. If he could do that, what would he not do? Was this ruthless creature truly a part of myself, an aspect of Nevare Burvelle that Tree Woman had peeled away and infected with the magic? If he had stayed a part of me, would I have been capable of such deadly, traitorous acts? Or would the self that I was now have ameliorated him, balanced his warlike nature with more ethics and philosophy? Was he a better soldier than I was in that he was burdened only with loyalty to “his” people and cause?



Was he the sort of soldier my father had wished me to be?



Such thoughts were not cheering, especially confined as I was to the sleeping body of my enemy. For a short time, I tried to pretend that I had options. I’d stopped him from killing Epiny, hadn’t I? That meant I had some control over him. And I’d been successful in making him hear my thoughts. Did that mean I could influence him? Or, as Epiny had believed, eventually master him again?



I tried to feel my body as I had once felt it, to be aware of tickling leaves against my skin, of Olikea’s hair tangled across my face, of the ball of warmth that was Likari curled against my back. I could sense those things, but when I tried to move a hand or lift my foot, nothing happened. My only achievement in that long afternoon of their nap was to focus my attention on Olikea’s hair on my face. It tickled. It itched. I wanted to move my face away from it. It annoyed me. I nattered and nagged at the sleeping Soldier’s Boy with such thoughts until, with a grunt and a sigh, he lifted a hand to brush her hair away from his face. I had done it!



Or had he, of his own will, simply moved an annoyance away? I had no way of knowing.



As night descended, they stirred, first the boy, and then Soldier’s Boy and Olikea. They had little to do to prepare to travel. Olikea and Likari had left the migrating People in a hurry, rushing to rescue me. She had her hip belt of tools and pouches. The boy filled his water skin for us. We had my winter blanket from my hut. Olikea had saved some cooked fish and water-grass roots in a carry-net. Soldier’s Boy yawned, stretched, and rubbed his face, scratching irritably at his unshaven cheeks. Then he told them, “It’s time to go. Come with me.”



He took the boy’s hand, but seemed to judge that Olikea could follow on her own. I wondered how he determined who would quick-walk with him. How did he extend the magic to include them? How did he do the magic at all? I sensed nothing, only his desire to travel swiftly now. Perhaps that was all it took. For a time, they walked in what seemed a very ordinary fashion, threading their way quietly through the dusky forest. They came to a faint path through the trees, and Soldier’s Boy grunted and nodded as if pleased at finding something.



After that, we traveled swiftly. His pace didn’t quicken. It seemed to me that he walked as he had before, and the sensations I experienced with him were little different from any walk I’d ever taken. Occasionally I felt a dizzying lurch, or stumbled as if the path had suddenly risen under my feet. That was disconcerting. The trees and brush did not rush past us, yet it took only three steps to climb a steep hill, half a dozen to follow a long ridge, and then in a few strides we dipped down into a valley, crossed a river, and climbed the opposite side. After that, our path led us ever upward. Despite the deepening night, we walked in a brief gray twilight that extended only a few steps ahead of us.



We climbed the flank of a mountain, traversing the steep side, followed a pass, and then crossed yet another mountainside. And always we went higher.



As we climbed, the night grew colder around us. The others hugged themselves and their breath showed white in the moonlight. We were above the tree line now. The ground was hard and cold underfoot. I winced for my unshod feet tramping along such harsh terrain but Soldier’s Boy appeared not to notice.



We came to the mouth of a pass. To either side of us, towering mountains gave us no other option. There was a campsite at the mouth of the pass, an area where many small fires had burned. There was plenty of evidence that a large group or several large groups of people had passed through the area recently. “Are we stopping here until tomorrow?” Olikea asked.