Chapter 3

The next morning was shocking in its differences, as much as in the weather, which had turned cool. "Get up," said Phillip as he banged back the doors of the wardrobe.

Siska, before thinking, slid out from beneath the warm coverlet and stood, blinking at him.

He turned and regarded her slender, nude form, and she saw a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "As fine as you look, girl, we start your training this day, and I'll not be swayed by a well turned leg," he growled, tossing her powder blue robe to her. The soft silk felt like steel the way he threw it, the coolness in his voice.

"Why are you being so mean of a sudden?" she asked.

Phillip sighed, then glowered. "We will be toying with the very fabric of reality this morning," he said. "I told you that you were powerful. This is both good and bad. You will be able to channel vast amounts of energy, true, but you also have no control whatsoever, and you're starting later than most to learn that control."

"And you're being mean why?" she asked, pulling on the robe and nearly crying.

"Because, I cannot have you messing up, even once, until you have some of that control," he said. "You must do what I say, when I say do it, without fail or fear."

"I will, Phillip, I've been obeying people my whole life without question," she said. "You don't have to treat me badly for me to follow instructions."

Phillip had not thought of that, and blinked. "I suppose you have, Siska," he said quieting his tone and some of the hardness draining from his eyes. She thought she could see a thin film of fear leave him as well. "Training a novice is dangerous, at best," he said. "They often do harm to themselves. Most are only powerful enough to mark themselves, as I am marked. You, however, are powerful enough to kill yourself outright, or possibly me. Believe me when I say I take not pleasure being stern with you."

"I do," she said, understanding his need for complete obedience and trust better, as well. She giggled a little. "You free me only to chain me again," she observed.

"It does seem it, doesn't it?" he asked. "But I promise, these chains will make you stronger."

He escorted her down the stairs and out into the back courtyard of the house. There was a bare stone circle there, sitting higher than the thick grasses. The cold breeze made her skin goosebump through the thin silk of her robe.

"Remember when I lifted you the first night?" he asked. Siska gave him a stare. "As if I could forget being hoisted by magic and having my clothes torn from me," she said blandly.

"Good," he observed. "Now, I want you to contact that part of yourself that tore my magic from you."

"I don't kno..." she started to say.

"And that is exactly what the hell I meant!" he jumped, raising his voice to nearly a yell. "Just do as I say, try at the least!"

Siska flinched back. One day as a freewoman, and I question the simplest of commands, she thought, perhaps he should have kept me a slave.

She walked onto the stone circle and closed her eyes. She had felt the power well up from inside herself, the one that had ripped the strands of ghostly white magical force that had held her. Could she summon that power again, without something to impel her to do so?

Phillip watched impassively, not saying anything.

Nothing happened.

For almost half an hour she focused her mind and Phillip sat back, finding a stone bench and reclined against a tree and continued watching her.

"I cannot," she said, opening her eyes and staring at the harsh light of the day, from a sun with no warmth to share.

"Keep trying," he said. "We can do this all day and into the night if needs be."

"You could help me," she said.

"No, it won't work that way, not again," he said. "You feared me then, you know now I won't hurt you, not like that." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you think being colder than you are now would help?"

"No, mentor," she said through clenched teeth. He had told her she could choose to not call him by his formal title to her, but it seemed appropriate in this situation.

Clouds had rolled in and the seemingly heatless sun blotted out. It seems that it was giving some feeble warmth, and now that offering was removed. Siska started to shiver.

Siska wondered if this could be any more pointless then it started to rain. "Mentor, I cannot do this thing," she said, her voice rising into a whine. "Please, let's stop and go inside. Her blue robe was plastered to her body now, and all but transparent, as was Phillip's.

He shook his head, though. "No," he said. "You will channel the energy before we leave this place, or you'll pass out on that rock from exhaustion." He waved his hand at the stone. "Try again, remember the power you felt."

Crying she looked into herself. "Why?" she cried out. "Why can you not help me? Make me angry, do something!"

"How can I do this without you telling me what I am doing?" begged Siska. Her eyes were puffy, though the rain washed any shed tears away. The saddening sight of her brought a lump to Phillip's throat.

"You must learn to find the power yourself," he said, his voice softening only a little. "It is within you, the conduit, the gate, whatever you wish to call it. You've touched it before, whether you knew it or not, and you must find it now consciously and calmly."

She tried to look inside herself, and examine that which she sensed. My skin I can sense through the cold and the wet, and I can mark that known. My eyes see, they see Phillip, worried, and they see the dull gray sky, and it is marked. My nose smells the wet, and the smell of smokes in the air from fireplaces, and, faintly, the stink of sewers overfull, and I mark that. My ears hear the rainfall, distant thunder, and Phillip's voice, calling to me, and I know that marked. I can taste my own dry mouth, the bitter taste of failure, and I mark that known. What is left?

She could feel something else, something she had not seen for the other senses masking it. Now that they were known and discounted, marked to be known and not important, she saw the remaining thing, or felt it, or tasted it. The way she could sense it was not any of these things, it was more like, smelling light, or seeing a feather's touch. If it were seen, it was a coruscating light, flashing through the spectrum of colors before her.

Siska had seen a prism, the mistress had owned a large one that stood in the garden. It had, when the sun shone through it, shattered the light into colorful bands that the younger children played in. This light had that quality, but was all colors at once, as well. Not that it was truly colors either, so much as flickering tastes, or touches, or sounds.

"I can see it," she murmured and Phillip raised his head hopefully. "It flickers and flashes."

"Yes, YES!" called Phillip, "touch it, take some of it."

"It's tiny," she said. "I don't think I can just take some."

"You can," promised the wizard. "Even you cannot take it all, take some."

She felt her hands moving out to touch the thing. It felt spicy and sounded bright to her hands. This was the best she could think of it, but she took some of it.

Phillip beamed as he saw the power suffuse her body. Suddenly, she was no longer getting wetter. Steam was rising from her robes and hair, and her skin was already dry. Siska felt some of the cold leaving her, and wished it to leave her completely.

She heard a sizzling sound and looked down to see the raindrops barely touching her skin before flashing into steam around her, then it did not even touch her. She looked worriedly to Phillip, who now wore a wide smile. "You've found it," he said. "One's blessing, you know where the source is."

A giggle escaped her as she held out her hands and the rain hissed and steamed about her. She could feel it inside her, and it felt like, well, awakening.

She widened her eyes as Phillip took on the power, too, and she saw a halo envelop him and the rain flashing to steam, as she was now. His robes were dry in seconds. "I wondered if you would wait until we both had pneumonia before finding it," he said.

Again, Siska giggled and looked up. She could see the raindrops coming for her but they could not touch her and it was funny, most things were funny.

"You're giddy with it, aren't you," said Phillip, still smiling. "It can be that way. Just remember, the power can turn on you."

Siska nodded, and thought a moment. "Why is it not burning me?" she asked. "My skin is warm enough to make rainfall into steam, but I don't feel warm?"

Phillip shrugged. "It's magic," he said, grinning. "Who knows. Oh, there are theorems and there are studies, formulas and rotes. However, none of this is carven in stone and you will find that the rituals and the incantations are there for you. The power is what you are toying with, always, weaving it, stroking it, changing it. Ultimately, it is just you and the power, your will and the very energy that drives the world."

"That sounds scary," said Siska. Her voice was distant, as if distracted, which, in truth, she was, a large portion of her mind was dedicated to maintaining that contact with the power.

"But spells..." he had spoken of them yesterday. How certain spells create given, predictable results.

"Rituals to channel your mind, nothing else," he said. "All wizards use them, for ease, and for reliability. But they are not what you truly do. You are lettered. When you read, do you actually look and study each character as you do so?"

"No, I read each word," she said. "Sometimes maybe even several at a time, if they are small."

"Exactly," he said. "The power is like that, only a thousandfold more complex. Most spells are like reading words one letter at a time."

"But I cast no spell, said no incantation to do this," she held up her hands and looked at them, watching the rain not hitting her.

"Think of this as the word 'a'," said Phillip. "A short, simple word, but a word nonetheless, rather than a character."

"Do you know whole words?" asked Siska. "Bigger words?"

"I know some, though none terribly big," he replied. "Mostly, I have to spell words out, the same as most wizards."

Siska looked a bit crestfallen. "I'm sorry that it took me so long," she said.

Phillip laughed uproariously, ending up with his hands on his knees and bent double. "Took so long?" he said, grinning still once he had controlled the laugh. "I passed out on my feet three times before managing only to find a trickle of the power, much less say a short word. We've only been at this three hours, and you've done more than I did in four days."

Siska blinked in astonishment, so much so that the flow slipped from her and she felt her robes growing wet again. "But you..."

"I wanted to get you to do what you could," he said. "And I knew you could do this thing, Siska. Come, let's get out of this rain and get something to eat. You've done exceedingly well."

She pulled off the soaked robes as soon as they entered the house and Phillip provided a blanket for her. "You really should learn a bit of modesty," he said. "You've a lovely body, and should make men pay a dear price to see it, whether by coin or effort."

She was busy trying to scrub the wet from tangled hair, but looked at him. "You paid a high price, by either account," she said and gave him a smile that caused his jaded heart to skip.

"I'll be damned if knowing you can touch the power doesn't make you lovelier still," he said in a sigh.

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and flipped part over her head to form a hood. "Wait until I know some spells, then the men of the world need to fear for their very hearts and souls," she said, in what she hoped was a menacing voice.

Phillip smiled, but it was weak. "That they might should do," he said. "You would be a danger to any man's heart, with the power or without.

Siska blinked at him. "I only spoke in jest," she said, her expression turning worried.

The tall wizard nodded. "I know it, Siska," he said. "I have grown too attracted to you, I fear, and need to keep my mind about me while teaching you enough to not char yourself to a cinder."

She pulled the blanket tighter, ensuring no part of her showed below her clutching hands. "I'm sorry, I'll try to be more careful," she said. "I made light of you seeing me unclad, as it was not the first time."

He gave her another smile, this one with a bit more life behind it. "I could see you unclad a thousand times, I fear, and still find it a fresh sight," he said. "You lived in a very protected place, Siska. You would surely have made that brothel madam wealthy in mere months."

Siska began to wonder if she truly were that lovely. What of it if she were? Beauty would only carry her so far, would it not? Power, like that Phillip offered to teach her, would bear her anywhere she cared to go.

"I only seek to learn, mentor," she said. "I'll not ply you with my body to win favor." It sounded properly respectable, yet humble.

Held up her robes, dry again, from a simple wave of his hand. "Here, go start lunch, and then cleaning the kitchen, as your first apprentice's duty."

She took the robe and shuffled out of the dining room, past the mounds of books and scrolls and up to her room to change.

The task he had set for her, of cleaning the kitchen, was no light one. There had been a bachelor living in this house for, as it seemed, years. She found three full sets of cooking gear, pots, pans, a massive cauldron, and numerous smaller cooking dishes for the oven. Some of these she had little idea of how to use, but would learn them, if needs be. She often had worked in the kitchens in the madams house. The madam was fabulously wealthy, but still did not have so many slaves that each only had one chore.

She managed to prepare them a lunch of cheese, bread, and wine-braised fish, by the simple expedient of frying some fish in wine. That he had fish, still fresh and wholesome, in that rat's warren of a kitchen, had amazed her.

She looked at the box in which she had found the fish. It was smooth-sided, built well, for a simple crate. Inside was also a bottle of milk, stoutly stoppered with a waxen seal, and several oranges from Niliwan, in a small burlap sack. The box, itself, was two feet on a side, and almost a cube.

Phillip had been passing through, whistling and carrying a thick tome. "Phillip?" she had asked. "Why is this food in this box?"

"It's a preserver box," he had said, simply. In the face of her blank look, he said. "It keeps food fresh that's stored within - it's a magical thing."

She looked at the box. "You have such talent?" she asked, impressed.

"Well - not me, really. Though I could, if I liked and wished to take the time," he said. "Those are made in Ghant, in Vilders, I believe, by a circle of magi that do that, and only that."

"They do nothing else?" she asked, incredulous.

"Well, I'm sure each has their own pursuits, but they meet almost daily to make a dozen or so of those boxes, which they then sell to merchants who bring them around Feldare to sell to others and to carry delicate goods," said Phillip. His voice had changed a bit, and Siska realized he sounded like old Marril, the head slave of the household, when he wished to lecture the children on something of importance. She covered her mouth to stifle a grin.

"I see," she said, looking at the box with less than pleased eyes. She was not sure she trusted her food to be exposed to magic. Then she caught herself. She would soon be a wizard, herself, and magic was not going to be her enemy, was it?"

After they ate their lunch, she launched into the kitchen again. Phillip was impressed with her progress and how hard she seemed to work. Several times, he interrupted her, pulling her back, almost physically, for her to take a short break, and sit. Even then, she fussed with things on the table and within reach of the chair he had planted her in.

"It is traditional," he explained, "for apprentices to try to not do their chores, while the mentor stalks around attempting to catch them slacking on them."

Siska stared at him, but said, "I don't understand. Is it like a ritual?"

"I know," he replied and smiled generously. "I can see you have much to learn. But, yes, it is almost as traditional as a ritual."

"Then I will try, though you may have to remind me," she replied. Her face was earnest, but he thought he detected a glint of mischievousness in her eyes.

By dark, she had the kitchen looking as well-ordered as a captain's quarters on a ship. When Phillip had come in and dirtied a mug, she brandished a massive wooden spoon he had not known he owned and warned him to place it in the proper place for dirty dishes.

The smells that had mingled in the kitchen, some of which he had not even been positive as to their origins, were gone, replaced by the scent of spices and of something in the oven, which smelled good, a roast.

"You found a roast?" he asked.

"A lad came to the door peddling meats," she said. "I told him you would pay at the end of the week." She looked at him levelly. "I did rightly?"

"You did fine," he said, opening the oven door, despite her glare, and sniffing at it. "That was Keth, and I would have thought he had given up by now."

"Why is that?" she asked.

He smiled. "He had to chase me for a month to pay him once," he said. "He chased me about the market yelling 'two marks' for over an hour when he caught sight of me on the street."

Siska gave him a measured nod. "Then I need the moneys now, so I can pay him promptly, as you forget such things," she said. "Surely, you are simply distracted by great ponderings."

"Yes, that's it," he said, grinning and closing the oven door. "Ponderings." Still, he fished out a handful of coin and handed it to her. She looked at it, twelve silver marks, almost a score of pennies, and two gold marks. She blinked and jerked her head back in surprise.

"You're certain?" she asked, holding up one of the golden coins.

"Yes," he said, folding her fingers over the coins. "You will manage the kitchen, and come to me when you need more."

Siska nodded. She had held responsibility, of sorts, before, but never moneys. She understood, from the older slaves, some of whom did the shopping for the household, how it worked, and its worth, in general terms. A penny could buy a dozen eggs, a mark of silver would purchase a baby goat, and a gold mark was almost enough for a riding horse.

Her mother had sold for only a hundred silver marks, five horses. Bile rose in her throat at the thought that she held enough moneys in her hand to half purchase her own mother.

"Mentor," she said, thinking something which could not be asked of Phillip, "what do you think of slavery?"

"I feel it is an abomination before the One," said Phillip, his face twisting into a scowl. "I would not allow it, were it my choice, and I will never own another human."

Deep inside, she smiled, though her face remained placid. "Thank you," she murmured and turned to stir the pot of boiling potatoes while sprinkling in some herbs between thumb and forefinger.

Phillip sniffed the air of the kitchen appreciatively, looking something like a hound trying to find a scent. "I've been meaning to ask, aren't you tired?" he asked.

Siska raised an eyebrow at him. "Why?" she asked.

"After I first channeled the power, I slept for two days," he said.

The slender woman in the apron, worn over her robes, looked at him. "I'm not tired," she said. "If anything, I am rather - well - rather agitated."

The wizard thought about that and murmured an incantation under his breath, he did not think she saw him do it. If she did, she did not let on.

He saw a faint aura around her, very faint. He peered closer, enough so that Siska could not help but note his intrusion into her personal space. "Is something wrong, mentor?" she asked.

Phillip pulled back, more quickly, rather startled, than he had intended. "Um, no, nothing, sorry." He watched the shimmer from arm's length now, even as she stirred the pot of potatoes. Potato stew, he saw now. She was still channeling the power. He knew some wizards could do that, channel a tiny flow to power themselves, like a water wheel steadily powers a grist mill. He had never seen it done, and had not even heard of it being done unconsciously. "You're still channeling, you know that?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning to him as if he had said something trivial. "Oh, yes," she added, smiling. "Aren't I supposed to be?"

He looked at her. "I don't know about supposed to be, but you shouldn't be able to," he said. "Not like that, like you're doing nothing."

"I am doing something," she said. "I'm making potato soup and a very nice marinated roast."

Phillip laughed. "That's not what I meant," he said. "You're not even thinking about keeping that flow up, are you?"

"Oh, that, well, no," she looked embarrassed. "I rather got tired of fiddling with it, so I just set a portion of myself to doing it for me."

He gaped at her. "How, exactly?" he asked.

"One can hum a lullaby while knitting or darning a sock. Your hands know what to do, and your lips know their role," she said, as if explaining walking to someone who was walking alongside her.

"Do you have any idea how difficult that should be?" he asked.

Siska put down the wooden spoon, reached for a pair of thick, insulated oven mitts and turned to him. "Not nearly so difficult as talking to a man while trying to cook," she said.

Phillip let it drop, allowing her to tend to the cooking. As amazed as he was by her ability to channel and tap that channeled energy without thought, he was even more impressed by the smell coming from the roast. It sat in a tray of some thick gravy, and it seemed dried apples floated amid the gravy. He licked his lips and took her advice, leaving her to the cooking.

While they ate, he saw her fading a bit, and her head actually nodded once, as if falling asleep. "Are you okay?"

"I am tired, suddenly," she said. "I stopped touching the power, as you said it might be dangerous."

He nodded. "That would be all that channeling catching up to you, then," he replied. "You should probably go to bed after you eat."

Siska gave him a glum nod in return. As soon as she finished, and sat her dishes in the washbasin, she made her way up the stairs. Her very bones were tired, and she had to force herself the last half of the climb. She had not avoided paying the price in exhaustion from touching the power for the first time, simply put it off, and now the price would be higher, or so thought Phillip.

Two hours later, he crept into the room and watched her sleep for a few moments. He reached out with his own powers and examined her, but saw no touch of channeling in her. Normally, he would not have looked, but Siska was not simply any apprentice, and it behooved him to keep an eye on her.

Siska awoke, but something was not right about the room around her. It should be dark, she felt, but was only somewhat. Everything had colors, not the stark black and gray of a moonlit room, but faded colors, like they were being seen through something, a smoky window or such.

Music floated up from downstairs, soft and low, a waltz. She slipped from the bed and walked toward her wardrobe, until she realized she was clad already in a fine gown of powder blue. It was tight at the waist, but loose and pleated below, with inset panels of purest white. She should not be able to see the difference between white and powder blue in the moonlight, she thought, but there were candles burning on her dresser and one on her night stand.

A dream? she wondered and smiled. It had been a long while since she remembered one this vivid, though she remembered few of them, at all. Siska wished to find the source of that music. She moved to the door, opening it and peering downstairs.

Phillip owned no dulcimer, she knew that, and the music was such, the mistress had owned one, and several of the servants knew how to play it. Between her collection of instruments, and the various slaves who played one or another, they could gather a respectable quartet for their festive events. The mistress had been kind, and often let the slaves gather for birthdays and such. She even attended when the slave in question was one she knew well.

Siska thought about that. She remembered the mistress with fondness, but she had owned slaves, had she not? This soured her memory of her a bit, but she still thought her the kindest of possible owners, if one must have an owner.

She half expected to find a group of people milling about the living room and she had a momentary pang of shame, thinking they found the house she planned to care for in such a filthy state. However, the house appeared to have been cleaned and she found no people there. Only herself, and one other.

He was a handsome man, tall with hugely broad shoulders. She could tell, even though he wore a tunic, that he was well-muscled beneath. Very well muscled. He stood almost a head taller than she, and she was no slight woman.

As she stared at him, he turned to look at her with light blue eyes, mirth danced in those eyes though he only smiled slightly. He had long pale gold hair that fell to his shoulders in waves. It was pretty hair, almost too pretty, and his face was almost too handsome. It frightened her a bit, how handsome he seemed. Surely no man should be so blessed in body and face.

"Siska," he said in a soft, deep voice. The dulcimer, unseen, played on, quietly, though it was now in the background of her mind, just backdrop for this man's voice, as the walls had become a backdrop for his image. "I am happy that I could speak to you, so soon after your awakening," he said.

The incongruity of his saying something about her awakening during a dream made her smile, but she watched him a moment. He seemed to have no jewelry on, despite the fine cut of his clothes, and the cotton linen, which marked him as well-moneyed. However, there was a ring on his finger, of blackest jet. Her eyes fastened on the ring, it shimmered.

It did not glitter like a faceted gem, or like gold with etching, it shimmered, like water on a lake reflecting the sun. He saw the direction of her gaze. "You like my ring?" he asked, still smiling. "I can get you one, though they are dear."

"Why?" she asked, suddenly finding her voice. "Why would you give me such a gift, and who are you?"

"My name is Tarviel," he replied. "I would give a gift to a beautiful woman, just for her beauty, alone. But no, in your case it is not, and I won't lie about that, I would give it as an offering of friendship to you, who would be a Power."

She could hear the title in the word 'power', rather than the simple word. "A Power?" she asked.

"One who would become a mover of the world, a force to be reckoned with - you," he explained.

"I am not such, I am just a girl trying to learn some of the art," she said.

"Phillip tells you half the truth," he said. "He did say you would be powerful, but he did not say just how powerful."

"He did, he said one of the most powerful," said Siska, defensive of her mentor already.

"Yes," replied Tarviel, giving her a smile that quickened her heart. "He did say that much, at the least, but did he say the most powerful in, perhaps, a thousand years?"

She blinked at him. "I'm just an apprentice right now," she said.

"You could be more, very, very soon," he replied. "You will be years learning the arts here, with this man, who will keep you in his service for as long as he can."

A note of cynicism crept into Siska's voice. "And you would give me an easier path?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied simply, raising an eyebrow. "I would give you a path to power that is much the shorter, and leads to more freedom, besides."

"More freedom, how?" she asked.

"Oh, Phillip is a fine mage, make no mistake of it, I have seen his works," said Tarviel. "But he operates under - strictures - that give him weaknesses, that you need not share."

"Nothing is free, even I know that," she said. "What is the price? Will I serve under you instead?"

He saw the distrust in her eyes and smiled to banish it. "No," he said with an edge of vehemence in his voice. "You will serve none but the One, once elevated."

"Elevated?" asked Siska, raising an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"The one needs those of power, in his service, to rid the world of the taint of evil," said the man, suddenly showing passion in his eyes. "You yourself know of that evil, having been a slave."

She grimaced. despite only two days out of yoke, she rather did not like being reminded by others she had been chattel for sale so recently. "I know it," she said.

"Let me teach you something, I can do so, even now, and I will ask nothing in return, not even promises," he said.

She sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in the common. A fire was blazing in the hearth, warming the room nicely, though she had not noticed it before.