“I’d have to say ‘well’ if restricted to one word,” Gavin said. “How are the new students doing?”
Valera smiled again. “They seem to be settling in quite well. A few told me they’d received an incident or two of hazing during the first week or so, but that stopped for some reason…quite suddenly in fact.”
“I might as well get some use out of this medallion,” Gavin said, shrugging. “I must admit, ma’am, I never expected to see the Magister of Divination working in a flower bed.”
Valera laughed outright as she shifted into a sitting position and gestured toward a spot of path free of planting soil and fertilizer. Gavin accepted the invitation to sit as Valera said, “When I was a little girl, I always helped my mother with our flower beds. She died when I was barely a woman, but I guess working with flowers will always be special to me. I doubt you stopped by to chat, though. What’s on your mind?”
“Honestly, I just saw you over here and felt like saying hello, but now that you mention it, I have been wrestling with something.”
Valera gave Gavin an encouraging smile. “Well, as long as it’s not forgotten secrets of the Art, I might be able to offer a different viewpoint if you feel up to discussing it.”
“Marcus told me something that I’m having trouble reconciling.”
“I see. Why don’t you help an old woman with a rock and tell me what’s on your mind?”
Gavin stood and removed his initiate’s robe, revealing a plain, short-sleeved tunic and pants beneath; they were a light tan, the color of loose dirt long desiccated by the sun, and brought the strange word khaki to Gavin’s mind. He carefully folded the robe and placed it on a nearby planter before kneeling beside Valera.
“The problem stone,” Valera said, as she gestured toward the soil in front of her, “is that big rock there. I’ve tried digging around it, and I can see it’s way too big for my old bones to move.”
Gavin looked at what he could see of the rock. Its edges were at most as thick as the length of Gavin’s index finger from the tip to the first knuckle, but clearing away some of the dirt beneath it, he saw that the rock thickened at a very steep angle. He took hold as best he could and tried to lift the exposed portion; the rock didn’t budge, and neither did any of the dirt on top.
“So, what did Marcus say that has you in such turmoil?” Valera asked while Gavin considered the rock.
Gavin pursed his lips and looked away. “How long have you known he was Kirloth…as in the Kirloth that built this city and wrote the Arcanists’ Code?”
“I’ve known ever since I took my Test of Mastery to become the Magister of Divination. The Test of Mastery is different for each School, and for Divination, it’s a scrying that’s a form of true sight. If the arcanist succeeds in casting it, she-or he-sees everyone for who they truly are while the effect is active. Marcus made the mistake of being present, and I saw Kirloth. Bellos asked me to keep that knowledge to myself until Marcus himself chose to speak of it. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what has you so troubled.”
“No, ma’am, not really.”
Gavin shifted his position so that he could place direct leverage on the rock. He stood right at its edge, crouched down, and dug his hands as far under the stone as he could. Then, he stood, lifting with his legs. His efforts just barely shifted the topsoil above the rock.
“Before he told me that you wanted me to be a mentor, he spent some time explaining what it means to be Kirloth. He gave me examples and said I would be Kirloth someday and that it would fall to me to carry on. In a way, I’m almost glad he’s out and about right now; it gives me time to sort through this,” Gavin said.
“Out and about?”
“Yes. The other morning, I found a note on the table in our common room; it said he was going to be away for a little while, hopefully no more than two weeks, and that I was to continue my studies without him,” Gavin said, before sighing and turning to Valera. “Ma’am-”
“Dear boy, you’re helping me in my flower bed; call me Valera.”
“Ma-Valera, I’m not sure this rock is moving without some major excavation. Would you be opposed to a little magic?”
Valera frowned. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t even consider it; it can be very refreshing to accomplish something without bending creation to your will, but these bulbs require a certain depth. Besides that, I’ve already loosened the dirt with a little Transmutation. What do you have in mind?”
Gavin sorted through all the various Words flitting around his head. The Word of Transmutation Gavin chose was the ancient forebear to the modern teleportation spell, which just happened to be a Fifth Circle spell. Gavin had stumbled across that particular Word reading one of Mivar’s Histories about the period after the Godswar known as the Founding.
Gavin reached out with his right index finger and placed it against the rock. He closed his eyes and directed all his mind to forming a picture of the rock being on the path beside him. When Gavin felt confident his focus was sufficient, he took a deep breath and invoked the Word, “Paedryx.”
Even for such a minor working of the Art, pain savaged Gavin’s guts, feeling like he’d been sliced open with liberal amounts of acid poured inside. The result, however, was undeniable. The rock vanished from its place beneath the topsoil to reappear on the path beside Gavin, between the flower bed and the planter upon which Gavin had leaned earlier. It was an oblong rock, nearly a foot thick at its thickest point and a rough two feet on each ‘side.’ The teleportation effect took hold so quickly, Gavin and Valera were able to watch an impressive area of topsoil collapse into the space where the rock had been.
“Gavin,” Valera said, her voice barely above a whisper, “was a Word of Power really necessary to move that rock?”
Gavin shrugged. “I’m sorry, Valera, but I don’t know any spells. I learned that particular Word from the volume of Mivar’s Histories that covered the Founding.”
Valera blinked and turned to face Gavin, her expression beyond confused. “Gavin, I’ve read all of Mivar’s works. Mivar didn’t mention any Words of Power in them.”
“It was in the chapter where he discussed Kirloth calling the Judgment of Valthon against the kings, but it wasn’t part of the main text. It was like the script was a watermark on the page.”
Valera shook her head, her expression a mixture of wonder and bemusement. “Most, if not all, of Mivar’s histories possess an aura of power about them. Our scholars have always assumed Mivar placed powerful protections on the volumes so they’d withstand the test of time. Matter of fact, it’s been the assumption for so long, any works considered important are copied into protected tomes. I wonder how many books in our library contain hidden Words of Power…”
The statement didn’t seem to be directed at Gavin in its entirety, so he chose to remain silent. After a few moments, Valera shook off her mood and smiled. “As for your other problem, remember that you-and you alone-determine how you live your life. What Marcus told you is what it means to be Kirloth to him, and unfortunately, we have needed that Kirloth from time to time. Yes, you will indeed be Kirloth someday, but when that day comes, it will be you-and you alone-who determines what it means to be Kirloth.”
“Thank you, Valera,” Gavin said as he cleaned his hands and reached for his robe. “What would you like me to do with the rock?”
“Oh, don’t bother yourself anymore,” Valera said. “I’ll have one of the grounds staff deal with it.”
Gavin nodded and was starting to stand when he felt an Enchantment effect ripple across his skathos. The effect felt like it occurred somewhere in the hedge maze at the center of the gardens, but what piqued Gavin’s interest the most was that the effect felt almost the same as the paralysis effect he’d practiced in the arena a few days before.