“I felt it again this afternoon. The sense that I was being watched.”
The runemyste turned. “I have no doubt that you were.”
My eyes widened. “Have you learned something about the weremyste who’s following me?”
“No. But it does not surprise me that he tracks you.”
“He? Do you at least know that it’s a man?”
Namid shook his head. “I know nothing, Ohanko. I have told you this already.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Two times now,” he said. “You understand why he does this?”
I nodded. It hadn’t occurred to me until then, but as soon as he asked the question, I knew. “Yes. I warded myself with a deflection spell, in case whoever it is tried to attack me. But nothing happened.”
He said nothing.
“A deflection spell wouldn’t have helped, would it?”
“A deflection spell is easily defeated,” the runemyste said, seeming to choose his words with some care. “A skilled runecrafter would have little trouble overwhelming such a warding.”
“So what should I have done?”
He stepped to the middle of my living room floor and sat, eyeing me like an expectant cat, his head canted to the side. More training.
For once I didn’t argue.
“Do I need my scrying stone?”
“No.” He indicated the floor with an open hand that glowed like starlit waters. “Sit.”
I lowered myself to the floor in front of him.
“Clear yourself,” the runemyste said, once I was settled.
I closed my eyes and summoned the vision of that eagle in the Superstition Wilderness. As I did, everything else melted away. The Blind Angel Killer, Claudia Deegan, Cole Hibbard, Billie Castle, my dad. All of it seemed to dissipate, like a vaporous breath on a cold day. In moments, I was clear, centered.
“Now,” the runemyste said, “defend yourself.”
It was like meeting up with your best friend and having him haul off and punch you right in the mouth, for no reason at all.
One minute I was sitting there, and the next, it felt as though I’d been stung on the legs and arms by twenty hornets.
“Son of a bitch! What was that for?”
“Defend yourself,” he repeated, as calm as you please.
The stinging started again, on my neck and chest this time.
I jumped up, swatting at bugs I couldn’t see. The pain stopped.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, my voice rising.
“I am teaching you to ward yourself.”
“You could at least give me some warning!”
“Will the crafter who tracks you be so courteous?”
That brought me up short. “Of course not,” I said.
“Then why should I?”
There wasn’t a person alive who could make me feel foolish and young the way Namid could. I guess that came with hanging out with a being who was centuries old. “I thought we were going to be training, that’s all. You caught me off guard.”
“You cannot be off guard,” he said. “Ever. Not anymore.”
“You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“I fear nothing for myself. But I would rather you did not die. I have spent too many days teaching you. It would be a waste.”
“Thanks, Namid. I’m touched.”
“Sit down, Ohanko. Clear yourself, then ward.”
I sat once more, took a moment to clear myself, and then started to recite the deflection spell from earlier in the day, just to see what it could do.
I hadn’t gotten two words out before the stinging began again. Chest, back, legs. God, it hurt!
“Damn!” I said. “You’re not giving me a chance!” I raised a hand before the runemyste could answer. “I know. Neither will the other sorcerer.”
Namid nodded once. “Defend yourself.”
I knew that I should have been able to do what the runemyste was asking of me, that my inability to ward myself was a symptom of my greatest weakness as a weremyste. I still thought of spells as being the same as incantations, as something spoken. The fact is, they don’t have to be. Namid, who was driving me crazy with these damned hornets, had not moved or made a single sound. But this did nothing to weaken his magic.
On the other hand, my need to speak spells was weakening me, leaving me vulnerable to his assault. Of course spells involved words. But spells for an accomplished weremyste could be as immediate and powerful as pure thought. The words of a spell had no inherent power beyond what they meant to the weremyste using them. One sorcerer might use a rhyming scheme, while another might just use three words. I usually used a simple list of the elements of the spell, repeated as often as necessary. I also tried to limit my spells to three elements or, if that was impossible, seven. There was power in certain numbers: three, seven, eleven, and some larger primes.
Mostly though, I tried to fix my mind on the magic I was attempting. Casting, like the simple act of clearing, required focus and concentration. The rest was a matter of style.
My goal in casting spells-Namid’s goal for me-was to get to the point where I could conjure without words, without fear or doubt, without hesitation.
And I wasn’t there yet. Not even close.
Not to make excuses, but it’s hard to focus when you’re being stung by dozens of invisible, magic hornets.
I tried to cast the deflection spell again, though I knew it wasn’t the right defense against this attack. It was the warding I knew best, the one I turned to when I didn’t know what else to do, and at that moment, I couldn’t even get it to work. I should have tried a simpler conjuring. There are lots of warding spells. One of them sheathed the body in a sort of magical cocoon; another, which I’d yet to learn, allowed a weremyste to transport himself somewhere else. Ideally I would have liked to try a reflection spell and sick the vicious stinging bastards on Namid. Somehow, though, I knew it wouldn’t work. The problem was, I couldn’t come up with anything that would.
After a few minutes, the stinging stopped and Namid just sat there with his eyes fixed on mine.
“You are not even trying.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, sounding like a bratty little kid. “I’m out of my depth here, Namid. The magic we’ve done before and what you’re asking me to do now. .” I shook my head. “They’re totally different.”
“They are not different at all. You need to be clear and focus. Otherwise you cannot defend yourself and you will be killed. It is that simple.”
A book flew off one of my shelves and sailed right at my head. I ducked. The book hit the opposite wall and fell to the floor.
“Damn! You’re crazy! You know that?”
“You warded yourself.”
“No, I didn’t. I just ducked.”
“Did the book strike you?”
“No.”
“Then you warded yourself. You did so without craft, but it was a warding nevertheless.”
“What’s your point, ghost?”
His expression didn’t change at all. I needed to find a new way to get him riled.
“That you ducked without a thought. You simply acted. That is how magic should be. You think too much, Ohanko. And at other times you do not think at all. You are a most difficult man.”
I had to grin. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who always shows up uninvited.”
“Clear yourself.”
I did. And this time when the attack came, I resisted the urge to speak the deflection spell. Instead I envisioned his attack bouncing off of me, two dozen watery hornets clattering against the walls. My body, the hornets, the walls. Three elements. I didn’t bother repeating them three times. I inhaled, feeling the magic build within me, and released it.
I wasn’t stung once.
“Better,” he said. “You knew how I would assail, and when. But still, that was better.” He paused. Then, “Defend yourself.”
Fire this time. Aqua green flames licking at my hands and arms. I almost panicked. But instead I managed to turn that fear into craft. Deflection wouldn’t work, so I went with the cocoon. Shielding, it was called. Once more, three elements: my body again, the fire, the cocoon. It worked.