Aerenden: The Child Returns (Ærenden) (25 page)

“You
should try them with laitte. It’s a fruit that looks like a large grape, but it
tastes like sweet milk. Every time I had pumpkin pie with whipped cream on
Earth, I felt like I was eating fruit salad here.”

“Somehow,
I can’t see fruit being as satisfying as pie,” she remarked with a grin. “Do
you really expect me to guess the kingdom’s name? I’ll never get close. I’m
sure it’s some word I’ve never heard of, like Amberkassiland.”

“What
did you say?” Nick turned, walking backward so he could face her. “How did you
know?”

Her
eyes grew wide at first, and then she tossed a berry at him. He chuckled,
ducking to allow the bright fruit to sail over his head.

“I
don’t want to waste my time guessing. I have more questions.”

“I’m
sure you do,” he continued to tease as he faced forward again. “You’re like a
one-woman Jeopardy game show.”

She
stifled a laugh and slipped another berry past her lips. “So what is it?”

“Ærenden.”

“Ærenden,”
she tested the word. “That’s nice.”

“We
think so,” he responded.  “It’s nicer than the names the people of Earth
come up with. Like the United States. You can’t get more boring than that.”

“Hey,”
she started to protest, and then stopped, huffing out a breath when she
realized he was still teasing her. “Nice. You’re in a good mood today.”

“I
guess I am.” Adjusting the backpack on his shoulders, he relaxed a little more
as the trees surrounding them turned into denser forest. Although it was not as
dense as he preferred, it meant they were getting closer to his village and to
home. His excitement grew. “What’s your next question?”

“I
was wondering why your power worked for me,” she said. “I’ve been trying to
figure it out, but it doesn’t make any sense. I can’t use anyone else’s power,
right?”

“Right.”
They approached a curtain of vines and he stopped to pick up a stick, tapping
on the tendrils, then moving forward when the vines did not react. “To be
honest, we don’t know much about your power. It hasn’t shown up in several
generations, but history tells us Empaths have always been born within a few
years of a blocking power, and they’ve always been able to tap into that
power.”

“How?
Powers aren’t emotions, and I can’t sense them like you do. I’ve tried.”

He
chuckled. “I had no doubt you would. There are a few theories, but only two I
think might be plausible.”

“Which
are?”

“The
first is it’s meant to be.”

She
rolled her eyes. “That’s a cop out.”

“Perhaps,
but powers have a way of balancing themselves, even if the reasons aren’t
always apparent. The second theory is when my power blocks you from sensing me,
it does so by mimicking an emotion, one that’s louder than my other emotions.”

“You
mean like white noise drowns out other sounds?”

“Exactly.”

“So
when I focus on it, it overruns the other emotions I sense, provided those
emotions aren’t too strong. I noticed in Neiszhe’s village that the emotions
were dulled when I focused on your power, but when it was only Cal in the cave,
I couldn’t sense his emotions at all.”

“That
would lend to the theory,” Nick said. “But the two theories can work together.
Traditionally, our powers are born to children within the same village, which
supports the balance theory.”

“That
makes sense,” Meaghan decided, and continued to her next question. “How does
the Spellmaster power work? Spells here don’t appear to be anything like we
portray in fiction on Earth.”

“You
mean where everyone with a power can perform a spell?” he asked. She nodded.
“That isn’t entirely untrue. Everyone with a power can invoke a spell, but only
Spellmasters can create or alter spells. To do so, they focus on their power,
speak in rhyme, and their words come true.”

“So
how are other people able to use the spells?”

“Spellmasters
write them down. When they do, they infuse some of their power into the spell
and the spell can then be used by whoever knows it, even after the
Spellmaster’s death. It’s a complicated process. They lose some power each time
they do it, but since their power grows stronger each year, it doesn’t hurt
them.”

“So
if Caide wanted to write a spell now, he could, and I would be able to recite
it?”

“No,
you wouldn’t. You don’t have enough control over your power yet to recite a
spell. Even if you did, Caide isn’t old enough to write one. Spellmasters begin
training with verbal spells and move to written spells as they grow older. They
also develop the capability of writing more complex spells as their power gets
stronger.”

“Like
the Mardróch spell?”

“Precisely.
Caide won’t have enough power to create that type of spell until he’s at least
fifty. The Spellmaster who wrote it was fifty-six, and it took half a dozen
people with strong powers to recite it.”

A
small rodent scurried across Meaghan’s path and she stopped to watch it. Nick
lagged behind, waiting for her. The animal looked similar to a squirrel, but it
had a thin tail, no thicker than Nick’s little finger, and stripes like a
tiger’s.

“That’s
a panthmouse,” he told Meaghan after it had disappeared. “It’s harmless unless
you’re a worm. That’s all it eats.”

She
nodded, increasing their pace again. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean
about needing power to recite a spell,” she said. “If the power comes from the
Spellmaster, why does it matter who’s reciting it?”

“It
matters because the power reciting the spell has to be equal to the power the
Spellmaster used to create it. The Spellmaster gives words power when he writes
them down, but the people reciting them make them alive in the world. Some
spells can even vary in the power needed to recite them, if they’re written
with that intent.”

“I
see,” Meaghan said, though the wrinkles between her brows told Nick some
confusion remained.

He
tried again. “Think of it as a two-part process that has its own fail-safe.
This way a group has to perform the strongest and most destructive spells. It
ensures that at least some thought goes into using the spell. It also helps us
to understand how many people it took to enact a spell.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,”
he paused as he thought of an example. “Let’s look at the spell we use to
protect our villages, the one which makes them invisible to those who aren’t
invited. Depending on the size of the village, the amount of power needed to
make the spell work will increase. Neiszhe’s village would have taken eight
strong Guardians to enact the spell. The smallest use of the spell takes four
people, maybe three if you have someone reciting it like Cal, whose power over
the elements is one of the stronger ones.”

“Three?”
she asked. “If that’s the minimum, then that means someone else knows about
Faillen and his family.”

“Correct,”
Nick confirmed.

“Doesn’t
that mean they could be in danger?”

“Not
necessarily,” he responded. “I know Cal. He would’ve asked Delvin to help and a
third Guardian he trusted to keep his secret, even from the Elders. He would
not tell Faillen about that person because he would not want to concern him.
But it would make sense for someone else to know in case something happened to
Cal. It’s redundant protection.”

“And
you know who the third person is,” she guessed.

“There
are only two Guardians Cal would trust for this. Neiszhe, of course, and my
mother. I doubt he would want to lay that responsibility on his wife, which
leaves Mom. I’ll confirm that with her when we arrive in my village.”

“That
makes sense,” Meaghan decided. “And I think I understand how the Spellmaster
power works now, but I have one more question about it.”

“What’s
that?”

“Since
the Spellmasters can create spells that take an accumulation of powers to
perform, does that make them the most powerful people?”

“Once
their powers have developed enough, yes. That usually happens in their thirties
or forties, depending on what age their power surfaced. There used to be
stronger powers, but they’ve gone extinct, such as the powers to transform into
animals or objects.”

“I
see.” They exited the trees, stepping into another field that ran along the
side of a ravine, and Meaghan lowered her voice. “So Aldin will be stronger
than his brother at the same age?”

Nick
nodded. “Most likely. Since Aldin has developed his power already, he should be
as powerful as a Spellmaster in his thirties by the time he’s twenty.”

“But
he won’t be able to help us stop the Mardróch. Neither of them will.”

“No,
they won’t.” Nick put a hand on her arm and halted them both. The
disappointment on her face tugged at him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,”
she said. “I thought I’d figured out how I was supposed to stop this war. I
guess I was wrong.”

He
took a step closer, drawing his hand to her shoulder. “No one said you had to
stop the war,” he told her. “Not alone anyway.”

“But
you said—” she began and then shook her head.

“I
said,” he prompted.

“I
was the Queen.”

“I
never said you had to stop the war.”

“But
I,” she faltered, and then her cheeks flared red. “Isn’t that what rulers do?
Don’t they start and stop wars and keep their people safe?”

“Of
course,” Nick answered. “But they only do it alone if they want to go insane.
It’s no wonder you’ve been so scared.” He squeezed her shoulder, then dropped
his hand and smiled. “Meg, a good leader knows how to surround herself with
people who can get things done. Do you realize Guardians are here to help you,
not just to protect you? We study tactical planning and fighting as well as
defense and protection. You also have advisors and powerful people who are
ready to aid you, to teach you, and to follow. As far as the Mardróch,” he
placed a finger under her chin and lifted it, bringing her eyes to his. “We’ve
been looking for a solution to that problem for a long time. No one expects you
to step in and solve it in a week when we haven’t been able to do it in more
than a decade.”

“I
guess I didn’t think about it that way,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize—”

A
loud whistle echoed from the canyon, startling them both. Before they had a
chance to figure out what had made the noise, a light appeared in the sky
overhead. Then, it exploded.

“G
ET DOWN,”
Nick yelled, though his voice came across distant, muffled by the sound of
ringing in Meaghan’s ears. She did not know if he had tackled her or if the
impact of the explosion had knocked her to the ground, but she struggled
against loose dirt and her own shaky arms as she tried to push back up. Keeping
her eyes focused on the trees, she could only think about getting to her feet
and running toward safety.

“Stay
down!” Nick insisted when she managed to rise to her hands and knees. She
continued to struggle, and he pulled her arms out from under her. Her chin
knocked against his arm instead of the ground when he softened her fall, but
the impact still sent bolts of pain through her head. She rolled onto her back,
seeing stars, and she could not tell if they came from the night sky or if they
had developed in her vision.

Nick
stretched an arm across her stomach, stiffening it to keep her from moving
again. She turned her head to look at him. A trickle of blood streamed down the
side of his face. He whispered to her, or rather, he sounded as if he spoke
underwater. His lips moved again, their efforts lost to her, and then he
understood. He pressed his mouth to her ear. This time his voice pushed through
the ringing.

“I
think there’s a battle,” he said.

“Where?”
she asked, though he seemed to hear her as well as she heard him. He lowered
his ear to her lips, waited for her to repeat her question, and then dropped
his mouth to the side of her head again.

“In
the ravine. Unfortunately, we need to go down there to get home. I’m going to find
out what’s going on.”

He
crawled to the edge of the ravine. Bracing his head on his folded arms, he
peered over the side. Without waiting for invitation or permission, Meaghan followed,
mimicking his movements.

He
looked at her and frowned, but instead of lecturing her or trying to make her
retreat, he cast an arm over her back. In part, she realized, to keep her from
jumping up and in part because the position made it easier for him to whisper
in her ear.

“Keep
your eyes on me for a minute,” he told her.

Although
she had yet to look into the ravine, and curiosity begged her to see what took
place below them, she did as he asked.

“This
isn’t fiction,” he told her. “It doesn’t resemble anything you’ve seen on
television or in movies,” he pulled back so he could look at her. The concern
on his face touched and scared her at the same time. “It’s real.” Though she
could not hear his last two words, she could read them well enough on his lips.
She nodded. He dropped his mouth to her ear again.