Chy Read online

  “The Mae family well?” he continued. “Husband, children, brothers and sisters, parents?”

  Naturally she still didn't answer him. He sighed some more. She was a difficult woman to get a smile from or even a simple conversation. But he tried.

  “Alder be praised, Myless Elodie Mae, it can't be against the rules just to engage in polite harmless conversation! Or are you worried I'll learn too much about you?” He shook his head.

  “It's not as if I'm going to be inviting myself over to tea, you know!” One day he thought, he would get an answer from her. And maybe even, her Goddess of Light willing, a smile!”

  But it wasn't going to be today he realised as she continued leading him deeper into the Temple. She was determined. Sometimes he thought he could almost see the slightest touch of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. But not today.

  They walked on silently through the long passage into the heart of the volcano, and every so often Elodie would stop for a moment, wave casually, and a torch on the wall would burst into life. Though of course they weren't what other people would call torches. They weren't wooden, they were some sort of glass, and the fire that burnt in them actually came from within the glass itself. It wasn't hot either. But it was the only light that showed them the way.

  Every so often they passed a side passage way that led on into the rest of the temple and he peered down them. But he couldn't see much. Just more passages. What lay down those passage ways he didn't know. He'd never gone further than the passage to the Heartfire.

  Ten minutes later they reached the inner chamber and he saw once again the impossible spectacle that was the Heartfire. He felt it, warming him through.

  Chy stared at it as he always did, overwhelmed by the sight. The Heartfire was a huge bubbling cauldron of burning lava that cooked the air all around them like an oven. A lake of seething orange fire beneath the perfect blue sky. And the inner chamber was nothing more than another terrace inside the volcano, overlooking the entire caldera.

  But while the fire was hot, it was the magic that was truly the inferno. This close to the Heartfire it was everywhere. All around him. Inside him. Cooking him. And he suspected, it was what made the rock boil and bubble. It took him a moment to adjust himself to the inferno.

  “You may take a seat,” Elodie informed him, before backing away. Heading back into the tunnel where it was cooler and the light from above didn't fall.

  “Thank you, Guardian,” he replied politely, having finally run out of cheek. Then stared at the seats in front of him and weighed his decision. Which seat to take – or whether instead to just run away screaming.

  They weren't seats despite her words. Not really. They were thrones. Massive constructions of stone and precious metals designed for people much larger than him. Much larger than human beings. Larger even than the giants he'd met. And of course all of them faced the glowing inferno.

  There were twelve thrones, and each of them took the raw magic that was the bubbling cauldron of magical lava, and converted it into an aspect of magic. Fire. Light. Life. Force. Dimension. Time. Mind. Soul. Dominion. Air. Water. Earth. And each of the thrones was shaped like a mythical creature or being that embodied that aspect. So fire, the first of the thrones, was shaped as a dragon. Light was a glass unicorn. Life was a reclining nymph with a belly bulging with child. And force was the mighty three horned golden bull.

  But not all of the thrones were as simple to understand. The throne for dimension was a snake eating its own tail – an ouroboros worm so the books claimed. And the throne of time was a jester with a face in two halves – one the sun and the other the moon. Chy guessed it was something to do with the passage of days and nights. But still he'd never seen an image like it anywhere else. Meanwhile the bull was the throne for both strength and force, two things which only vaguely seemed connected. As for the nymph, her dominion covered everything from healing to command of the world of poisons and plants.

  But, he wasn't here to study them Chy knew. Simply to pick a throne and sit in it – before the heat got to him and he collapsed and had to be carried out. So as he'd planned, he went to the reclining nymph and then took a seat in her embrace. He'd decided that this would be his time to renew his magic of life, because he valued the gift. Previously he'd sat on all of the other thrones at least a couple of times, and he'd gained magic from all of them. But life called to him in a way that the others didn't. This would be his third time sitting there in the arms of the nymph and each session would last for hours.

  As always it started slowly. He felt the magic on his skin, slowly seeping into his flesh, into his heart and into his soul, and it was glorious. Like a gentle warmth slowly opening him up. And even though he knew what was coming, he relaxed into that warmth and let him fill him.

  But in time he was full, and then the pain began. The warmth turned into fire, and like a balloon it began to blow him up. The magic was forcing itself into him, transforming him in some way he couldn't understand. Shaping him into a vessel that could contain it.

  Chy cried out, unable to control himself and uncaring as well. But he hung on to the stone, letting the magic flow through him, from his toes to his fingertips to the top of his head, even welcoming it to him. And he knew even as he did so that he would not be the same man he had been when he left the temple. He would be changed – as he was every time. Because that was the nature of magic. It wasn't for normal people. And the more magic you had the less normal you became. You might look like others, but inside you were something … other.

  In time he could almost see the way his body was swelling, growing to accept the new fire burning within him. He could feel the heat in his very eyes, burning to get out. He could feel his face swelling. Even see his fingers growing. And of course his bones were in flames inside him.

  The pain was beyond his understanding. So far beyond that he wasn't even sure it was pain. It might even have been pleasure, he simply couldn't tell. But whatever it was he held on to it. He screamed and he cried and he writhed in the embrace of the stone nymph, but he held on. And slowly he absorbed the power. He made it a part of him, or else he became a part of it. The distinction wasn't clear.

  A woman cried out as he sat there. Crying for him he imagined. Or maybe soothing him – it wasn't clear. And he saw her face, kindly and filled with compassion. Perfectly beautiful. Without a blemish. He didn't know who she was. But he had seen her before. Every time he sat on this throne. And when he sat on the others he saw others the same as her. Perfect people without a mark or an imperfection, crying for him. Maybe they were just figments of his imagination. But he welcomed them never-the-less.

  Eventually though there came a moment where he simply couldn't accept any more. A time when he knew his flesh was so far beyond full that he was about to explode. And though by then he was so lost in the event that he couldn't even tell if it was agony or ecstasy, he found the will to stand. Or actually just to lean forwards and fall out of the throne.

  After that he lay on the floor in front of it, gasping for breath and unable to move. Nothing in his body was able to respond to him.

  But he hadn't exploded! That was something he thought! He had gone all the way to the very limits of his strength once again, and he was still alive. The guardians had told him as they had told everyone that sitting on the thrones could kill you. But they hadn't said how. Other worshippers had told him that the magic actually caused people to burn and explode. That all that was left of the unfortunate souls by the end, was ash which the guardians had to brush off the thrones. But did they truly know? Or were they just telling tales? He wasn't sure. Still he was alive.

  Chy concentrated on that as he lay there, and slowly pulled his body back together. Regained his ability to move it as he willed. His arms and legs began to obey him again. He could see something beyond the fire in his eyes. Even feel the solidity of the stone underneath him.

  In time he could even stand up.

  Of course nothing was ri
ght inside him. His bones ached, his joints burnt, his flesh and muscle felt like week old porridge. And when he tried to walk, things didn't move as they should. But that was normal. And so slowly he staggered his way awkwardly back to the tunnel and the waiting Guardian who had stood there and watched the whole time.

  “I feel half dead,” he told her.

  “You are progressing,” Elodie replied dispassionately. Then she turned and walked back down the passage way, leaving him to follow her.

  He staggered after her as best he could. And in time he even managed to ask a question – when his thoughts and mouth were working together as one. “Progressing?”

  “The Heartfire fills you. It shapes you. It is satisfied,” she answered him cryptically.

  “Of course.” Chy decided he didn't want to ask any more questions after that. He just needed to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another and not falling over. That was as much as he could manage. But inside he also knew a feeling of satisfaction. He had made it through another visit to the Temple. And now, as the magic settled slowly down inside him, he would be stronger. His casts would be stronger. The magic would come more cleanly. More easily. And he would know more of it. His understanding of the magic of life would grow. Already he could feel the changes settling in.

  But why did it have to hurt so greatly?

  He loved having magic. He loved the feel of it. The wonder it filled him with. He loved what it could let him do. And he would do almost anything for it. But this? Sometimes he wasn't sure.

  The only thing that had ever stopped him learning it – for a while – had been the pain. When his gift had burst into life first, and he'd been learning that the world wasn't as black and white and mundane as he'd thought – or as safe – and he'd made his first visit to the temple, the shocking pain had left him thinking he would never return. And he had stayed away for a couple of years.

  It had been a nightmare for a not even thirteen year old boy to live with. But in the end the magic in his blood had told him he had to return. He had to explore it. He had to endure the pain again. And eventually he'd grown used to it.

  But he still didn't understand why it had to hurt. It just shouldn't hurt like this. He was sure of it as he staggered along after the Guardian aching from every part of his flesh. Nothing should hurt like this.

  “It's getting worse,” he called after her.

  “You are growing in your gift,” she replied without looking around. “Accepting more of the Heartfire.”

  “If I accept too much more, I'll explode!”

  “That rarely happens.” Elodie told him calmly as she continued down the tunnel.

  Was she jesting? He could never be sure with the guardians. They never revealed anything of their normal selves. But were the stories the other worshippers had told him, true?

  It didn't have to be like this he thought as he kept following her and tried not to think about the idea that she might be telling him some did actually explode. Others didn't have to go through this. Other peoples had colleges or apprentice systems. Many of their casters didn't even use the Temple. He usually ran into casters from other worlds when he visited the Temple. Often he had to wait while someone was worshipping the Heartfire, and he could sit on the stone benches outside and talk. The guardians did their best to keep the flow of worshippers steady so that no one had to wait for too long, but they weren't perfect. So he knew he was unlucky simply because he was human.

  The Heartfire Temple for the elves and the sylph, was mostly a one time thing. The gift burst into life in them when they were coming to the age of maturity, thirteen or so. They knew they had it when things started happening around them that were impossible and which they couldn't control. He knew that feeling well. And then they made their first pilgrimage. But after that, having discovered a little of their gift and how to use it, they sought proper training with a master or at an academy in one of their towers. Most of them never returned. Why suffer through all that pain when they didn't have to?

  He understood that. In fact just then, it was the only thing he understood. And maybe if he'd had the choice that would have been what he would have done. Almost certainly in fact. But he didn't have that choice. His choice was only whether to continue to explore his gift or not to.

  Yet still for a few, a very few of those elves and sylph who did have the choice, the regular visits to the temple were the very heart and soul of magic. He had sat and spoken to them at length about it. Wondered at their perseverance. And their answer had always been the same. This was the best way to learn. Some of them had become the most respected casters among their peers. Chy didn't know about that. But would have guessed, they were the most determined of their peers.

  The dryads didn't have academies. They had circles. What exactly a circle was he didn't truly know. But everything they did as people, as citizens and as casters, was controlled through a circle. What it meant was that when one of them went away to the Temple, the blessing they'd received was somehow shared among their peers. So not many dryads came to the Temple. But a few still persevered. But not to become great. Instead to be able to share what they learned with their circles. A blessing for one was a blessing for all.

  It was a pity that more didn't come, he thought. They were nice people, and surprisingly witty. And they had a slightly odd way of looking at the world that he enjoyed. They saw spirits in everything. Even in things that clearly weren't alive like stones and mountains and rivers. He liked that. They were clearly touched. But they were romantics. That was to be admired.

  The giants had a slightly different choice. For them their gift was linked purely to the mountains that were their home. And whether they were hill giants, frost giants, stone giants or titans, that one fact held true. So they came only the once, just to sit on the golem throne, and then never returned. After that their gift had awakened and somehow connected them to their precious mountains. From then on they would grow in their magic simply by being near to the stone. He didn't understand that, nor how there could be so many worlds full of giants, but he envied them. To be able to just grow in your magic simply by living – that had to be a true blessing.

  But on the other hand he reminded himself, they only learned one kind of magic.

  For the goblins and trolls, things were different again. Though they weren't as savage as the stories would have them be, they weren't particularly intelligent either. They came, sometimes more than once, but he suspected they didn't learn a lot from their blessings. On the other hand, he suspected they didn't experience pain the same way as the rest of them did. To them it was just a part of life and they shrugged it off. How else to explain the things they did to themselves? Goblins especially. They branded themselves, from one end of their bodies to the other. And they sharpened their teeth into points. No one else he could imagine would do that to themselves unless pain was nothing to them.

  Certainly when he saw them leave the Temple they appeared little different to before. They weren't like him, staggering blindly through tunnels, nearly on their hands and knees, trying to find their way home to bed.

  And then there were the sprites. The insufferable winged rats as most called them. They apparently didn't need academies or circles or mountains. They were simply gifted in a way others couldn't even begin to understand. At least so they claimed. And of course they lived in a magical realm of endless beauty and infinite wonder which no one could casually visit. People had to be invited. In truth they were liars – he was sure of that. And he would never take up their offer to visit their world because as everyone who he'd met had told him – no one who ever visited N'Diel ever returned. They were also slavers, abducting entire towns and turning the people into servants in their perfect world – another reason never to visit. But they were powerful casters who somehow didn't need the Temple. They were above that. So why did they come? He didn't know.

  Unfortunately there was no academy of magic for him. There were no master wizards looking to take o
n apprentices. And his innate magic wasn't so great that he could simply grow as a caster by himself. There was only the Temple. It was this or let his gift whither. And he tried to remember as he followed Elodie out of the Temple, that he just couldn't let his gift wither. He couldn't give up.

  Eventually, and it had to be half an hour at least, he reached the terrace and emerged into the sunshine. The afternoon sunshine. And that surprised him. He'd arrived at midday. So hours must have passed. How long had he been in there? He asked.

  “Time is of no meaning,” Elodie replied enigmatically. “Only the Heartfire.”

  “Of course.” Chy nodded, pretending he understood. But he didn't really. The only thing he understood was that she was a little crazy and he was hurting. But then she was a guardian – maybe they were all like that – and the pain stopped him caring.

  Meanwhile other worshippers had arrived and he could see a sprite sitting on one of the stone benches and a sylph beside him, though with a fair distance between them. In fact the sylph was perched as close as it was possible to get to the other side of the bench. No one wanted to sit too close to a sprite. Tiny figures, sweet faces and gossamer wings, but hearts of pure evil. Cunning and malice. The fact that there were two more worshippers waiting meant that even if time had no meaning here, he'd still managed to spend too long on the throne and hold everyone up.