“I was tracking a camp,” he finally said. “And I got caught. They had other elven captives, and kept me with them... Kept me sedated so I couldn’t use my magic. I was there for days. It was only by happenstance that I was rescued, but... my mission was to locate the larger rebel host, which I obviously couldn’t do. So the elven commander who rescued us brought us all back to Aefraya. Tessarion was... very disappointed in me. And I was disappointed in myself.”
Krujha was silent for a long moment, his mouth pressed into a hard line around his tusks.
“That must have been a very frightening experience,” he finally said, his voice soft. Alwyn wanted to bristle at the patronizing words, but something in Krujha’s voice was entirely sincere. Moreover, Alwyn was realizing now how desperate he had been to talk to someone, anyone, about what he had gone through. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry that burden.”
Itwasa burden. He had not thought of it in those terms before, but Krujha saying it made him realize how heavy hehad felt since then. His relief after returning to the safety of the Library had masked it for a time, but the dreams had never stopped. Since then, his mind continued to return to the trauma, only to shy away from the actual memories. He had been so sure he was going to die, then to be trapped in his own dreams for days—Tessarion had been unsympathetic when he’d explained what happened, so he hadn’t spoken a word of it to anyone else out of fear of bringing even more shame to himself.
But Krujha wasn’t disappointed in him, or shaming him for his failure. He didn’t know what to make of it, but the relief of being heard and understood was enough that he didn’t care if the orc was putting on an act.
“I... yes,” he finally responded, unsure of what else to say. “It was. It is.”
“I understand why you would take this matter so seriously, then,” Krujha continued, still speaking in a low voice, as if trying to calm a spooked horse. “I would still like to help, Alwyn. If you’ll let me.”
Alwyn huffed, glancing away. Part of him continued to doubt that Krujha could give any useful advice on the matter, but he supposed the orc’s thoughts couldn’t hurt at this point, either. His eyes still stung, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “Alright. I’m listening.”
Krujha’s smile returned then. Alwyn had to glance away, ignoring the heat once again rising in his face. But the orc turned back to his horse and nudged its sides, setting them back on course to wherever it was they were going.
“Well, I was thinking about what you said about the well of magic,” he continued, his voice suddenly chipper and light again, as if the vulnerable moment Alwyn had just shared with him hadn’t occurred. It was a relief, though. It felt good to let out some of his worry, but he didn’t want to ruminate on things, either. “So I was thinking of it like water, and how you can’t hidewater with itself. Like you said, it doesn’t make sense. So then I thought—what if you condense it down into something smaller? A smaller vessel you could tuck away.”
Alwyn frowned. “Something smaller? That doesn’t make sense, either.”
“Like squeezing it into a little ball,” Krujha said, making a fist as if he were holding something with his hand at that very moment.
The metaphor didn’t exactly hold up, but Alwyn supposed he had never tried anything even remotely resembling such a technique before.
“I can try,” he said, though his uncertainty was obvious in his voice, even to his own ears. But he brought his focus inward anyway, as much as he could with his emotions still a confusing swirl in his throat.
Tapping into his well of magic was as natural as breathing—had been as natural as breathing for most of his life now. Still, like breathing, it was sometimes hard to consciously control when his emotions were heightened. He took a moment to calm himself before making an earnest attempt.
Though the metaphor of the well was how all elves in the Library were taught—and how he had explained it to Krujha—he had never seen his own magic that way. Rather than a placid pool of water, his magic felt like a flame inside him: sometimes a gently flickering candle, and other times a roaring furnace.
When he’d been young and clumsy, his affinity had been for fire, just like the magic inside him felt. Flame sprang to his hands easily when he tried only to summon a globe of light; and more than once, sparks had burst from his mouth when they practiced amplifying their voices.
But fire was dangerous and hard to control. It had taken much effort to keep the flames at bay, but now he couldn’t evenremember the last time he’d intentionally summoned that fire, let alone accidentally.
Now, the flame inside him was flickering frantically, like a torch held in the wind. Not at all calm and collected, but still controllable. He knew he couldn’t afford to relax the tight grip he had on it, though, for fear it might someday spiral out of his control entirely.
Condense it, Krujha had said. He envisioned Krujha’s hand closing into a fist again, as if it were a handful of clay he squished down into a ball.
Instead of drawing on the flame, Alwyn tried to push it down. It felt completely unnatural, the exact opposite of how he had been trained—but he sensed something about it shift in response. It didn’t feel like it was smaller, exactly, but it did seem somehow further away from his grasp.
Alwyn’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t quite believe it, but maybe there was something to what Krujha had suggested.
“You’re smiling,” Krujha remarked, pulling Alwyn’s attention ahead. The orc was glancing back at him—a warm, pleased expression on his face. Alwyn let the small smile on his own face fall away, embarrassed—he hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling. A lapse of control that wouldn’t happen again.
“I think you might be onto something,” Alwyn said. Much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny that Krujha had been right. “It isn’t... exactly what I was envisioning. But I think if I can get the hang of it, it might work. It’s less shielding, and more... pushing it away, out of reach, almost.”
Krujha’s grin widened. “Well, if it works, it works.”
“Yes,” Alwyn said, then forced out a bit more grudgingly, “I suppose I owe you a debt now.”
“Is that how it goes?” Krujha chuckled. “You could just saythank youand be done with it, you know.”
Alwyn glanced away, silent. Maybe that was enough for Krujha, but the Order didn’t work that way. No one helped someone else without expecting something in return—a favor given was a favor owed—yet another reason why he so much preferred to work alone.
“Well, you’re welcome, either way,” Krujha said, still sounding amused. “And just in time, too. Look.”
He pointed to a towering tree they had been approaching, the tallest in the area. Scattered all along the ground and amongst its roots were seed pods covered in a greenish-brown husk, about the size and shape of an egg. Whatever they were, Alwyn didn’t recognize them.
