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For several minutes, the two of them settled into an easy rhythm of ducking, rolling, jumping, and flipping. It felt strangely comfortable, being there with Weylind. Perhaps, if Farrendel had known, he would have enjoyed spending time with his brother like this.
Though, before, Farrendel had been so close to collapse that he would not have wanted Weylind to interrupt him.
“Are you truly well?” Weylind flicked a glance toward Farrendel before he focused forward once again. “Those Escarlish doctors were able to help you as hoped?”
“Yes.” Farrendel tried to explain in a way Weylind would understand. “When a broken bone heals wrong, it has to be re-broken before it can be healed properly. It was like that, sort of. I would not have chosen to break again as I did, but it gave me the chance to heal as I was not able to before.”
Not that he was fully or permanently healed. Perhaps, as Taranath had said months ago, Farrendel had learned how to better use the crutch he needed to live a normal life with his war wounds. He would have times he struggled more and times that he struggled less.
But he would have a life. And it would be a good life.
“You seem...well.” Weylind was still giving him that cautious look as if he was not sure what to say or how to say it. “And this university degree. It is what you want?”
“Yes.” Farrendel felt no hesitation on answering. He had been thinking this over for months now, and he was convinced this was the right course. But, perhaps, it would be best to present it in a way Weylind could appreciate. “Tarenhiel will also benefit. I will have access to Escarland’s latest innovations and the people creating those inventions. I will better understand their way of thinking and how they go about crafting their magical mechanics. To continue to stay strong, this is information that Tarenhiel will need so that we can adapt those inventions to our own magic and not be left behind by the humans.”
“I understand, and I see why I should encourage more sharing of knowledge, as you have been suggesting in your letters.” Weylind somersaulted over a branch in time with Farrendel, and they both landed on the roof in identical crouches. Only once they were steady did Weylind glance at Farrendel. “But I am asking not as your king but as your brother. Is this truly what you want?”
Perhaps Weylind understood more than Farrendel had realized. They had both changed, more than either of them had noticed, thanks to the influence of Essie and her brothers.
Farrendel focused on the branches whipping toward them, buying himself time to put his words into a proper order. “I was never taught how to use my magic. Not really. We were already at war with the trolls when I came into my magic. Shortly afterwards, we found ourselves at war with Escarland as well. You and Dacha did your best to teach me what you could whenever you were home from the front, but you do not have my type of magic. No one else does.”
Farrendel had been left without the guidance that normally would have been given to a young elf newly come into his magic. Melantha had apprenticed under Taranath, another healer, who could teach her the specifics of how to wield healing magic. Weylind learned growing magic from their father. Jalissa had also studied under their father and other elves with growing magic.
While Farrendel had been growing up, everyone had assumed he would inherit either healing or growing magic like the rest of his family. He had studied the basics of elven magic and learned about the parts of the plant and the parts of the human body in preparation for inheriting either type of magic.
Farrendel had even prepared himself for the reality that he might have a very weak magic, since no one knew what kind of magic his mother had, nor had anyone who had known her recalled her ever using magic. Some of the more snide nobles had dared tell him to his face that they believed a weak magic was all someone like him deserved.
No one had expected that he—the illegitimate son—out of all of his siblings would inherit the powerful magic of the ancient elven kings.
“Do you think the humans can teach you how to use your magic? They have no one who wields this magic either.” Weylind’s tone remained even, not accusatory as Farrendel would have expected. Simply stating the fact. His movements remained easy, not stiff or angry, as they both dodged a branch.
“I know. But, I have seen progress in working with the human inventor Lance Marion. He has ideas for how to push my magic in ways we elves have not considered, and I have gained more finesse than I had before.” Most of Farrendel’s practice in using his magic had come from battle, where brute force was all that was required. Farrendel swayed in time with the gliding train beneath him. “I cannot work with our inventions since they are powered by a living magic that my magic kills. But humans work with metal and machinery. I cannot kill what is not alive.”
Instead of destruction, Farrendel would learn how to power trains and lights and anything else into which a magical power cell with his magic could be crammed.
How he clung to that hope. Not for the money Essie and Lance seemed to think it would earn. But for the satisfaction of building something useful instead of standing there spattered in blood, surveying a battlefield filled with charred corpses, and believing that death was all his magic could produce.
“I suppose what the humans do not know about your magic, they are curious enough to find out.” Weylind’s mouth twisted, as if he was no longer sure if he should grimace or smile at a statement like that.
“Yes.” Farrendel flipped over another thin, whipping twig, not even knocking the snow from it as he whirled over it.
Professor Harrington had suggested that Farrendel should research past elves with the same type of magic in the great library in Ellonahshinel. It was something Farrendel should have thought to do himself, years ago. But, between fighting in the war and fighting to recover mentally whenever he was home, there had never been the time nor energy for such a pursuit. Now that there was peace, he could finally devote himself to study.
Assuming Melantha was alive and that Rharreth would be able to take back his throne and quell this rising trouble at the border.
Farrendel threw himself into a more savage flip, then a tuck and roll, coming up with his hands gripped into fists as if he held his swords. Whatever the trolls attempted this time, it would be over quickly between Escarland’s help and Farrendel’s full magical power. There would be peace. For his own sanity, Farrendel had to believe the war had an ending.
And then, there was his future. Learning magic. Building a life with Essie both in Tarenhiel and in Escarland.
He risked a glance at Weylind as they ducked in unison under a branch that flew past at head height. “I need to do this, Weylind. Not just for me. But for any children Essie and I might have. The odds are high that it is my magic they will inherit.”
This time, the smirk cracked in full force across Weylind’s face as he raised one, dark eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you and Essie will have yet another announcement to make before long?”
“I...” The tips of Farrendel’s ears were on fire, and he could not meet Weylind’s gaze. “No...we are not...” He had to draw in a deep breath. Words. He needed coherent words. “Maybe someday. But if or when that happens, I do not want my children to be as alone and lost with their magic as I was.”
“I am sorry you ever thought you were alone.” Weylind’s shoulders sagged, his head bowing as his black hair whipped around him. “I failed you. I failed Melantha. Were all my siblings miserable, and I did not notice?”
How was he supposed to respond to that? Farrendel eyed the forest ahead of them. They were entering a stretch that was relatively clear of branches as the trees thinned the nearer they went to the border with Kostaria.
