Tiny trails of smoke rose from all around the meditation yard as Aralim and Miresh walked past half a dozen magicians to meet, at last, with Great Mage Rattar. Many of the candles or stems of incense had such a strong aroma that Aralim found his eyes watering as they walked quietly along the central walkway toward an arching kapok tree. Small silver chains dangled from its branches holding more lamps.
Aralim’s lantern staff gave off no smell, only a faint blue light. He replaced the oil within it regularly, and always with unscented oil. It was just preference.
One of the magicians meditating nearby looked up from his folded shins and gave Aralim irritated look. The latter was only surprised because he immediately realized that these men and women were not truly meditating, simply thinking. They were trying to focus, not lose focus.
“Do you like that colour?” Aralim asked Miresh, in a whisper. A broad burgundy sash wrapped around the waist of the kapok tree, adding to its vibrant decorations.
“What is on your mind?” she asked him, smiling. “You’ve been asking about colours all day!”
Aralim blinked. Of course he couldn’t fool her. “Well, what’s your favourite colour, young one?”
“I like orange, but not as dark as the Aura’s robes,” she replied. “Why?”
“Er, no reason,” Aralim muttered.
They walked around the kapok tree, often using its bulbous roots as steps. It rose from the middle of a courtyard, behind the Iron Palace, but still on the Palace grounds. The yard continued, though the walkway divided around a narrow pool of clear water in a vibrant blue basin. Candles spread halos of melted wax upon the yellow and red patterned stones.
At last they spotted Rattar, walking toward them from the far end of the yard. He met them halfway along the length of the small pool. His head was covered in wrinkles, and he was completely bald. Now that they approached closely, Aralim noticed he only had a few wisps left for eyebrows. His weathered skin was visible down to the bottom of his ribcage, save for a folded cloth necklace. His long, dark-green robe began above his belly and hung down to the tops of his sandaled feet.
“Welcome,” he said; his voice was not loud, but it echoed around the quiet courtyard. There were probably fewer than twenty others in the whole space, and save the critical looks they gave Aralim and Miresh, they did not seem bothered by Rattar’s words. “It is good to see you again. Aralim and Miresh.
“You too,” Miresh piped. They had been waiting to begin proper training for a few weeks now, and she cut directly to it. “Will you start teaching me magic now?”
“I will, child,” Rattar replied. “Will Aralim be staying?”
“Of course,” Aralim replied, surprised.
Rattar raised an eyebrow. He was confused for some reason.
“I hope to learn something as well,” Aralim replied, as humbly as he could. He might not have had visions as Miresh had, but he did follow the Path. Anyone who made enough progress on the Path could learn true power, and simply learning about the Path was enough for Aralim.
“Very well,” Rattar said, with a sigh. “Walk with me, friends.”
They followed him back toward the kapok tree. As they walked, he slowed his pace even more. Miresh did as he did, walking beside him. Aralim walked behind.
“I will tell you now of something very few speak,” Rattar said. For the next phrase, he eyed Aralim over one shoulder, but then began to speak more broadly, gazing ahead. “Magic is a gift that some have, and some do not. Those who have been blessed by the powers of a deity—like his Ascendance—are able to exert their mind over the world around us and change things.”
Miresh was nodding. “Or see things,” she said, of her visions.
“Indeed,” Rattar said.
They had reached the tree, and Rattar climbed up to a large, gnarled root. Without pause, he turned and sat down upon it. “Everyone is gifted differently, and everyone’s training makes different use of those gifts. Ultimately, this thing we call magic is understanding. The more you understand something, and the more intimately you and that: concept, object, force, state are acquainted, the easier it will be for you to manipulate it.”
Miresh tilted her head and her brown hair swayed to the side, just a bit. “What do you mean?”
“I have studied this tree since I was a young man,” Rattar said. “And now…”
He raised his wrinkled hand and the winding root beneath him quivered, just a little. Rattar closed his eyes, and then, like the bulging veins in the back of his hand, the roots of the kapok tree flexed. Rattar was lifted into the air half a foot—the motion was gradual and calm, but to Aralim and Miresh he might have struck them. They stepped back a pace, staring as the winding length of the root, which disappeared into the soil, sighed back and forth, gently. Rattar let his hand rest, and the root returned to its position.
“That’s incredible,” Aralim gasped. He raised his hand and focused on the tree. He understood the tree and its dark, impenetrable bulk. But nothing moved.
Miresh nodded to Aralim. “How long would we have to focus on the tree to do that?” she asked.
“It is impossible to say. It might not be something you can ever do,” Rattar said. “Every gifted man and woman has different grasp of the world around them, a different perspective. I know what is inside this tree, I’ve cut it open to see. I remember the tree when it was younger, and I have drawn the tree when it will be older. I have slept in the tree, I have climbed the tree. I have tasted it, and cleaned it, and crafted its wood into a doll and into a spear. None know this tree like I do, and none can give their mind into it like I can.”
Miresh knelt down and touch the tree. “It is your friend?” she asked, quietly.
“No,” Rattar muttered. “It’s a tree. If I died, it would keep on growing. And if it died, well… I’d keep on growing too.”
Aralim felt an immense sadness at this. He looked at his lantern staff and its blue light. He remembered that time in his life, when the tree he had come to know had died—bandits in his home—and he had made the decision to keep growing anyway.
“Miresh, you’ll need a Crux. Only you may know it, and you must know everything about it. I don’t mean something like a tree. It must be a totem or a trinket of some kind. You will carry it with you always.” Rattar folded his arms, and looked at his young apprentice. “I will begin teaching you more earnestly once you have chosen it.”
“What is it for?” Miresh asked, thoughtfully. “I have some ideas already.”
“Me too,” Aralim said. He had asked her favourite colour earlier in order to prepare a lantern staff for her. He had spent the last few days carving the wood for it, but had yet to order the lantern itself made.
“The Crux is like a plow or an axe. It allows a magician to use his strength in practice, instead of just trying to dig a whole field or fell a tree with his bare hands. A great magician may be able to do such things with only his bare hands. But by focusing his powers on the Crux, he may exert his magic onto the world in a much more efficient and often more tangible way,” Rattar said. His voice emphasized second syllables more than firsts, a typical trait of the Numa’nakres tongue. “I will teach you more of this also. But I must warn you: losing your Crux can be a painful blow, both emotionally and practically. You will suddenly be facing a field of dirt with only your bare hands to farm it; therefore, never let another soul know what your Crux is.”
Miresh looked at Aralim and smiled, as though to say, ‘you can know it too.’ They were two halves of the same magician, Aralim thought, or they had been so far.
“We will meet again next week,” Rattar said. “To discuss your next steps. It has been too long since I had an apprentice. I’ve spent too long with my tree.” He stood up and smiled quaintly, before giving the kapok tree a shoeing gesture and slowly walking back the way they had come.