Chapter 7: Act I Chapter 7: The First Task

Chapter 7: The First Task

Enya paced around the living room, occasionally glancing over at the door before continuing her walking. Nadine was sitting at the table reading a book she’d borrowed (stole) from Altair. Her page flips were becoming increasingly sharp, but Enya paid her no mind.

Recordkeeping had gone smoothly that day. She’d been assigned to the area east of Acrine, and she hadn’t run into any Decays or seen any signs of Rot. The eastern road led to the capital and, as such, was busier and more frequently patrolled by Paragons. As a result, it was the easiest area to patrol. Enya suspected Morris had assigned her the area on purpose, or Nadine had convinced him to.

Throughout the patrol, Enya had felt a constant prickling sensation on her neck. She found herself glancing over her shoulder every few minutes, twitching at every shadow that flicked past her periphery. She didn’t like it, this feeling of not being in control. It was unsettling, and she’d been all too eager to return home once patrolling was over.

Enya glanced up at the old clock ticking steadily over the couch, then continued her pacing.

From the table, Nadine slammed her book down and spun around, glaring daggers. “Would it kill you to sit down? Your pacing’s not gonna make time go faster.”

Enya paused, turning to look at her sister, then slowly sat down onto the couch. Nadine heaved a heavy sigh.

“You’re awfully excited about this,” she muttered as she opened the book again, flipping through the pages to find her spot. “Didn’t think you’d care so much about training.”

“Wren’s very strong,” Enya said by means of explanation.

Nadine hummed noncommittally. A few seconds of silence passed, the clock ticking rhythmically above them, when Nadine asked, “You’re not trying to become a Paragon again, are you? Or a practitioner.”

Brow furrowed, Enya turned towards the table, but Nadine’s head was down, hair obscuring her face as she flipped another page.

“I’m not,” Enya said. She paused, then added, “I’d tell you if I was.”

Nadine didn’t respond. Enya frowned, about to speak again, when a knock sounded from the door. She shot up, hurrying over to grab the handle and swing it open. The door creaked as she did so, old hinges well past the need for oiling, but Enya hardly registered the shrill squeak. Her attention was focused on Wren, who had her scabbard swung over her back. She smiled.

“You ready?”

Enya nodded, her own sword sheathed and attached to her belt. She turned back to Nadine. “I’ll be back later,” she said. Her sister just grunted, turning another page in her book, and waved dismissively.

Frowning, Enya stepped out the door, carefully shutting it behind her. Maybe Nadine had had a bad day at work, she thought. She shook her head, pushing aside the stray thoughts in order to focus. She turned to face Wren.

“Where are we going?”

The woman pointed past the back of the house and at the vast expanse of the Emerald Forest lying behind. “There’s a clearing not too deep inside,” she explained. “I set up some things to train with yesterday.”

The two headed in that direction, grasses bowing under their feet as they approached the line of trees. Enya’s eyes kept darting around, scanning their surroundings as they stepped inside.

The trees of the Emerald Forest were tall, and the light that filtered through the canopy often took on a greenish hue that had given the place its name. Enya rarely stepped foot inside; the last time she’d done so was on a dare from Nadine. She’d gotten lost amidst the towering vegetation, and Maren had had go in and find her. When it came to recordkeeping, people only cared to track the roads and towns; the Rot appearing in the wilderness, away from humans, was of no concern. It was better, some people might even say: a Rot appearance in the forest meant another village safe. Personally, Enya had never believed that. The Rot appeared wherever it wanted; there were no quotas or limits, but she understood the need to find patterns and rules. She did it herself whenever she scanned through records of sightings in her spare time. It helped keep a person grounded.

The two soon reached a small clearing between the dense trees. Tall shrubs lined the area, and the grasses rippled in the wind like waves, soft to the touch. A wooden post stood in the center, perhaps long ago a sign, but any markings on it had long since faded. Enya noticed a few square crates sitting at the edges of the clearing, and Wren immediately stepped up to these, rummaging through one.

An object came flying at Enya, and she caught it on instinct. She blinked down at a grey lump of clay in her hand. It was barely larger than her palm, and it had been shaped crudely into a cube. “What’s this?”

“That,” Wren said, straightening, “is your first task. You said you’ve never used form magic successfully, right? Then we need to start from the ground up.” She pointed at the clay. “We’ll begin with inorganic materials. Once you’re able to mold the clay with your magic, we’ll move onto wood, then metal, then organic matter.”

Enya peered down at the clay, carefully rolling it between her hands. It was cold to the touch, and firmer than she’d realized at first.

“You have good control over how much magic you draw, right?”

Enya nodded. “Sometimes when I’m stressed I pull too much,” she added.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem here.” Wren turned and sat down on top of one of the crates. “Remember, you’ve still got a finite amount of magic until you’ve awakened. It wouldn’t be good if you drained yourself to death from training.” She nodded at the clay. “I want you to try molding that into a sphere. You should use the same amount of magic that you would to heat it; don’t try using anymore than that.”

Enya stared down at the clay, taking a moment to gauge how much magic she’d naturally draw if she were to heat it. For something this small, it wouldn’t be much, barely a drop in her reserves. She frowned, doubting that that would be enough to reshape the clay, but she didn’t plan on disobeying Wren’s instructions.

Inhaling, Enya wrapped both her hands around the clay, fingers enveloping it, and closed her eyes. She focused on the well of magic humming inside her. It felt warm, constantly shifting and moving about like a flame. She pulled at a stray spark of magic and imagined it pulsing through her body and into her fingers tips, enveloping the cube until it formed a smooth sphere.

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When she opened her eyes, the clay hadn’t moved. Instead, it was warm to the touch. She frowned and held the clay out for Wren, who had stood and moved closer, to inspect. “It didn’t work.”

Wren took the clay, examining it. “Hm, it looks like you used the correct amount of magic, at least.” She turned to Enya. “When you draw magic, what do you usually imagine?”

Her response was automatic. “A fire.”

Wren hummed in thought, tossing the clay back. “Try it again, but this time picture something else, anything else.”

Enya frowned, but did as instructed. Her forehead scrunched as she considered what else to imagine. Raynor described his magic as a simple pulling, but that wasn’t too dissimilar from what Enya already did. She remembered Maren once saying that she viewed her reserves like a spring, a vat of water to take drops from as needed. The one time Nadine had used her magic, before she’d realized how small her reserves were, she’d said something similar.

Enya shut her eyes again, this time picturing herself skimming off the top layer of a jug of water. She still felt a burning sensation as the magic responded, but she focused on maintaining the image in her head as she visualized a stream of water traveling down her arms and flowing into the cube. Tentatively, she opened her eyes. The clay wasn’t warm, but it hadn’t changed at all this time.

“Nothing happened.”

“Check your magic reserves. Was any used just now?”

Enya did as instructed, finding that the amount didn’t seem to have been reduced. She stared down at the clay. So she hadn’t managed to draw magic at all?

“That’s a good thing,” Wren said, as though predicting her thoughts. “This way you’re not accidentally burning through magic like you were before. You can practice without draining yourself.” She reached her hand out and Enya dropped the clay down onto it. The woman’s fingertips glowed a faint crimson, and Enya’s eyes widened as the clay quivered, waves running through it as though it were water.

“Come closer,” Wren instructed. “Look at the aura around my fingers.”

Leaning closer, Enya fixed her gaze on the red glow. It was faint, and it wasn’t even, Enya realized. As the ball of clay continued to ripple repeatedly, patches of more vivid red followed the peaks and dips of the ripples. “Keep watching,” Wren said, and the clay began to reshape itself. First the aura was brightest at the corners as they rounded, then spread more thinly as the overall shape smoothed into a perfect sphere. She held it up for Enya to observe, then released another wave of magic and it was back into a cube. “Now try it yourself again, using the same technique as last time, and keep your eyes open. Watch the aura.”

Enya squinted down at the cube, picturing the reservoir again. Her fingers began to glow a faint red before the glow died out, leaving the cube unchanged. Wren nodded.

“Notice the difference?”

“Your aura wasn’t even,” Enya said. “It… moved with the shape.” Her own, meanwhile, had been perfectly uniform in the brief second that it was present.

The Ark smiled. “Yep, that’s your main problem. You don’t seem to have any issue drawing magic, but when you release it, you always do it in a single burst.” She pointed at the clay. “When you’re releasing magic, try doing it gradually; think of it like a drain.”

Enya tried, then again, again, and kept trying. It must have been hours; the sky was already completely dark by the time Wren gently tugged the cube away from her hands. That whole time that she’d practiced, the clay had failed to move an inch.

The only saving grace was that she didn’t feel especially drained. Her magic had simply failed to release altogether, so she hadn’t gone through her reserves. Any exhaustion she felt was purely mental.

“It takes time,” Wren assured. “I’d be more surprised if you managed it in one day, to be honest.”

Enya pursed her lips. “Can I take the clay with me?” she blurted out.

Wren paused, raising an eyebrow, but she handed it back over. “If you feel yourself expending magic, stop,” she said. Enya nodded and carefully deposited the clay into the pouch attached to her belt, right beside her sheathed sword.

The journey out of the forest was a quiet one, Enya too tired to make conversation. Silhouetted trees whizzed past her vision, murky and blurred, but Wren seemed to have no trouble navigating out from the inky darkness that had cloaked the forest.

When Enya made it back home, Nadine was sitting at the table and still flipping through her book. Enya stepped through the doorway and sat down on the couch, heaving a long sigh. Her eyes shifted, and she realized a plate of food had been placed on the neighboring cushion. Belatedly, she was grateful that she hadn’t landed on it by accident.

“It’s cold by now. Heat it up yourself if you want,” Nadine said, shutting her book and rising from her seat. She paused, furrowing her brow. “The fuck is that?”

Enya had pulled out the cube again. “Clay,” she said. “It’s for practice.”

Nadine opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. “You know what, I’m not even gonna question it. Just—“ she paused, hesitating, and her shoulders slumped. “Don’t overdo it, okay.” She turned and began walking towards the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”

“May the Second bless your dreams,” Enya said, not looking up from the clay. Nadine mumbled something back before she disappeared into her room, the door closing with a soft click.

Enya didn’t end up heating the food, simply eating it as it was. She stayed up for another few hours, drawing and releasing magic. By the time she finally set the cube down and went to bed, it still remained unchanged.

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