Royal Falcon Page 5

  Gavila stepped up behind him. “That is my home,” she said. The homesickness in her voice was unmistakable. “Those are the Celestial Mountains and those are the Dragon’s Teeth and there, in the back, is where I painted the Northern Wall. Of course, they are much more beautiful in reality...”

  Her voice trailed off. Jokon turned around. Gavila’s face was white and pointed. She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, but she immediately regained her composure. “Enough about that. You aren’t here to learn about the mountains; you are here to practice scrying.”

  “But you don’t usually teach scrying,” Jokon said.

  “True, but I am very good at it.” She continued, a bit wistfully, “How do you think I was able to paint my mountains so well?”

  She pulled him into the space between the two windows.

  “Lesson one: when practicing scrying, it’s best to work with indirect light.”

  There was a black bowl on the floor, filled with a silver liquid. Fascinated, Jokon stuck a finger in. The liquid was viscous and cold. When he pulled his finger out, nothing stuck to it. “What is that?”

  “Mercury. It conducts magic much better than black water. That’s why beginners don’t usually use it. But I think you can learn better with it.”

  Jokon sat down in front of the bowl. “What should I try to see? The kitchen? Or my room? Or the ox stalls?”

  Gavila laughed uproariously. “Is that what Kunto told you to see? No wonder you are making such miserable progress! No, the most important thing in the beginning is to try to see something very important to you. Kunto probably chose the kitchen because he’s such a pig, but still... No, Jokon, you need something you love, something close to your heart. Only then will the power work for you. Later, when you can do this spell in your sleep, you will able to see unimportant things. But not in the beginning! What do you really want to see? What do you want to know more than anything in the world?”

  When Jokon opened his mouth, she waved him off.

  “I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know. The only thing that is important is that you fully concentrate on it. Now, you try it!”

  Jokon looked into the bowl. His thoughts raced. What did he want to see? His room? Tevi? Kabato? He allowed his thoughts to walk a path he had locked up tightly within himself. Back, further back. Much further. Back home. His home, his parents; that was what he really wanted to see. Desperate, he closed his eyes as the first tears began to fall. He was embarrassed to cry in front of a girl, especially a Blue, but he couldn’t stop himself. The tears flowed relentlessly. His heart pounded in his ears. His head was buzzing. He suddenly remembered what the buzzing meant. His eyes shot open. He stared at the image in the bowl through a veil of tears. He was looking into his parents’ house. His mother was sitting with Mia in her arms, next to a girl he didn’t know. His mother looked older. There were deep creases on her face that Jokon didn’t remember. Shocked, he understood. The years that had passed; that wasn’t Mia his mother was rocking to sleep! That was another, younger child; a little sibling he had never met. And the unfamiliar girl next to his mother was Mia, but Mia was already six monsoon seasons old!

  Jokon glanced to the side. Gavila wasn’t standing next to him anymore. She had gone to the structure and was staring at the unfinished painting. Eternally grateful, Jokon looked back into the silver, shimmering bowl. For a very brief moment, it was as though he were back home.

  It seemed like only a second had passed when Gavila shook his shoulder. “Stop! Come back, Jokon, you’ve seen enough for today!”

  “Just a bit more!” Jokon begged.

  “No, it’s too dangerous. The magic drains your strength. If you work with a mirror for a long time, it will suck you dry, and you can’t use any magic after that for a while!”

  Her words made something stir in the back of Jokon’s mind, but he couldn’t find the energy to formulate it more precisely. In fact, he felt tired and exhausted. It wasn’t as bad as after his visit with Master Go, but it was bad enough that he just wanted to go to bed.

  Gavila seemed to know that. She didn’t try to talk to him and, instead, just pushed him toward the door and out into the corridor. Jokon practically sleepwalked his way back to his room.

  When he woke up the next morning, Tevi was sitting on the edge of his bed, grinning. “Hey freak, you’re a sly dog! You only just became one of us and you’re already having an affair with a pretty Blue!”

  Jokon immediately started to protest, but Tevi just laughed. “Don’t even try! You look good, you are younger than she is, you are a Green; of course, Gavila called you to her room. The other Blues don’t want the pale-eye. Say, how was she?”

  Jokon blushed a deep red. He opened his mouth again to protest but closed it just as quickly. The truth was even more embarrassing. He had cried like a little child, cried because he was homesick; in front of a girl! “It was nothing,” he deflected, weakly. It didn’t even sound convincing in his own ears.

  During breakfast, even the kitchen maids teased him about his new conquest. Jokon was terribly embarrassed when Gavila came into the dining hall and was greeted by several unambiguous whistles. Ashamed, he tried to catch her after breakfast, but Gavila left with the other Blues, so he didn’t get a chance.

  During the afternoon recess, he mustered his courage and went to Gavila’s room. He raised his hand twice to knock, but both times, his courage failed him. Just as he was turning around to leave, the door opened. “What do you want?” Gavila asked, indifferently.

  Jokon felt his face turning bright red again. “Sorry,” he managed to say.

  “What for?”

  Great Goddess, this was going to be harder than he imagined. “Because the others think... because I told the others... because I... well, I really messed up and the others all have the wrong idea.”

  Gavila’s eyes twinkled. “So, that’s what they think. Well, then, let’s really give them to gossip about. Come in!” She pulled Jokon into her room and slammed the door shut.

  Someone giggled down the corridor.

  “What did you tell them?” Gavila asked.

  “Nothing, really,” Jokon said, embarrassed, “They think something is going on between us and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell them what really happened.”

  “It’s better that way. I don’t think the other Blues would like it if they found out what I showed you. Scrying with mercury is actually an exercise for advanced students. Kunto would probably be very angry if he knew what I had done.”

  “Is letting Greens work with a mercury mirror forbidden?” Jokon asked.

  “No, but dangerous. If a sorcerer is too weak to control a mirror, the mirror can drain him dry.”

  Again, something stirred in Jokon’s memories; it was vague, without contours.

  “I have been watching you,” Gavila continued. “You are one of the strongest in your group. That is also why you aren’t able to work with the black water mirror very well. The black water is simply not capable of storing enough energy to properly focus your powers.”

  She went to her dresser and fished something out. Satisfied, she handed him a small object. It was a ring made of a shimmering, black material.

  “That is obsidian; a volcanic glass. If you have to work with the black water mirror again, place this ring in it and concentrate only on the ring. It will better focus your powers.”

  “Thank you very much,” Jokon murmured, confused. She was standing before him, her gray eyes only a few inches above his, barely a hand’s width away from him. “Why are you helping me?”

  Gavila took a step back. “Because I feel like it,” she answered curtly and turned around. “You may go.”

  “And the others? What should I tell them?”

  “Nothing. Let them think whatever they want. It might even be fun to mislead them!” Gavila had gone to the window and was looking out. Without even turning around, she added, “Don’t tell them anything. That isn’t a request. It’s a
n order!”

  Jokon left the room quickly, confused, but with a trophy he hadn’t expected. He felt the ring, smooth and warm, deep in his pocket. It seemed to pulsate like a heartbeat.

  First, Jokon used his newly-acquired abilities to look at his home every evening. He had made his own little black water mirror with the help of some candle soot in a bowl of water in which he placed the ring. It was like an addiction. He saw his father, his mother, his siblings, his village. The homesickness was nearly overwhelming. Gavila noticed what was going on with him and summoned him to her room again. She somehow seemed to know which scrying spell Jokon had use.

  “You have to stop!” she commanded. “Constantly watching your old home is going to break you!”

  “But you do it too!”

  “That is different. I only see my mountains. The mountains are eternal. They will never change. They will always be the way I remember them, and I will see them again, but I will never see my family again. I am dead to my family. They are living their lives without me. I will never be able to go back to them. Even if I did go back, I would never belong to them again. Believe me, it’s better to never see your family again!”

  That evening, Jokon did not place the ring in the bowl of black water. He slept restlessly. He also tried not to scry to see his home for the next two days, though it was very difficult for him. Tevi asked him to go over a particularly difficult section of an astrology book with him. The Blue, Pereon, was teaching them an interesting illusion spell. On the evening of the third day, Jokon realized he hadn’t thought of home all day. Somehow, his family had faded into the background. It simply seemed more important to him to learn sorcery than to watch his father hoeing the fields and his mother cooking. That’s when he knew Gavila had been right. The memories only weakened him and distracted him unnecessarily. It was a weakness he couldn’t afford. He refocused himself on his studies with renewed zeal.

  Jokon soon discovered that the ring didn’t just improve his abilities when performing scrying spells. Whatever kind of spells he tried, they worked much better if he held the ring in front of him and concentrated. He secretly practiced in his room because he didn’t want to end up in the embarrassing situation of having to explain where the ring had come from to the others or, Goddess forbid, a Blue. He soon realized he didn’t necessarily have to hold the ring in front of him. It was enough to feel it in his hand and imagine himself holding the ring in front of him. After two moons of intensive practice, he didn’t even have to do that. He only had to carry the ring somewhere on his body. Jokon sewed it into a little pocket on the inside of his belt.

  He made rapid progress in the art of sorcery. Progress which, at first, everyone envied, but later made his classmates uneasy. Even the Blues reacted oddly, almost unsettled. On the winter solstice, Jokon successfully performed a spell without any tools and summoned a falcon that was circling high above the tower. He stood in the courtyard, the falcon on his hand, looking at the bird’s wild, yellow eyes. It wanted to fly away and couldn’t; it had to obey him and sit on his hand as though it were bound. He felt the sharp claws the falcon would have gladly dug into his hand, but his will commanded the falcon; telling it what it could and couldn’t do, and the falcon couldn’t move. He had subjugated the proud bird. It was completely at his mercy. Jokon proudly paraded his trophy around the courtyard and showed it to the Grays, the Greens, the Blues and the servants. That’s when the Reds finally noticed him.

  Games

  Tolioro halted his pony and squinted, looking out at the playing field. It looked like his side was going to lose again. He was certain he had the better squad. After all, he was the crown prince. His instructors would never have dared deny him the best players. Still, Ioro appeared to be winning, again. He was simply the better tactician; quite the future commander. He was also the better player, not to mention the fact that Ioro was a whole year older. Tolioro pushed out his lower lip and snorted angrily. Even so! He would be king one day, after all. How dare Ioro let his future king lose! He barked a harsh command and his squad galloped off.

  That evening, Miomio requested a visit with her royal son. Right at the hour of the owl, Ioro swept in, laughing, and fell into her arms. “We destroyed them, mother! Everyone says I will be an excellent commander! You should have seen Falan throwing the sack through the third goal; he was unstoppable! And Cheroko had a great pony. I asked father to give my squad ponies from that breeding line as a reward. They are fast; very fast! I could try a whole new attack strategy with them!”

  Miomio suppressed a sigh and gently, but firmly, guided her son to the sofa and pressed him down onto the cushions. She clapped her hands. A servant brought in sweet lemon tea and silently withdrew, bowing as she left. Miomio drank a sip. Then, she placed the tea glass back on the intricately engraved silver platter and waited until Ioro had also taken a sip.

  “Ioro, my royal son, I am sure you will be the greatest commander of all time. But a commander must always make his king happy, no matter what!”

  “Father was very pleased!” Ioro interrupted her fervently.

  "Your father will not be the king for whom you fight as a commander. Your king will be Tolioromehme. Be careful what you do. You can win in the field as often as you want. That will only increase Tolioromehme’s esteem. But the future king must win the game. Not always, but often enough. Otherwise, he will lose face. It is bad when the king loses face. It is even worse when he bears a grudge against his commander because of it.

  Ioro grew very quiet. After a moment, he asked, “Would it be a good idea to give the new ponies to Tolioro for his squad?”

  Miomio hugged him briefly. “Now you are thinking like a great commander. Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”

  Tolioro clenched his fists. Ioro giving him faster ponies was so degrading. His older brother couldn’t have been more obvious about rubbing his nose in how badly he had played. He spat. He hated Ioro with all the might of his eleven monsoon seasons. Rigid with anger, he strutted out of the stall.

  As he left, he barked at the stable master, “The new ponies are worthless. Slaughter them and feed them to my hunting dogs. I want these animals gone by the morning!”

  The stable master bowed. His face remained frozen, but his hands were trembling.

  *

  Jokon sat hunched over his books, trying to decipher the faded handwriting that described a banishing spell for snakes. His thoughts drifted. It would no doubt be interesting to take a peek inside the tower... Startled, he pulled himself together and forced himself to focus. No one was allowed to approach the tower unbidden. He tried to concentrate on the text. It was as though he were cursed; the image of the tower kept creeping in. Furious, Jokon slammed the book shut, sat upright and closed his eyes to perform a concentration exercise. When he opened his eyes after a few breaths, he was in the corridor, heading toward the tower. How had he gotten here? Jokon started to panic. He wanted to run back, but his legs kept moving toward the tower. Jokon steered his stubborn body to the closest window and tried to hold on to the windowsill. It didn’t work. His hands wouldn’t grab on; they were soft, like warm wax. His legs simply kept walking. The tower had him in its iron grip. He had reached the entrance. His legs started climbing the spiral staircase. Jokon panted, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but he couldn’t even do that.

  Halfway up, a light appeared in an open door in the stairwell wall. He couldn’t remember having seen this door when he first visited the tower. His legs carried him through it. Confused, Jokon looked around the room. It was like the upper tower room, but the ceilings were lower and the windows smaller. Nao, the eldest of the three Reds was leaning against the fireplace. Kai was standing by a table with a small, long-handled mirror in her hand, scrutinizing him with a satisfied expression on her face, while Tur was just covering up a large mirror on the right wall with a wall covering, before turning around to face Jokon. Jokon finally understood. He had been following the
call of a summoning spell. Outrage and terror battled within him while his body stopped in its tracks, still incapable of conscious movement.

  “Well, lookie here. What a nice little birdie has flown into our nest!” Kai chided, coming closer. “Let’s see if he can put on a little show for us.” With these words, she laid her free hand on the surface of the mirror. Jokon felt as though a warm, moist blanket had been laid over his face. He couldn’t see anything, and he felt like he was suffocating. A surge of panic overcame him. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears. Then, the dark blanket was gone, and he was able to see the room again. “... nothing special,” he heard Kai say behind him. Her robe rustled; she was doing something. Jokon was relieved when he realized he could move again. He wanted to start shouting immediately. His voice was still bound.

  His fear slowly turned into rage. He turned. Kai was standing directly behind him. She looked him up and down with a contemptuous look. “Well,” she said derisively, “the little birdie wants to tear me apart! You’ll have to grow some larger talons, little one.”

  “Take heed,” Jokon heard Nao’s dark voice in the background. “His signature is strong. Don’t say anything you might regret one day!”

  Kai’s head flew up. “Who enthralled him, me or you?”

  “You enthralled him, my dear, elegantly and effectively, as always,” Tur interjected and slowly came closer, as Jokon involuntarily took a few steps to the side. “But I summoned him. I think that gives me just as much of a right to play with him as it does you!”

  For a moment, the two adepts glared at each other. Then, Kai bowed elegantly and said, very gently, “But of course, Tur, I wouldn’t dream of denying you your fair share!”