Chapter 9 #2
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 even remember 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 say thank you and 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.
“What are those?” he asked.
“Butternuts,” Krujha said, dismounting his horse.
Alwyn followed suit. “They’re similar to walnuts.
Not quite as tasty, I think, and they’re a little tedious to get out of the husk, but we can bring them to the camp for everyone’s help with that.
Lots of nutrients in a small package, so they’re worth the effort.
It’s a little late in the year for them, but beggars can’t be choosers. ”
They were hardly beggars, Alwyn thought, but in these matters, at least, he trusted Krujha. “Should we try and get any that are still on the branches?”
“No, let’s just gather what’s already fallen. If any have holes, or feel mushy, they’re no good, so leave them. The husks will dye your hands brown, though, so wear gloves if you have them.”
“That would have been nice to know first,” Alwyn mumbled, turning back to his horse to dig a pair of gloves out of his pack.
They gathered the fallen nuts in silence, each filling a cotton sack nearly full to bursting.
As they worked, Alwyn tried to focus on pushing his magic away again, feeling the flame become a little dimmer each time.
It couldn’t possibly be that simple, could it?
All the years he’d struggled with shielding himself, and the trick was to throw out everything he was taught in favor of something entirely new?
He wondered if Galred would scold him, even if he did get the hang of it, for not doing it the way he was supposed to. That would frustrate him in a different way, but at least he would know he could protect himself if the rebel orcs had a mage testing the elves they brought into their camp.
When they had each filled their bags, Krujha tied them to his horse’s saddlebags. “I think that will be plenty. Let’s head back.”
Alwyn mounted his horse and followed Krujha again, still idly practicing. It was only when Krujha spoke that he was pulled from his practice.
“I thought of how you could return the favor,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.
Alwyn felt himself tense. He hadn’t expected Krujha might call in his favor so soon, let alone considered what the orc might want from him.
“I want to ask you a question, and I’d like to hear an honest answer. ”
Alwyn’s tension spiked further. What was that supposed to mean? Did he suspect Alwyn of his ulterior motives? But why try to confront him now? It couldn’t be that—yet what else might the orc ask of him that made him sound so serious?
“Okay,” Alwyn finally said slowly. “What is it?”
Krujha didn’t reply right away. When Alwyn peered ahead at him, his expression seemed pensive, and his mouth worked around his tusks as if he were considering exactly what he wanted to say.
“We’ve talked about this briefly,” he finally said. “About the reason each of us is here. You might say I’m here for my ideals—I have a goal, and I think this is the best way to accomplish it. And you’re just here on orders.”
He paused, and Alwyn nodded hesitantly, though Krujha wasn’t looking back at him now. Where was this going?
“Do you believe in elven values that much? That you’ll follow orders blindly?” Krujha finally asked. Alwyn blinked, taken aback.
“I...” he started, only to hesitate. He didn’t know exactly what Krujha meant by elven values, but all the same, he had never thought to doubt the goodness of his King and nation. “I’m not following blindly. And I’m an elf. Of course I believe in elven values.”
“Enough that you’re willing to risk your life for it?” Krujha pressed.
“Of course,” Alwyn said, but he was already feeling uncertain.
He went where he was told because—well, that was what he was meant to do.
What else could he do but obey? The Order was what he had been trained for his whole life, his entire purpose.
Without the Order, without Tessarion, he had nothing. He was nothing.
“That’s how deeply you support the alliance between elves and orcs?” Krujha still pressed, finally turning back to look at Alwyn. His eyes were hard now; there was something to this line of questioning that seemed of utmost importance to the orc, but Alwyn had no idea what.
“I suppose so,” Alwyn answered weakly. He wasn’t doing this because of some alliance between two nations.
He supposed an end to the war was good, and if a formal alliance was what it took to make that happen, then that was what should happen.
But it wasn’t his place to think about these kinds of things, was it?
If they were allies, or if they were at war, it made no difference to him—except how it might change the orders he received.
His answer was weak, but he couldn’t bring himself to make up something more convincing, not with Krujha looking at him like that.
Alwyn’s gaze dropped to his hands, gripping the reins of his horse.
It wasn’t even his horse—it was a horse given to him from Castle Aefraya’s stables, which he hoped he could return once this was all done.
“I guess I’ve never thought about it,” he added softly, brows furrowing. He had the distinct sense Krujha didn’t want to hear that, and yet was exactly the answer the orc was expecting.
Krujha didn’t speak for a long time, long enough that Alwyn risked glancing up at him again. The orc had turned back around, now looking ahead.
“Well, never mind that,” Krujha finally sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at Alwyn. “I have one more question for you. If none of this was our problem to solve, and you weren’t beholden to anyone or anything but yourself, what would you do?”
“What?” Alwyn asked, the question somehow even more absurd than the ones leading up to it.
“What would you want to do? Where would you want to go?” Krujha asked again, a slight grin twitching around his tusks. Maybe he was just teasing him, though this was a strange way to do it, Alwyn thought. “Surely you’ve thought about the things you’d like to do outside of what you’re told.”
He hadn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t in the way Krujha was asking.
Sure, he’d imagined what it would be like to visit some of the places he’d read about, wondering if he might ever be sent on a mission close enough that he could see some of the relics and wonders described in his adventure books first-hand, but he’d never actively thought about wanting to go out of his way to get to those places.
It was always an afterthought, a daydream at best. Actually saying that he wanted to see those places mentioned in his silly little novels felt far too embarrassing to ever speak aloud.
“I... I don’t know,” he finally stammered when Krujha shot him another expectant look.
“Then do me one more favor,” Krujha said, his grin widening. “Think about it, will you? Maybe you can have a better answer for me when all this is said and done.”
“I will,” Alwyn said softly, frowning. Was that what other people thought about? Something about the question left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite place.
“I’ll hold you to it,” Krujha said. He looked back at Alwyn again, still grinning, and winked at him.
Alwyn felt his heart flip-flop in his chest even as he glanced away with an annoyed huff. Krujha’s laugh echoing through the trees did nothing to calm his racing pulse, either.