Chapter Eleven #3
A horrible response, and manipulative, too. Pedr noted her even tone with a hint of deepening hatred for Onskar and Jordaire.
“Who was the Arcanist of the Sky before you?”
Lightly, she replied, “I’m not sure, but it brings me to my next point: your presentation is a good time to learn the rules. You seem less overwhelmed tonight. If you’re willing?”
“Rules?”
“Of the arcane. Particularly your arcane.” She drifted forward, and a breeze trickled over his cheeks.
“Um . . . sure. I’ll hear them out.”
“The rules are very straightforward. First rule: you command only the sea arcane. The arcane is infused in the ocean, and it obeys your commands through currents, mostly. At least, that’s what Havard said.
The longer you are an Arcanist, the more access to the arcane you have.
Your commands grow, and your abilities.”
“Do I receive power?”
Her head tipped back and forth. She clucked and said, “Maybe,” in a long intonation. “There is power, but that’s more of she siren’s territory. What we experience is access and abilities. Your access to the arcane opens more and more. But when you’re taken away, like Havard, the arcane remains.”
Pedr flexed his hands at his side, considering the last week. That rule explained the currents, the way the ship navigated at a thought. With that kind of ability at his disposal, his travel would be forever altered, and in the best possible way.
“Second rule: you cannot enter the domain of another Arcanist. Onskar reports that our arcane abilities do not mix well.”
“I already have.”
She recoiled a little. “What do you mean?”
“I stepped on land after I received the abilities. The next day, I think.” He frowned, remembering Erevast. “There was no problem.”
Appearing startled, Himmel mumbled something like, shouldn’t have allowed you and young in the arcane and maybe a fluke.
Pedr tilted his head. He wasn’t about to stop traversing islands, not if Mila would tolerate his presence for longer. The idea of being away from her already repulsed him. Jordaire could throw a hissy fit if he wanted.
“Besides,” he added, breaking Himmel’s searching, confused silence, “you speak to me on my ship.”
“Yes, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“Your ship touches the sky.”
“The sea touches land. Or land touches the sea.” He shrugged. “We can play this game all day, if you want. Sounds to me like nothing actually makes sense.”
Himmel stumbled for another reply, clearly thrown off track. She licked her lips. “Yes, well . . . maybe I shall . . . I’ll inquire . . .”
To drive his irritated point home, he added, “And we’re talking now.”
Relieved to have a concrete answer, she replied more firmly. “Yes, but we’re speaking in the Otherworld.”
“That’s different, too?”
She nodded.
“How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone prepared this place for all four of us to come together for any length of time we desire.”
White-hot panic rose like a volcano in his chest, sweeping aside his suspicions about how little Himmel seemed to know regarding the arcane.
She was here to teach him, but couldn’t answer basic things in a straightforward manner?
That didn’t matter as much as the implications around her words.
If he really couldn’t step foot on land—he’d see about that—then what was he supposed to do?
“How long will it be like this?” he croaked.
Himmel gazed on the spot where Jordaire once stood with a wry longing.
“For as long as you’re an Arcanist.”
How would he visit Britt and Malcolm? The thought of groveling to Jordaire for permission to step on Kapurnick island brought a bad taste to his mouth. He’d do it for his siblings, but he didn’t like it.
“Shite,” he muttered.
“Third and final rule for today—there are more rules, but I don’t want to overwhelm you—never bother Onskar. If he wants to speak with you, he will.”
“Does he speak to you?”
Himmel kept her expression straight. “Not often. Onskar is . . . his own individual. When you meet him, you’ll understand. He is older and far more powerful than myself or Jordaire. We both are approaching the end of our reigns, so I suppose Onskar must be, also.”
“How long is an Arcanist’s reign?”
“According to history, about five hundred years. Give or take,” she added quickly. “Havard had been Arcanist for five hundred and sixty years before you arrived.”
“Jordaire?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. It must be around the same timeline as Havard, for they spoke often of their lives together . . .”
That didn’t quite fit . . . at least . . . with what he read in the diary. Or else Pedr made assumptions that weren’t worth making. He dismissed the disparities. Inconsequential, anyway. It didn’t matter what other Arcanists did.
“Did Havard die when I became Arcanist? He just . . . disappeared.”
“Crossed over,” she said with an air of correction. “His soul, formerly arcane-bound, was released.”
“He went where?”
“I don’t know. The After, probably. Your soul was accepted in its place. Your soul, Pedr, is now bound to the sea. It’s what gives you the power to command the arcane. Until the end of your reign, you shall not have it back.”