David Farland - Wizardborn

“Let us not speak in the open daylight,” Binnesman said. “Come inside with me.”

He took the girl’s hand and led her to the common room of the inn. Every lord in the place followed, until there was no room around the bar where Averan sat, and men crowded the doorway.

Once he had her sitting on the bar, Binnesman asked easily, “Tell me, child, is Averan your name?”

The girl nodded.

“How did my wylde know?”

“I was riding my graak and I saw her fall from the sky. I landed, and tried to help, and her blood got on me. She came north with me to Carris—”

“Hmmm...” Binnesman muttered. “A strange coincidence, don’t you think, that I lose a wylde and that you should find it?”

Averan shrugged.

“It’s more than a coincidence,” Binnesman said. “Tell me, what were you thinking about when it happened?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Averan said. “I guess...I was hoping that someone would come help me.”

“Hmmm...You’re a skyrider? You’re good with animals, I suspect. Do you like animals?”

“Yes,” Averan admitted.

“Are you good with graaks?”

“Master Brand said that he thought I was the best that he’d ever seen. He was going to make me beastmaster someday.”

“Hmmm...” Binnesman said thoughtfully. “Do you have a favorite animal?”

Averan shook her head no. “I like them all.”

Binnesman mused for a long moment. “Do you like plants better than animals, or rocks?”

“How could you like a rock more than an animal?” Averan asked.

“Some people do,” Binnesman said. “As for myself, I like plants about as much as I do people. When I was a boy, I used to love to walk in the meadows and count buttercups, or the number of seeds on a sheaf of wheat. For hours I used to study how ivy curls its way up a tree. Sometimes I felt as if I were waiting for a revelation. I used to...I would sit and listen for the dry summer grasses all tangled with weeds to whisper some cosmic truth.

“I used to try to think like an oak, and imagine how far the tangled roots of an aspen traveled, and wonder what dreams the willow dreamed.

“Tell me, do you ever do that?”

“You sound crazy!” Averan blurted.

Jerimas barked out in laughter, and said, “Now there’s a child who speaks her mind!”

“I suppose I do sound crazy,” Binnesman admitted. “But everyone has a touch of madness, and those who can’t admit it are usually farther gone than the rest of us. Wizards are, as anyone can tell you, quite demented.”

Averan nodded, as if that sounded reasonable.

“I love the Earth,” Binnesman explained. “And what’s more, I know that you must love it, too, in your own way. Loving it so much is not bad, or shameful. You’ll find great power in moving outside yourself. There is power in studying the ways of plants and animals and stones. It lies at the heart of the Earth Powers.

“The green in your hands comes because Earth Blood flows through your veins.”

“But...” Averan said. “I...it was an accident. I got the green woman’s blood on me.”

Binnesman shook his head. “No, Earth Blood was inside you all along. It has always been a part of you, ever since you were born. You are wizardborn. But among us creatures of the Earth, blood calls to blood. That’s why I came to the garden just a moment ago. I felt you here. What’s more, I suspect that you summoned my wylde from the sky. And when you touched the green woman’s blood, you couldn’t get it off because it flowed to you. Like was seeking like.”

“I’ve felt so strange ever since,” Averan argued. “I’ve had...queer new powers.”

“You would have developed those powers in time,” Binnesman assured her. “The extra Earth Blood just speeded the process, heightened your awareness. But I assure you, if you had not already been a creature of the Earth, the blood would have washed off your hands.”

Iome listened in fascination. She stared hard at the girl. Averan had red hair and freckles, and in every way other than the odd tattoos of green on her hand seemed a normal child. But she had an intensity to her gaze, a fierceness of spirit, and a maturity that Iome would have found surprising in a woman twice Averan’s age.

Gaborn ventured a question. “You say that you’ve developed strange powers. Tell me about them.”

Averan glanced up at the men in the inn, as if afraid to speak openly, as if afraid that no one would believe her.

“Go ahead,” Binnesman urged.

“Well, for one thing,” Averan said, “I can’t sleep very well unless...”

“You’re buried underground?” Binnesman asked.

Averan nodded bravely. “And the sun hurts me now. Even when it barely touches me, I feel like I’m getting a sunburn.”

“I can fix that,” Binnesman said. “There are runes of protection from such things—spells so potent that they’ll almost let you walk through fire. I’ll teach them to you.”

“And I can feel where food is—like carrots underground, and nuts hidden in the grass.”

“That’s also a common gift for Earth Wardens,” Binnesman said. “The ‘Fruits of the Forest and of the Field’ are all yours to eat. The Earth gives them to you freely.”

“And I used to be able to see the Earth King,” Averan said. “I could close my eyes, and see a green flame, and imagine precisely where he was. But...that doesn’t work anymore.”

She looked at Gaborn doubtfully. There was no condemnation in her eyes, no accusation. But Iome knew that she knew for certain that he had lost his powers.

“Well,” Binnesman said in surprise, “that’s one for the books! I’ve never heard of any such power before. But every wizard has his own gifts, to suit his own needs. I’m sure that you’ll discover more as you grow. Is there anything else?”

“Just the reaver’s brains,” Averan admitted.

All the time that this strange little girl had been speaking, several lords leaned close, drawn by her peculiar tale. Iome did not notice it consciously until one of the lords guffawed, as if unable to believe her.

“Where did you get the reaver brains?” Binnesman asked.

Averan pointed up to the green woman. “Spring killed one on the road and started eating it, and it smelled so good, I couldn’t help myself. Afterward, I had strange dreams—dreams that let me see what it was like to be a reaver, to think like a reaver and talk like one and see like one.”

“What did you learn?” Jerimas asked.

“I learned that reavers talk by making smells,” Averan said. “The philia on their faces let them ‘listen’ to each other, and the ones above their bungholes make smells.”

A skeptical lord crowed, “So you’re telling us that they talk out their asses?”

“Yes,” Averan said. “In that way, they’re not too different from some people.”

Jerimas laughed aloud, and said to the lord, “She got you, Dullins.”

But the mocking affected the child. Averan withdrew, and she began to tremble just a bit, staring from person to person. “I’m not making this up!” she said. “I couldn’t make this stuff up.”

Iome knew that she was right about the smells. There had long been a debate among lords as to whether reavers emitted any odors at all. Most swore that you couldn’t smell a reaver. Others believed that they disguised their scent. But yesterday, at Carris, the fell mage had sent waves of reeking odors over Gaborn’s armies, causing terrible damage.

“I’m not lying,” Averan said. “And I’m not crazy. You can’t think I’m crazy. I don’t want to be locked up in a cage, like Corman the Crow.”

“We believe you,” Iome said, smiling gently. She’d never heard of Corman the Crow. But sometimes there was nothing that could be done with a madman, and such unfortunate souls had to be locked away for their own good, in the hope that time would cure their minds.