Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

“I want to check the entrance to the ruins again. I won’t be long.”

“Stubborn, bull-headed, annoying man,” Icelin muttered, just loud enough for Ruen to hear as he walked away. He ignored her, so she turned to Sull. “He’s going to drive himself into the grave if he’s not careful. Can’t you talk to him, Sull?”

The butcher flushed but not from anger this time. Icelin recognized that cornered expression. Sull never liked to get in the middle of their arguments. He always said it was a dangerous place to be. “He means well, lass,” Sull said, “even if he does go about it all wrong sometimes.”

“He burned your fish,” Icelin reminded him, though he really had done no such thing. Why couldn’t Sull take her side when she needed him?

“He’s in a hurry,” Sull said, his gaze following Ruen’s path through the trees. “When you’re young, you don’t notice the way time’s passin’, but when you get older …” He cleared his throat and glanced at her with an uneasy expression. “When you get older, you look ahead of you less and less. You look behind instead, and when you weigh the two together, you realize how much time’s been wasted.”

Icelin put her plate on the grass and sighed. “I know that better than anyone, Sull.”

“And you the youngest among us,” Sull said with a humorless chuckle. “The gods have a wearisome sense of humor sometimes.”

“Maybe not,” Icelin said. “I try not to think of it too much, but when I do consider all that I’ve been given, there is a bit of balance.”

“How do you figure that?” Sull asked.

Icelin shrugged. “My spellscar has shortened my life, but it also lets me forget nothing. All my memories of the life I’ve led-growing up in my great uncle’s house; the day I met you in your butcher shop; the night I met Ruen on the harbor, and the first thing I saw was that ridiculous hat of his.…” Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat. “Our adventures together in Mistshore, dangerous as they were, were some of the most exciting times of my life, and I have them all, every detail vivid in my mind. I won’t lose them.”

“Good memories are all any of us can ask for, in the end,” Sull agreed. “Good memories and no regrets.”

“No regrets,” Icelin echoed. She rose and helped Sull gather up the plates and cooking tools.

“Get some sleep,” Sull told her. “I’ll wash these up first thing in the morning.”

Suddenly weary, Icelin didn’t argue. She spread out her bedroll near the fire and burrowed into the blankets.

In Tethyr, the days stayed warm and humid, even in the winter months, but the nights still felt cold to Icelin. She watched the flickering firelight, listening to Sull move about the camp and settle in for his watch. Letting her mind wander, she closed her eyes and pictured Waterdeep, the wagon trails of Caravan City, the perpetual dust in the air and the shouts of the drovers and whicker of dozens of horses. The city’s heart beat with her, even here, in the distant south. Faerun’s heart beat all around her. She felt it in the swaying oaks and in the cool earth, where fabled cities of light and dark spread deeper roots beneath her.

They were little more than tales to her, legends spoken of by firelight, but Icelin liked to imagine the people moving about above and below. Movement and life reminded her in turn that she was alive, that she took part in it all.

A vast, lively, and aching world. Icelin drifted off to sleep thinking how all the tales spoke truth.

Icelin dreamed of Waterdeep.

The dream was also a memory, five years old, one Icelin slipped into unwillingly. She used to wake from it screaming, sweat and tears streaming down her face. But she had learned to live with the pain, and the nightmare didn’t quite terrorize her the way it used to.

She walked with her teacher down the mildewed quays of Dock Ward, listening to him drill her on what spells she could call to mind quickly if attacked in a crowd. The day had been blisteringly hot. She remembered the stench of rotting garbage in the alley between a tavern with two cracked windows in the front, and a boardinghouse made of old, warped wood. Five people moved about on the top floor beneath a sagging roof, though Icelin wouldn’t know that until later. Glaring sunlight reflected off the water. The day had crystallized in Icelin’s memory, and not just because her spellscar made her recall it with perfect clarity. In many ways, this had been the defining moment of her young life, the day her childhood ended.

As she walked beside Nelzun, up ahead, the door to the tavern crashed open, and men spilled out onto the quay. A fight had erupted within; Icelin had never found out what the fight had been about, but when she saw one man hit the ground in front of her, his face covered in blood, and another follow after with sword drawn, she reacted without thinking. She raised her hands and cast a spell, intending to defend the man on the ground. It should have been a very small fire spell.

She remembered how the incantation trembled from her lips. Fire erupted from her fingertips and spread out before her in a billowing sheet. The men with weapons fell back, surprised by the magical assault, and a small squeal of triumph escaped her lips. She thought she’d done well and looked to Nelzun for his approval.

Then it all went wrong.

She watched as the sheet of fire grew, arching up like a wave. But her horror was supplanted by agony as the wild magic roiled through her small body. She couldn’t contain it. The red wave engulfed the dry tinder of the boardinghouse.

Helpless, screaming, Icelin watched the dream play out. The roof of the boardinghouse collapsed, killing all five people on the top floor instantly. Nelzun helped get the others on the first floor to safety, but the effort claimed his life. He’d died on the quay in front of her.

The accident had made Icelin swear off the Art forever. For a long time, she’d kept the wild magic contained within her, until she’d met Ruen and Sull and had her adventure in Mistshore. She’d never completely forgiven herself for the fire, the lives she’d inadvertently taken, but she’d learned to live with the scars of the past, to look to the future instead.

She expected the dream to end here, as it usually did, with Icelin cradling her teacher’s body in her arms. Yet it didn’t. The fire burned on, and as she crouched on the quay, Icelin felt a presence behind her, as if someone were watching her from the shadows.

Are you a wizard? A soft, feminine voice echoed inside her mind.

I tried to be . Icelin buried her face in her teacher’s robes. But that day, I was a monster .

You attempted to tame a force far beyond your control. It was not your fault .

Icelin shook her head. She would not deny her responsibility. I could have chosen not to cast the spell .

You are a wizard. Would you ask a bird not to fly?

A bird cannot set the world on fire with its wings .

Icelin thought she heard the unseen woman’s tinkling laughter. You’ve not seen phoenixes leap from the fires of their own deaths. Stand too near their beauty, and you will burn .

The fire, the screams of the dying, Nelzun’s body, all of it faded, leaving only darkness and the woman’s voice. Icelin felt a chill fall over her. Who are you? Why do you speak to me in dreams?

Set me free , said the woman’s voice, a plaintive, hollow echo in Icelin’s mind. All traces of amusement were gone, replaced by a longing that pulled at Icelin’s heart. I can help you control the force within you. I am meant for you .

Who are you? Icelin repeated, trying to free herself from the darkness, to wake.