Maggie Furey - Aurian

Eliseth did, however, seem to think a lot of the last Mage, Bragar. His discipline was Fire-magic, as Geraint’s had been, and Aurian had been looking forward to meeting him. Her enthusiasm died as soon as she saw him. Bragar was gaunt-faced and completely bald. His dark eyes, like Eliseth’s, were devoid of warmth and expression, giving him a reptilian appearance. His aura was as dark as his purple robes, and Aurian, young and inexperienced though she was, could feel the cruelty of his nature shadowing him like the blackest of wings. He looked down at her over his high-bridged nose as though she were some species of insect, and his voice, when he deigned to speak to her, was sardonic and patronizing. He made Aurian’s flesh creep, and she vowed to herself that she’d keep out of his way. She already knew that she possessed her father’s talent of Fire-magic, and the thought of studying under Bragar filled her with fear.

The weeks that followed Aurian’s arrival at the Academy became one long, inescapable nightmare. She was left in Eliseth’s sole charge, and the Magewoman was unremittingly harsh with her. Aurian lacked any formal training in magic, and hitherto her use of her powers had been spontaneous and instinctive. Now she had to learn to discipline her wildfire talent into the controlled and focused power that was the true secret of Magehood. This, according to Eliseth, could only be done by the endless repetition of drills and exercises that seemed, to Aurian, to explain nothing and accomplish very little.

Eliseth tried her with Fire-magic, using a candle flame which Aurian had to ignite, extinguish, or make larger or smaller. Aurian had no idea where to start. She also failed at mental communication—a rare gift among the Magefolk in any case, though Eliseth didn’t explain that to Aurian. She had some limited success with simple levitation and Earth-magic, but Water-magic she found impossible to grasp. The magic of the element of Air—which, as a Weather-Mage, was Eliseth’s specialty—the Magewoman dismissed as being far too difficult for Aurian, given her poor performance to date.

Forral’s exercises in concentration helped a little, but Aurian found that focusing her will differed greatly from concentrating her mind. Time after time, some small distraction would interfere with her attention, and she would either lose her gathered power completely, or it would get out of control with unfortunate results. Eliseth’s punishments on these occasions were inventive, cruel, and humiliating, and Aurian soon became afraid even to try, lest she fail once more. But this only got her into more trouble with her impatient teacher. Even in the evenings, her time was not her own, for Eliseth set her to learning the entire Mages’ Code by heart, and tested her on it every day.

Aurian was more miserable and lonely than she had ever been in her life. Things might have been easier if she could have sent a message to her mother, or talked to Finbarr or Meiriel, but Eliseth kept her a virtual prisoner. She made her work all day and locked her into her room at night. Aurian lost her appetite and couldn’t sleep. She lay awake each night tossing and fretting, and each morning the face that looked back from her mirror seemed more pale, glunrC and hollow-eyed. She became increasingly nervous and timid, and wept at the slightest provocation. As the weeks turned into months and spring came slowly round again, she became more and more convinced that she would never be a Mage. Inevitably, her hopelessness overcame even her fear of the city and the great world outside, and she became driven by a desperate need to escape.

At last the opportunity arrived. After a particularly trying day, Eliseth sent her to her room—and forgot to lock the door. Aurian waited breathlessly until well into the night, praying that the Mage would not return to imprison her once more. Then she bundled up her spare clothing in a blanket and crept out of the tower, expecting at any moment to hear an angry voice calling her back.

It seemed almost too easy. The air was mild and springlike, the full moon gave her plenty of light, and the courtyard was completely deserted. Aurian flitted silently from shadow to shadow, searching for another exit apart from the main gate, which was guarded, and would only lead her down the exposed road to the gatehouse on the causeway. As she circled the high wall of the complex, she began to despair. Surely there must be another way out! But her searching only brought her full circle, back to the Mages’ Tower. Aurian could have sat down and wept, but the chance to escape might never come again, and she couldn’t afford to waste it. She gritted her teeth and swore one of Forral’s favorite oaths. “Right,” she muttered. “I’ll climb the bloody wall!” Searching for a better purchase on the smooth stonework, she crept into the corner where the wall joined the rounded side of the tower. And there, hidden in shadow, was a small wooden postern, set deep within the thick stones of the wall! Biting her lip, Aurian wrestled with the great iron ring that served as a handle, and pushed. The little door swung open. Aurian slipped through—and her heart sank. Before her was a walled garden, not a way out.

From her hiding place in the bushes that grew along the wall, Aurian scanned the garden. It was beautifully kept, with smoothly trimmed lawns, sparkling fountains, and neat beds of delicate spring flowers that shimmered palely in the moonlight. Their fragrance drifted to Aurian on the warm breeze, and early moths danced above them as though some of the blossoms had taken to the air. Apart from a circular wooden arbor in the center, only the walls with their cover of shrubs and vines offered shelter for a fugitive. But one wall—the one farthest away from her—was only waist high. She could climb out! For a moment Aurian’s heart leapt. Then she got her bearings. It was the wall bounding the edge of the steep cliff face that sheared down like the prow of a ship to the river below. She set her jaw stubbornly, and fought down her despair. I’ll just have to try to climb down, that’s all, she decided. Maybe it won’t be too bad. I’d rather die than spend another night in this place!

Aurian slunk around the edge of the garden, staying in the shadow of the bushes and heading for the low wall. Then suddenly she saw the old man. He had been hidden by the arbor when she had entered, but now he was in plain sight, kneeling over a flower bed with a trowel in his hand. Her heart pounding, Aurian backed into the bushes, discovering too late that they were roses. The thorns stuck painfully into her back and caught in her clothes and hair, but she didn’t dare make a sound or move to free herself, though the old gardener seemed to be completely engrossed in his task.

Aurian waited. And waited, praying that the old fool would hurry up and go away. Surely he wasn’t planning to work all night? Evidently not. Suddenly, without looking up, he said: “Isn’t it uncomfortable in there?” Aurian caught her breath, feeling the thorns drive deeper into her skin as she shrank back into the concealing foliage. “You might as well come out, you know.” The rough old voice was not unkind. “The Archmage’s private garden is never the best place to hide, my dear. They say the very flowers whisper secrets in his ears.”

With a gasp, Aurian shot out of the rosebushes, ripping her clothes on the thorns. The old man smiled. “That’s better. This garden hasn’t seen a pretty girl in more years than I could count.” From a pocket in his patched old tunic he took a small flask of wine, and a package neatly wrapped in a clean white cloth. “I’m just about to eat,” he said. “Do you like bread and cheese?”

He obviously wasn’t right in the head. Aurian began to sidle toward the low wall. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have time.”