Maggie Furey - Aurian

The Archivist sighed. Meiriel was right to be concerned. Aurian had become completely obsessive about her work, forgetting to eat and sleep, and putting far too much strain on the inner energies that were the source of her magical powers. The danger signs were already showing. Her face was wan and drawn, and her skin seemed to glow with an inner light. Her green eyes were vague and glowing.

Last summer, when Finbarr had taken Aurian to visit her mother, he had tried to enlist Eilin’s aid in persuading her to slow down, but the Earth-Mage, used to her own grueling la^ bors, had dismissed his concerns. Eilin had also been pushing herself too hard—her self-imposed task was far too much for one Mage. Finbarr had been alarmed by her haggard appearance, and knew that she was missing Aurian more than she would admit; but when he had begged Eilin to return to the Academy, she had refused outright. Like mother like daughter, Finbarr thought. I can see where Aurian gets her obsessive behavior from—and her impossible stubbornness!

Nonetheless, he decided on one last attempt to get through to the headstrong young Mage. “Aurian, listen. You must take better care of yourself! Meiriel believes you’re in danger of burning yourself out! Terrible things can happen to a Mage who overstretches herself as you do. Miathan is proud of your accomplishments, but he doesn’t want you to lose your powers—and your mind—through being overzealous. Believe me, it can happen. I have cases documented right here, if you want to see them.”

Aurian’s expression grew grave. “Is Meiriel really worried?”

“She certainly is. If you would only talk to her—”

“Of course I will!” Aurian cried impulsively. “Listen—I’ll come to supper after all, and explain that there’s no problem. I’m sure I can set her mind at rest. In the meantime, I’ll take these, and make a start.” Gatherim^her armload of heavy old volumes from the table, she dashed out, forgetting, as usual, to say goodbye.

Finbarr sighed. Well’, he had tried. Perhaps Meiriel could talk some sense into her.

The heat struck Aurian like a blow as she emerged from the library into the dusty, sunlit courtyard. The weather was rarely this good so far north, but the hot spell had been going on for over a month now, and showed no signs of abating. At first the farmers outside the city had been pleased, but now all the hay was in and the parched corn was drooping in the fields. The river had dried to a stinking, muddy trickle, and for the first time in living memory, water was rationed in Nexis. The Mortals had started looking to the Magefolk to solve the problem, and rumors of unrest were growing daily as the drought continued.

Aurian gave the matter little thought. She was absorbed in her own work, and blithely confident that Miathan could solve any problem. She had no idea of the hardships that the Mortals were suffering, as the Academy was supplied by its own deep underground springs, and the Magefolk suffered no lack of water. Since she rarely left the hilltop complex, she was unaware that her people were now discouraged from going into the city alone. Speeding across the courtyard, Aurian decided to spend the rest of the afternoon studying in Miathan’s garden—a privilege that was uniquely hers, so close was she to the Archmage. But when she reached the little door she heard Eliseth’s voice coming from the other side of the wall.

“Miathan, I’ve done what I can. I can’t make it rain just like that—the nearest clouds are hundreds of miles away! I’ve set things in motion, but it will take them days to get here, and I’m exhausting myself in the process. Those clods in the city should be grateful! Frankly, had you not insisted, I wouldn’t even bother. Who cares about their stupid drought? The Magefolk are all right.”

“Eliseth, I explained why.” Miathan sounded weary and exasperated. “You know how volatile the situation is down there. Water is already rationed, and Meinel says that if the river gets any lower, there is,a serious risk of disease. There have been some isolated outbreaks already, and they’re blaming the Magefolk. If we have an epidemic, the city will go up like tinder, and I’m not ready to deal with an angry mob. Rioch came to see me last night, and this time he’s determined to retire. He says he’s too old to cope with the unrest. And Van-nor! I suspect that secretly he’s one of the main fomentors of the trouble. He used to be bad enough, but since his wife died last year he crosses me on the Council at every opportunity. Because Meiriel failed to save her, he blames the Magefolk.” Miathan sighed. “It would help if we could find a successor for Rioch, but there is no sympathy for our people at the Garrison just now. Eliseth, if you can’t manage some rain soon, I don’t dare contemplate the consequences.”

“I’m doing my best!” Eliseth snapped. “If you didn’t plague me with your problems, I would have more time—”

Aurian walked away, frowning. Poor Miathan! She hadn’t realized that matters were so serious. Perhaps if she made some progress with her studies in Weather-magic, she would be able to help him. Suddenly decisive, she shifted the heavy stack of books to her other arm and headed for her rooms. It was stifling in the tower, and for once Aurian found herself wishing she lived nearer to the ground floor, as she dragged herself up the endless spiral of steps. By the time she reached her door, she felt weak and dizzy. A servant passed her on his way down from Miathan’s chambers, and with Finbarr’s warning in mind, Aurian detained him. She hadn’t eaten all day, but on the point of asking him for some food, she hesitated. It was too hot to eat. I can get something later, she thought. “Bring me a cool drink,” she told the man, and went into her rooms, dropping the books on the table with a grateful sigh.

Though there was no fire in the grate, the room was like an oven. The green and gold curtains hung limp at the open window, and dust motes hovered in the thick bar of sunlight that pooled on the moss-green carpet. Aurian reached for the pitcher of water on her table, but discarded its stale and lukewarm contents with a grimace, deciding to wait for the servant’s return. If Miathan would give me my own servant, she thought, I wouldn’t suffer such neglect! She pulled up a chair and sat down at the table, deciding that she might as well get started.

Whoever had written the artcieirt volume had atrocious handwriting. Aurian rubbed her eyes, which ached from trying to decipher the illegible scrawl. The lines seemed to undulate across the page as the brassy sunlight poured through the window, striking the parchment with a dazzling glare and scorching the back of her head. Aurian wondered irritably when the wretched servant would bring her drink, then turned her attention back to her work. Thank goodness Finbarr had taught her that spell to clarify these archaic scribbles! Frowning with con-;entration, she focused on the page, reaching deep within her-If to access her powers.

At first Aurian was unaware that anything was amiss. Then ic noticed that, instead of becoming clearer, the words seemed to be getting smaller^SXfith a shock, she realized that the periphery of her vision had clouded so that the writing seemed far away, at the end of a long, dark tunnel. When she tried to wrench her eyes away, her body would not obey her. Everything was speeding away from her, and she was falling—falling into the dark . . .

“I’m sorry, Archmage, I can do no more. I warned her this would happen if she pushed herself too hard.” The Healer sounded upset.

Miathan stifled his anger. This is my fault, he thought, for letting Aurian overextend herself. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s been three days, Meiriel!”

Meiriel sat down wearily on Aurian’s bed. “Physically, nothing is wrong with her,” she explained. “As far as I can tell, there’s no loss of her powers. Because she overtaxed them, something inside her has withdrawn. I think Aurian is aware of what is happening around her, but she’s trapped within herself, and we can’t get through to her.”