Филип Этанс: The Savage Caves

Naull stood and crossed to the window. She peered through the thin opening and out into the warm air. Below were the well-manicured gardens that kept her busy in the spring and fall. Beyond was a small forest, rolling hills, and the world she had seen so little of in her eighteen years.

The fresh air felt good, at least, and made her feel less sleepy. She knew she shouldn’t be tired, but boredom could do that to you, and Naull was crushingly bored. She rubbed her stiff neck, and her hand brushed her right ear. This made her realize that she hadn’t put on her earrings that morning. Her hair was cut short, well above her shoulders because it was easier to take care of and didn’t get in the way of her spellcasting and other duties. She wore a man’s tunic and breeches for the same reason.

The window faced west, and she knew that somewhere over the horizon was the city of New Koratia. She might look ridiculous there with her boy’s haircut and man’s clothes, but at least there would be something to do there, people and things to see, some kind of life not limited to learning how to use something she was never permitted to use. There might be—there would be—men.

She heard the door open and didn’t turn around.

“Staring out the window again?” Larktiss asked, his voice dripping with overstated disapproval. “I’ve brought the heavier needle.”

Naull pressed her face into the thin arrow loop and said, “It’s done already.”

She closed her eyes and listened to the old man shuffle over to the table, pick up the magically mended pouch, and throw it back down again.

“There was a reason I asked you to fix it with a needle and thread, Naull,” he said.

She took her face off the stone but didn’t turn around.

“I want to leave,” she said.

“We’re going to have this conversation again, then, are we?” the old man asked.

Naull turned to him, and her hands went to her hips. She started to say, “Larktiss—”

Her tone made her feel instantly guilty, and she took her hands from her hips and shook her fingers to keep from clenching them into fists.

“You’re not a prisoner here, child,” Larktiss said. “You know you never have been, and you never will be.”

“I don’t want to just leave, Larktiss. I want you to understand why I have to go.” She looked at the floor. “I want your blessing.”

“And you’ll have it,” he replied, “in due time.”

Naull couldn’t stop her hands from curling into fists, but she kept her arms at her sides. “I have been a good student,” she said. “I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked me to do. I can’t stay here forever.”

The old man smiled, showing yellow teeth. His face was as kindly as ever, and though Naull usually found his easy manner and deeply lined, wise face comforting, sometimes she thought he looked like the world’s kindliest jailer. His white hair—what was left of it—was as disheveled as always, but his long, brown robe was immaculately clean. Naull returned his smile.

“I never said you had to stay here forever, Naull,” Larktiss said. “I do wish I could tell you precisely how much longer you should stay, but magic is not an exact science. It’s more an art. You have learned the most basic elements of the craft, but you lack both experience and an understanding of the nuances. A young mage with your limited abilities and your seemingly limitless self-confidence—” with this his smile was gone all together, and his soft face went hard—“could be more dangerous than—”

“If I lack experience,” Naull interrupted, “it’s because I’ve hardly left this damned tower in the last six years. I have learned your lessons and mended your pouches and darned your socks and fetched the water… Is that the sort of experience you had in mind?”

The old man looked disappointed, and Naull had to look at the floor again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Larktiss,” she said, “and I don’t want to defy you. You have taught me well and treated me better. I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t taken me in. I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay, but…”

“But your wisdom has outgrown mine,” he said, his voice unusually weak.

She looked at him and sighed. “No, Larktiss, my wisdom hasn’t outgrown yours, my… curiosity… ambition… I don’t know. I have outgrown this place. I need to be around more than one person, for Boccob’s sake.”

“I know,” he said, looking at the floor the same way Naull had. “I have had other students. They have always come to me, just like you, and told me that it was time for them to leave. I let them go, the same way I suppose I’ll let you go. At first it was because I thought they were right, then because I couldn’t convince them that I was right. Either way, they left to see the world and experience its wonders and dangers. I watched all of them from here, unable to do anything but observe.”

The old man stopped talking and stood. Naull could hear his old joints creak. He looked at her with sadness drawing the corners of his eyes down. Naull felt her eyes fill with tears.

“I’ve had twenty students,” Larktiss continued, “including you. Do you know how many of them are still alive?”

Naull didn’t answer.

“You,” he said. “Only you.”

She drew in a breath and stood there, arms at her sides, a single tear rolling down one cheek.

The old man sighed so heavily it was as if all the air rushed out of him at once. He seemed to deflate in front of her. Naull almost reached out to steady him but didn’t.

He looked at her with an obviously forced smile and asked, “Where will you go?”

She had to clear her throat, then pause for a moment before she could say, “Fairbye, to start, I suppose. I can pick up the trade road from there to New Koratia and beyond.”

The old man nodded and said, “Beyond…”

“I have no intention of getting myself killed,” she said.

The old man shrugged. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “You’re a good little mage, Naull, and with luck you might live to be great one, but there is something you need to understand.”

Naull waited while Larktiss struggled with what he felt he had to say next.

“If you leave here before I believe you’re ready,” he said finally, “you will not be welcomed back.”

Naull sniffed, wiped the tears from her face, and said, “Like hell, old man. I’ll be back to visit you every year, no matter what life hands me, no matter where I end up.”

The old man nodded, but his eyes were distant. Naull understood that he believed it wouldn’t matter if she was welcomed or not or intended to return or not. He was sure he would never see her again.

“Fairbye,” he said, crossing slowly, stiffly to the door. “You’ll need some things. I can give you pouches—you’ll need pouches, you know, for spell components, and—”

He stopped talking so he could keep himself from crying. After a moment, he opened the door.

“Get dressed,” said the old man. “I can spare a backpack, I think, and a torch or three. Don’t forget your spellbook.” He turned to face her, his face serious, his eyes red. “Never, ever forget your spellbook, girl. It is a mage’s—”

“Life,” she finished for him. She’d heard him say it enough. “It’s a mage’s life.”

He smiled weakly and walked through the door. She listened to his shuffling footsteps recede for a minute, then took the pouch from the table and left the room herself.

Larktiss had gone down the steep spiral stairs that ran up the center of the cylindrical tower. Naull went up. She took the steps two at a time—a habit that always annoyed and worried Larktiss—and was through the door into her cramped bedchamber in less than a minute.