Page 48 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Even if I could, I’m not sure that I would. That doesn’t seem like something that I should be able to have power over.” Add another stone to the ever-mounting weight of crushing responsibility. “Have you ever heard of anyone with that gift?”
Locane subtly bites his lip as he studies me intently before shaking his head a fraction. “No, I haven’t heard of anyone able to stretch their Sight that far.”
Thank the Mother. For a split second I thought he was going to tell me that was part of Nana’s gift, that I had certainly inherited that aspect of it. There’s no part of me that believes what Locane does, that Nana purposely held me back. She clearly taught me well.
But if what Locane says is true, Nana did keep things from me. The word ‘betrayal’ quietly burrows into my mind like a parasite coming to drain the life out of something precious. I immediately shake it off and ignore the tightness that has formed in my gut at the poisonous, intrusive word. I’ve barely allowed myself to think about what Locane has said about my father.
He gives me an odd, unreadable look. He wipes it away as quickly as it came with a small uptilt of his full lips and squeezes my hand gently, reminding me that they are still connected. He stands pulling me up with him.
“Go grab your staff. Let’s train.”
All the negative emotions trying to take me over disappear at the words. Without argument, I run inside to grab my weapon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two full moons pass by in a repetitive blur. The days bleed into each other, each one a near replica of the day before.
Locane and I figured out the best schedule is to train with fighting first thing in the morning after an early breakfast. Locane still uses a blunt edged training sword and doesn’t hold back on me like he did the first night we fought with weapons. Even still, I usually beat him far easier than I would expect based on our sizes and vast age difference.
When I finish weapons training, I take a walk around the grounds alone to begin clearing my head and connecting with the earth, channeling more power into my gifts. The two golden spools within me glow brighter with each bare footfall on the soft grass while the sun beats on my skin. Even on the days when it rains, the droplets on my skin fuel me in the same way as the sun.
After my walk, I eat a small snack. We then either sit on the lawn, or in front of the large row of windows in the informal living area, for me to practice seeking visions. I test the limits of what I can do with them. It turns out, the limits are rock solid, and while I can sometimes summon the visions at will, I cannot control what I See. It often takes great effort to make them stop when I choose.
Since my vision of Ellhora on the Ruby Shore, nothing of obvious importance has come to me. I have only seen a merchant inCrane Hills loading a shipment of candles to go to Quinndohs; a goat herder trying and failing to herd his tribe away from the Plains of Ire; a woman looking out a window at a cloudless sky while she rubs her hand affectionately across her belly swollen with child. I See several other equally mundane and insignificant things, much to Locane’s frustration. A point of frustration for both of us is that I haven’t figured out any indicators to pinpoint a general time for what I might be Seeing.
We often argue about what a disappointing failure of a Seer I am, and then I take another walk. The second stroll of the day is always much less enjoyable than the first, usually spent fuming as I try to vent my steadily building rage. I come down from it enough to stomach facing Locane again for a lunch that he has prepared. It is always delicious, filling, and has a way of abating my foul mood enough to continue with the rest of the day.
After lunch, I will go nap for an hour, hoping to sleep off the relentless headaches that are building in strength, before going back outside to practice with my electric currents.
Unlike bringing forth a vision, the electricity requires me to dig my hands in the dirt. Locane took me into the carriage house and had me place my hands on top of the brick floor of the building and nothing happened. But every time I have the earth around my hands, the flaming veins burst forth from me easily. My aim is becoming more precise, but we still make sure to always practice this bout of magic far from the beautiful country house.
Most days, I bathe while Locane makes dinner. I never fail to get much dirtier than he does with all the rolls on the ground and digging my hands and feet in the earth, but I don’t mind. After dinner I am usually too tired to do anything else but fall into bed, sometimes not even bothering to change into night clothes beforeI do. I’m always too mentally exhausted to think about much of anything, and no other visions or memories of importance have come to me that I determine the need to keep hidden.
I’ve been wanting to try the jump, but Locane is worried that with us not knowing where I am in that area, that I will jump out of the wards and the king’s guards may find me. The prospect of that alone makes the urge to practice far less appealing.
Even though he is infuriating and mean most of the time, I do have a sense of safety here. And I can’t help but be appreciative to Locane for helping me to remember who I am and what I can do. Those weeks that I was alone after escaping, I wasn’t aware I had magic at all. It seems silly now, as it’s constantly buzzing below the surface, eager to be let out.
But how long do we plan to stay hidden here? With the quest ahead, I would imagine it can’t be long. I don’t know what—if anything—Locane has planned for that time. Today is the first day I have taken a break from all training, and I take the opportunity while I’m rested and clear headed after lunch to ask him what’s next.
“How long are we going to stay here?” I ask him innocently, determined not to set off one of his unpredictable moods. In the time we have spent together, they haven’t evened out at all. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around him. The smallest things seem to set him off in fits that range between mild irritation and utter fury. It’s honestly as exhausting as the training, and infinitely more terrifying.
“As long as it takes.” A typical Locane answer.
My annoyance is already emerging. My patience for his vague answers wears thinner every single day.
We walk through the rose garden, more kept than it was a couple of months ago. Locane and I don’t usually spend time around each other outside of training and meals, as it always ends in some sort of physical or verbal fight, but I’ve often seen him out here weeding and pruning. It’s disconcerting, seeing this cold and crass man lovingly tend to a garden or putting his soul into the meals and treats he prepares in the kitchen. The contrast between his generally cruel personality and the care and reverence he puts into his hobbies is stark.
Our walk together was his idea, and I was hoping that him having the idea of us spending unnecessary down time together would mean he would be willing to have an open conversation. It has been far too long. Every time I try, he manages to deflect or we end up in a vicious fight. I’ve found myself less and less motivated to bring up these conversations and ask my questions.
“Perfect. More cryptic answers,” I say icily, rubbing my temple. “Do you have an idea of where we will go first when we leave here?” A slight edge coats my voice.
Locane stops to bend down and pull a small weed creeping up between one of the rose bushes and puts it in his pocket. I arch a brow in question at the act.
“If you don’t dispose of it properly, it will just establish itself where it lands. But to answer your question, I think it would be best for us to head to the Territories when we leave here. I heard whispers about a religious group who may be able to point us in the right direction. With you being wanted, it would be unwise to search anywhere on the Continent for the time being.”
“You and your whispers. And how will we head for the Mother Continent?” My chest squeezes with the question, because there canonly be so many answers.
Locane gives me knowing eyes when he answers, “The safest route of travel is from the ports of The Capital in Quinndohs, but we will take one of the more discreet ports from here in Brhadir.”
