Chapter Twelve: The Stream

  The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Ash and the others stood in a small clearing, wooden practice weapons in hand, ready for another day of training under Amalia's watchful eye. Despite the pleasant warmth of the day, Ash felt a chill of anticipation. Today would be different. Today, they would combine their weapon training with magic.

  "Pulling elar from your elan while in combat is critical," Amalia explained, her voice carrying through the clearing. She stood tall, her black robes fluttering gently in the morning breeze, violet eyes scanning her pupils with analytical precision. "You've already felt the euphoria, which is due to elar sharpening your senses, making you a touch faster, slightly stronger."

  They were paired up differently today. Instead of facing Nick with his shield, Ash found himself opposite Rosalia. She looked more competent with the sword than Nick had, her stance balanced and ready. Her eyes were closed now, mouth quivering in concentration as she attempted to draw her elar.

  Ash tried to do the same, closing his eyes and searching within himself. As always, he could feel and see the elan within him, that orb of winter light pulsing faintly in the darkness of his mind. But as always, he could not touch it. That insurmountable chasm still separated him from his power, mocking his efforts to cross it.

  Amalia continued her instruction, apparently unaware of or unconcerned with his struggles. "You have two obstacles you will have to overcome. First is controlling the euphoria, and second, the enhanced senses that come with it. You won't be used to them, and it will take some practice."

  None of which I have to worry about, Ash groused to himself, opening his eyes to watch Rosalia. Her red hair was pulled back in a tight braid, sweat already beading on her forehead despite the cool morning air. The freckles across her nose stood out against her pale skin, which seemed to take on a faint glow as she concentrated.

  Suddenly, Rosalia's eyes snapped open, and her green eyes were filled with naked pleasure, pupils dilated and lips parted in a soft gasp. Ash felt his face heat up at the expression, and he tightened his grip on the wooden blade, taking a steadying breath. He had never seen such raw enjoyment on anyone's face before, let alone Rosalia's.

  Then she attacked him, becoming a red blur he couldn't track. One moment she was standing several paces away, the next she was upon him, her practice blade sweeping toward his ribs with incredible speed.

  Before he could even attempt to parry, the wooden blade connected with his side, sending him crashing into the ground. His ribs reported that they were not having a pleasant time, pain blossoming along his left side. He groaned but stood up, retrieving his blade from where it had fallen.

  "This is so awesome!" Rosalia called out, twirling her blade with newfound grace and speed. Her face was alight with excitement, green eyes practically glowing. Her movements were fluid and unnaturally fast, making Ash acutely aware of his own limitations.

  "I'm sure it is," Ash muttered, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from his voice. He adjusted his stance, raising his blade in a defensive position. He would have to rely on his natural talent with the sword, as it seemed to be the only advantage he had.

  Rosalia grinned at him, seemingly oblivious to his frustration, and lunged forward again. Her speed was even greater this time, but something was off in her movements. She missed Ash entirely, her momentum carrying her past him. She tripped over her own feet and fell face-first into the dirt. An audible crack sounded out as her forehead connected with a small rock, and she clutched at her head with a pained expression.

  "Ow," she groaned, sitting up with dirt smeared across her cheek.

  "You need to control your speed, Miss Va'Sear," Amalia commented, her tone as even and unaffected as always. She stood with her arms crossed, watching their attempts with critical eyes.

  Rosalia wrinkled her nose, rubbing the reddening spot on her forehead. "It's all so much. I can smell everything, and it feels like I have lightning in my body."

  From across the clearing, Nick's triumphant voice rang out, "Ha! Finally, I win a bout!"

  Ash glanced over to see that the dwarf had successfully knocked Will down with a blow from his shield. The dark-skinned dwarf spun his hammer into the air, catching it with a grin that split his beard.

  Will sprawled in the dirt, hair disheveled and clothes smeared with mud. "How are you not overwhelmed?" he asked, looking up at Nick with genuine curiosity.

  Nick shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling beneath his simple tunic. "Maybe actual skill beats pretty-boy looks."

  Will laughed good-naturedly, pushing himself to his feet and brushing dirt from his clothes. "You wish! Alright, again."

  Across the clearing, Rosalia had regained her feet, and she and Ash squared off once more. He adjusted his grip on the wooden sword, focusing on what had worked for him yesterday. If he could anticipate her movements, if he could see where she would strike before she did...

  But it was no use. Rosalia's elar-enhanced speed was simply too much. She feinted to his left, and when he moved to block, she shifted direction with impossible quickness, sweeping his legs out from under him. For the second time, Ash ended up sprawled in the dirt, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Something inside him snapped. Frustration, anger, and shame boiled over, and he pounded a fist into the dirt, ice flowing through his veins. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He had lost his home, his family, and now he couldn't even keep up with his peers because of some magical deficiency he didn't understand.

  "This is impossible!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can't use magic! I'll never be an adventurer!"

  He got to his feet in one fluid motion, the movement fueled by anger rather than grace. Grabbing his wooden practice sword, he threw it as hard as he could. It sailed through the air and slammed against a tree with a loud crack, the sound of splitting wood echoing through the clearing.

  He didn't wait to see if it had broken. He simply turned and stalked away from the camp, ignoring the concerned calls of his companions. His boots crunched on fallen leaves and twigs as he made his way into the woods, heading for the nearby stream where they had been bathing.

  The soft burbling of the water grew louder as he approached, and soon he emerged from the trees to find the stream flowing merrily along its course, unconcerned with his troubles. Small fish darted through the clear water, and sunlight sparkled on its surface like scattered diamonds.

  Ash lowered himself onto a large rock by the bank, his anger slowly giving way to dejection. He stared at the flowing water, thoughts drifting back to his life on the farm.

  On the farm, there was always work to be done. All you needed was your two hands and a touch of good sense, and you were useful. It didn't take much. You didn't need to pull magic from some mystical core inside yourself or bridge invisible chasms in your mind. You just needed to be willing to put in the effort.

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  He hadn't needed magic or anything like it to do the job. He remembered when they finished repairing the fence after a storm had knocked down several sections. It had been a lot of work, requiring days of sawing wood, digging post holes, and hammering everything into place. But at the end, you could see the finished result and the progress they had made.

  It felt good to see that progress. You got to see it in all kinds of ways on the farm. Crops growing taller each day, calves becoming cows, repairs lasting through the seasons. There was always a visible result to your labor.

  But out here? With this? He wasn't making any progress at all. He thought maybe he would at least have the sword. He was so much better with it than the others, a fact that had given him a small measure of pride.

  His chest swelled slightly as he remembered how easily he had won against Nick the previous day and how Amalia had looked at him. Even she had seemed impressed, in her own understated way. He was good at it. A natural with the sword, even if Amalia didn't tell him that directly, he could tell.

  A puzzle piece clicked in place when he wielded a blade. The world made sense, and for a brief moment, he felt whole.

  But now that the others could use magic to empower themselves, he didn't even have that going for him. If all adventurers could use elar in that way, then what possible hope did he have? He would always be a step behind, always the weakest link, always the one holding everyone else back.

  On the bank of the stream, a red-orange rock caught his attention. It was nestled among the pebbles, its color standing out against the grays and browns. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was bumpy and not as shiny as he preferred, but it was interesting in its own way. Too bad he hadn't brought his pack. He could put it in his pocket instead.

  The rock was warm from the sun, its surface rough against his palm. He traced the contours with his thumb, admiring its twists and turns, the way it looked like a miniature red mountain. It wasn't perfect, but there was something appealing about its imperfections.

  Either way, he had no desire to discard it. He wanted to look at it later and add it to his collection of interesting rocks back at camp.

  "Running away from your problems, Master Lorcan? I thought better of you."

  Ash didn't need to look up to know who had followed him. He rubbed his face with his free hand, pocketing the stone with the other. His voice was tired when he finally spoke.

  "Can't you just leave me alone? You're no help."

  Amalia watched the stream flow along merrily, fish darting around with it. The sound of the rushing water was a gentle melody in the air. Her black robes were somehow still pristine despite their travels, not a speck of dust or dirt marring the fabric. Her violet eyes reflected the water's surface, giving them an unnatural shimmer.

  "I wanted to see what you would do," she said finally, her voice as calm as the stream before them.

  Ash lifted an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms across his chest. He waited for her to elaborate, knowing from experience that pressing her rarely yielded results.

  Amalia continued after a moment, her gaze still fixed on the flowing water. "I knew you couldn't draw your elar. I wanted to see how you handled it."

  His heart gained a layer of frost, his eyes narrowed to slits. So she had known all along. She had watched him struggle, watched him fail repeatedly, and said nothing. The familiar anger rose within him, sharper now and directed entirely at her.

  "So you knew but said nothing," he spat out, each word like an icicle. "That's like expecting a blind man to see! You disgust me sometimes, you know? You keep so many secrets, things that would help us figure out who killed our families! You're just as culpable in my book, and if I thought I had a snowball's chance, I would throttle the information out of you."

  Amalia tweaked her lips upward in a wry smile, the first genuine expression he had seen on her face. "You would, wouldn't you?"

  She flicked a hand, dismissing his anger as if it were no more significant than an annoying insect. "It took you some time before you gave in to the frustration. I expected you to cave that night. Instead, you kept trying."

  She cocked her head, studying him with those unsettling violet eyes. "Admirable. And stubborn."

  Ash wanted to keep berating her, but he knew it was pointless. The violet-eyed woman didn't care. No matter what words he threw at her, they just slid off her like water on oiled cloth. He may as well have been trying to insult a wall. Instead, he decided to ask a question, one that had been burning within him since they had begun this journey.

  "Why can't I use my elar? I see the gap within me, the chasm to my elan that I cannot cross."

  Amalia nodded, as if she had been waiting for this particular question. "It has to do with your elar paths."

  She slashed a finger to the side when he opened his mouth to ask another question. He closed it, scowling, but resolved to let her explain for once. Perhaps now he would finally get some answers.

  She pointed at the stream flowing before them, its waters catching the sunlight and throwing it back in dancing patterns. "Where do you think this stream flows into?"

  Ash chewed on his tongue for a moment, wondering if this was another test. "A river?"

  "Indeed," she confirmed with a slight nod. "What would happen if I added a dam to this stream?"

  "It would stop flowing into the river," he answered, beginning to see where she was going with this analogy.

  "Yes. The connection to the river would be cut off. Thus, the stream would no longer flow to it." She traced a pattern in the air with her finger, mimicking the flow of water. "If I wished for the stream to flow again, the dam would need to be removed."

  Ash rubbed at his face, trying to apply this metaphor to his own situation. "You're saying I have a dam that needs to be removed?"

  Amalia shook her head, her dark hair catching the sunlight. "Not quite. With you, the metaphor is in reverse. You need a bridge, something that connects your elar paths, your inner streams if you will, to your elan."

  Ash stepped forward, excitement building within him. Here, finally, was a possible solution to the problem that had been plaguing him. "How do I get it? How do I find this bridge?"

  "You need something integral to who you are," she replied, her voice betraying nothing of how significant this revelation might be.

  Ash growled in frustration, his momentary hope quickly giving way to irritation. "More light-cursed vague nonsense. Speak plainly; what do I need? If I am to fulfill your condition, I need this, or else I have no hope."

  Amalia closed her eyes, her face serene and still as a frozen lake. Then she opened them, staring hard at Ash with an intensity that made him take a step back.

  "You need what your kind has always needed, Ash," she said, her voice taking on a gravity he had never heard from her before.

  She took a breath, a momentary pause that seemed to stretch into eternity.

  "You need a dragon."

  The words hung in the air between them, as unexpected and impactful as a thunderclap on a clear day. Ash stared at her, waiting for the punchline, the follow-up explanation that would make sense of such an absurd statement.

  But Amalia simply gazed back at him, her face as impassive as ever, giving no indication that she had just said something outlandish.

  "A dragon," Ash repeated slowly, testing the word on his tongue. "You're saying I need a dragon to use my elar."

  It wasn't a question, but Amalia nodded anyway, a slight dip of her chin that confirmed the reality of her statement.

  "Dragons are extinct," Ash said, his voice flat with disbelief. "They haven't been seen in Dominion for centuries, except in stories like the one you told. And even if they weren't, how would I possibly find one? Why would one help me?"

  Amalia said nothing, her violet eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts. The stream continued its merry journey beside them, fish darting through its clear waters, oblivious to the bombshell that had just been dropped.

  Ash's mind raced. Dragons. The creatures of legend, with scales and wings and fire. The beings who had supposedly shaped Wyrmhaven itself, if Amalia's story was to be believed. And now she was telling him that he needed one to access his elar.

  "What do you mean, 'my kind'?" he asked, latching onto another part of her statement that had seemed off. "What kind am I supposed to be, exactly?"

  Amalia turned her gaze to the stream, observing its flow with apparent fascination. "In time, Ash. In time."

  And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Ash standing by the stream with more questions than answers, and a growing suspicion that there was far more to his inability to use elar than a simple metaphorical chasm.

  He watched her go, frustration and curiosity warring within him. Part of him wanted to chase after her, to demand more answers, to shake her until all her secrets spilled out like water from a broken dam. But he knew it would be futile. Amalia would reveal what she wanted, when she wanted, and not a moment sooner.

  Instead, he turned back to the stream, watching its waters flow endlessly onward. A dragon. How was he supposed to find a dragon in a world where they were believed to be nothing more than myths and legends? And even if he could find one, what then? How would a dragon, a creature of immense power and ancient wisdom, help him bridge the gap to his elan?

  Ash reached into his pocket, pulling out the red-orange rock he had found earlier. He turned it over in his palm, its rough surface catching the sunlight. Perhaps there were answers to be found, if he knew where to look. Perhaps this journey with Amalia, frustrating as it was, would eventually lead him to what he sought.

  With a sigh, he pocketed the stone once more and turned to head back to camp. He would continue his training, continue to try to access his elar, and wait for the moment when Amalia decided to share more of what she knew. And in the meantime, he would keep his eyes open for any sign, any hint, of dragons.