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Chapter 2: Ethan
In her dorm room at Kalispell Academy, Samantha climbed wearily onto her bed. She could finally relax now that Raven was safe with the Academy’s animal caretaker. Through the small window, the moon still shone outside, though it neared the horizon. Morning approached, and the time was no longer very late in the night but rather very early in the day. Exhausted from the night’s events, Samantha slowly removed her bloodstained tunic, marked by Raven’s blood along the sleeves where she had inadvertently pressed her arms against the dog’s wounds as he supported her all the way back to Kalispell. She balked at the thought of falling asleep without a bath, but she couldn’t drag herself up, even to fall into the adjoining bath. Knowing that crawling under the covers would leave dirt, dried sweat, and who knew what else in the sheets, she rested for the time being on top of the light blankets, with her head tilted back against the wall. Her eyes closed as she gave in to her fatigue. It was just a short fight, not even as strenuous as the practices on the training fields, she thought, puzzled. Why am I so tired?
The door opened noiselessly, and it took a moment for Samantha to realize that she had visitors. She looked up in surprise to see Headmaster Thierry in the doorway with a student standing behind him. I didn’t sense them at all, she thought, confused, trying to think of a reason for her exhaustion. Her energy patterns were skewed to the point that she couldn’t sense the presences of two essedarians not ten paces from her.
The headmaster cleared his throat and said, “Samantha of Apacath, this is Ethan of Talia, one of our student healers. Make good use of his help.” Before Samantha could reply, Thierry turned and left without another word.
She remained outwardly indifferent, though inside she wondered why the headmaster would bring her a healer. Since she was Master of Water herself, it seemed completely unnecessary to bring this student, this… novice to help her. After all, she’d trained with many of the best essedarians on all of Kethadros, most of whom possessed skill that exceeded even the strength of the members of this elite academy.
On the other hand, this student healer—what was his name? Ethan. Yes, Ethan of Talia. Ethan looked like a typical Academy healer, a bit on the young side like her. His uniform fit well, if not a bit loosely on his lean frame. Like most healers, he didn’t appear physically strong; instead he most likely relied on his channeling ability. Despite her stare, which must have revealed some of her contempt, he regarded her coolly, green eyes shining as he swept his light chestnut hair from his eyes in a motion that seemed to be an unconscious habit.
When she finished sizing him up as best she could without her natural Omniscience ability, she finally spoke her criticism. “I don’t need a healer.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You took on one of the most dangerous criminals around. Forgive me for being blunt, but I doubt you got away unscathed.”
She looked at him skeptically, not only for his remark, but also for inviting himself into the room. He was supposed to leave, not come in. Besides, how did he and the headmaster know about her fight with the man? “So who was this invincible man I defeated?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.
“He was the—” He stopped short. “Did you say you defeated him?”
“Yes,” she replied shortly.
He hesitated. “You defeated the fleeing headmaster of Belsveign Academy? The man the Gathering has been hunting for nearly a year without success?”
Samantha nearly fell off the bed in surprise. A Gathering class I criminal? Jake is going to kill me. Recovering quickly, she replied with a terse, “Yes.”
“And you weren’t injured?” he asked, not bothering to mask his astonishment.
“He placed a curse on my arm, a simple energy ward, but it had interesting effects when placed on the body. I lifted it before I came back.”
“Is he dead?” The disbelief in his voice was clear.
“Most likely,” she said. “He lost a lot of blood from the cuts in his arm, leg, and chest.” By the Spirits, I feel like I’m filing a mission report with Jake. “I doubt he got away alive,” she added grimly.
Ethan stared at her. “You did all that to him? Alone?”
“Raven helped,” she explained and added, “—he’s a combat dog.”
He gave her a mystified look. “From what I know, you’re an average magic student of the Academy. I find it remarkable that you have the skill to defeat a criminal like the Belsveign Headmaster.”
It was she who hesitated this time. “I don’t tell the Academy everything I know.” Because if they knew, they would wonder, then everything Jake’s worked for would be wasted. “How do you know so much about me anyway?” she asked warily.
“Headmaster Thierry told me,” he answered.
“Even he doesn’t know that much,” she said.
“That much of what?”
Samantha caught herself before she spoke. This conversation was steering into dangerous subjects. She gave him a noncommittal answer. “Nothing.”
With this reply, she could almost hear Ethan sigh in exasperation. Perfect. Now maybe he’ll leave. She continued her verbal campaign. “Why are you here anyway? I already told you I don’t need your help.”
Slowly, he took a step closer to her. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you? You refuse help before you even know what I’m offering you.”
“Don’t try to judge me,” she said scornfully.
“I can see what you need. You’ve been without companionship in all your time at Kalispell. You practice channeling alone; you eat at odd hours to avoid others; you choose the most obscure practice rooms so no one even sees you.”
“How would you know?” she exclaimed accusingly. She felt a slight grip of fear to think that perhaps he possessed the same innate Omniscience ability as she. He would be the first she’d encountered in all her experience, which in truth was far more vast than many could begin to imagine.
“I observe,” he said, “and I listen. I can’t be a healer without careful attention to detail.”
Don’t lecture me on how to be a healer, she thought. Seething, she said, “Then observe this: I don’t need your companionship. I don’t need your channeling skill. I don’t need you.”
“At least let me see where the ward was, for a learning opportunity if anything.”
She balked, very tempted at that moment to punch him in the face and throw him out the door, but she too was curious. How had this spell affected her? Eyeing him bitterly, she held out her right hand with reluctance.
When he took her hand gently, she felt a chill go up her spine. It had been a long time since she had last made human contact outside of battle. The touch brought back memories from a part of her past she wished to forget; a past she wanted to leave behind.
Oblivious to her thoughts, he cast Imperfect Omniscience with deft fingers, an indication of his lack of natural Omniscience, which gave Samantha a feeling of relief. It seemed it was her ability alone. In contrast, the spell Ethan had cast was a practical one, giving him a limited view of energy patterns and bodily tissues within a certain range of his hand.
Gripping her wrist firmly with one hand and running the other over her arm, he examined the cursed tissue with silent concentration. He said nothing when he confirmed that she had lifted the spell. As he checked her bones, Samantha tried to divert his attention.
“You said the man I killed was a Gathering criminal…?”
“Yes,” he answered absently, with the tone of a healer experienced at conversing with his patient as he worked.
“Hasn’t the Gathering declined? I heard the leaders disappeared a while back,” she said.
His expression turned thoughtful as he let go of her wrist and sat on the edge of her bed. “Well… I know two of the founders disappeared and the third took over leadership. They still accept new members, and their prestige hasn’t dropped. If anything, it’s grown.”
“Really…” she muttered, feigning interest. As if I need to know anything about the Gathering… Realizing that he had released her, she asked, “So what do you think? Was I right in saying that I don’t need your help?”
“Your radial energy reservoir is ruptured,” he said, gesturing along his arm from the inside of the elbow to his thumb. “A simple healing spell should fix that, but the rest of your muscle tissue needs to be reassimilated to your energy patterns. Right now it’s draining your body, but I can cast a regulating spell, an Ordin type inhibitor, that can speed the recovery. If you can meticulously control your energy flow for the next six weeks, you should be fine without me. If not,” and his voice implied this latter case, “I can help you, and you should be able to resume training in half that time, two weeks if things go well.”
Six weeks!? By the gods…She hadn’t expected such damage from a single spell. If only she had known Dark channeling, she could have reacted faster. Cursing to herself, she looked up at Ethan. The healer regarded her with patient eyes without giving away his thoughts in his expression. Begrudgingly, she said, “All right. I’ll take your help.”
“Good,” said Ethan with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. He cast a healing spell with specifications for healing the areas of her arm that he wanted. Samantha felt the familiar cold sensation as he placed the spell on her. Healing spells always gave a tingle of chill, but this one from Ethan seemed less like ice, and more like cool water on a hot summer day. It was almost… soothing.
He pulled a bandage from his waist pack and began casting a complicated spell on the fabric. Samantha watched him carefully, surprised to find that her eyes could barely follow the spell as he cast it. And he accused her of hiding her abilities from the Academy? He took her firmly by the wrist and neatly wrapped the bandage around her arm. To finish the spell, he pressed his palm to the bandage near her elbow and slid it down to her wrist. Running deft fingers over the flexible cast, he said, “Done.”
“Thanks,” she said, trying to pool her sparse gratitude into that one word. By the spirits, she was tired. All she wanted was to sleep, regardless of the dirt and sweat on her clothes. She couldn’t help being irritable when she hadn’t slept for nearly two days.
Apparently choosing to acknowledge her exhaustion for the first time, Ethan stood from his spot on the edge of her bed and headed for the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to refresh the spells. Get some rest.” With those parting words, he headed out the door.
The nerve of him, she thought bitterly. To impose his presence like that, with all the confidence of a Quotidian soldier before he meets his first essedarian… Yet Ethan is a genuine healer. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s undoubtedly skilled. He might even be a better healer than—no. I’m not going to think about him. He’s gone… Her thoughts trailed off as she fell asleep.
The boy, who looked to be about thirteen years old, lounged at the desk, his worn boots resting on the table as he leaned back. His short dark hair reflected the full moon that shone through the narrow glass window. A smooth, flat piece of stone served as his writing surface that he propped against his knees.
On the other side of the room, a girl stood at attention with her feet placed shoulder-width apart and her hands clasped behind her back. Her self-assured posture gave her an air of maturity at odds with the youth of her features. She appeared to be younger than the boy, though they both spoke with professionalism that proved their experience in the world. Unlike the clothes of the boy, which were spotless, her uniform was splattered with mud and coated with a light layer of dust. Her dark auburn hair fell loose to her waist, though her long bangs were plastered to her forehead by sweat. She spoke quickly, recounting events without flourish.
“About three miles from the memorial, we encountered a strike force of about ten soldiers,” she reported as the boy took down notes. “Essedarian, not quotidian,” she added before continuing. “We disabled six and had to kill three. The last, most likely a healer, helped one of the disabled escape. They were fast, but we followed for about an hour until they crossed into Laisha territory, so we turned back.”
The boy looked up from his notes, his eyes missing the shine that ought to have been there. Instead, his green eyes were dull with weariness, a weariness even more evident when he yawned and stretched. He tousled his hair with one hand, as if trying to shake off his exhaustion before continuing with a tired voice. “Any injuries on our side?”
“No casualties, but a few cuts and bruises,” she replied.
He glanced at her quizzically, and asked, “What was the fighting like?”
She seemed surprised at the question and answered haltingly, “It was chaotic as usual. I mean—what can you expect from a skirmish between two essedarian groups? We were relatively sure they were under Gathian hire, but most were low skilled in comparison to us. They threw plenty of spells at us; we blocked some, dodged some—” She stopped, turning her chin slightly as she looked at him in confusion.
He leaned forward, taking his boots off the table and setting the tablet down on the desk. His eyes narrowed as he studied her body. After a moment, he stood and walked up to her, stopping close at her side. She remained at attention, unflinching even when he ran his fingers down her spine.
“You’re injured,” he said quietly, concern flickering across his features. “They hit you with a complicated spell you weren’t expecting—”
She took a step away from him. “I’m fine,” she said.
He stared at her with a mix of confusion and frustration. “I could heal you in a second! Why do you always refuse?”
“I don’t need your charity,” she insisted.
He looked slapped for a moment then turned away. “Have it your way,” he muttered. Returning to the desk, he picked up the tablet again and finished his notes in silence. Five minutes later, he had finished the report. He looked up and saw she hadn’t moved. His jaw clenched.
“Dismissed,” he said, suppressing his anger and frustration to give the order.
Without a word, she left the room.
She sat up and saw a falcon perched on her bedpost. One of Jake’s falcons. This was his favorite because of its persistence in delivering a message. It glared at Samantha, as if daring her to ignore him. She remembered the painful nips she’d received in the past, and decided to take the scroll at the bird’s feet.
See founder immediately.
Of course. Samantha rolled her eyes. As if a message like this needed to be so vague. She knew exactly what the…founder…wanted. She swung off the bed and glanced at the window for the time. The sun she expected was conspicuously absent: the night remained, but the moon had already set. Thanks for letting me rest, she thought sarcastically, for two glorious hours… She quickly changed into a clean uniform and went indignantly out the door.
The “founder” whose dorm room she was stumbling rather inelegantly to in the early hours of the morning always tended to remain impersonal, despite their close connection. Samantha’s cousin Jake was one of the three original founders of the Gathering, the renegade fighter’s society. Samantha herself was a member of the secret society, so her earlier conversation with Ethan yielded no new information to her. She only wanted to distract him from her skill, and it worked.
Jake was also a student at Kalispell, but he split his time between the Academy and the Gathering headquarters in Faitaille, a few miles away. He usually researched and developed his own spells at Kalispell, while his duties as founder whisked him back to Faitaille for at least three days of the week. He preferred solitude and obscurity at Kalispell, and few people knew him at the Academy. Of those, even fewer knew him as the only remaining founder of the Gathering.
Samantha reached the door to his dorm slightly more awake. The door was as undecorated as the rest in the Academy. Samantha knocked twice and—without waiting for Jake to let her in—turned the handle and pushed the door open. She stepped in to find Jake seated at his desk with the chair turned to face the door. His elbow was propped up on the table, and his hand rested on his cheek as he surveyed her with dark, deep-set brown eyes. His duties had aged him prematurely, making him appear and act a decade older than he really was. At the moment however, he looked relaxed with his legs crossed comfortably and a small writing tablet balanced on his lap. Patient, he watched her with what seemed like amusement concealed with anger.
Knowing what he expected, she reluctantly made her way to the middle of the room and stood at attention, awaiting his wrath.
After a time of just staring at her, Jake stood and placed the tablet on the desk. He paced around her, collecting his thoughts. Finally he broke the silence and began.
“Ah,” he said, taking slow and deliberate steps in a circle around her as she remained at attention. “My little cousin…”
She glared at him. Little indeed, she thought. I’m only two years younger. Jake had always been overly protective of her, taking on a fatherly position despite their close age and experiences. His presence was comforting at times, though sometimes his insistence on watching over her became annoying and disruptive. Seething inside, she waited for him to continue.
“So,” he began, “even after everything I’ve done for you, you still have the presence of mind to go off ‘training’ at Kamali, returning with a cursed arm, yet another near-death experience, and—” He paused suddenly for effect, “bragging rights.” His face reflected his disappointment. “Samantha of Apacath, just what were you thinking?!” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. “Let me guess,” he said, sighing with exasperation. “You wanted to prove yourself capable so the Gathering would promote you to level eight, am I correct? Then you would be able to choose your missions regardless of what the Leadership Council recommends. Brilliant, Samantha,” he finished sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, Founder,” she interjected, stressing his title with equal sarcasm, “but you guessed wrong. I was returning from a training session at Kamali, where I found a stray dog. I decided to train him for combat so I brought him with me. After I set up camp for the night, his former master came up on us from beyond the trees. When Raven attacked, I had no choice but to fight.” She assessed the critical expression in her cousin’s eyes and added, “and don’t act like I’m the only one who takes pity on animals!” Hearing her raised voice, the falcons perched around his room looked up from preening.
He regarded her coolly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Relax, Sam.” Returning to his desk, he sat down in the chair and leaned back with his arms crossed. “But seriously, why in the name of Light would you fight a Gathering class I criminal? And kill him, no less!” He uncrossed his arms and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back further while he waited for her explanation.
“I had no idea he was a Gathering criminal, not until I got back. I thought he was just some crazed essedarian soldier who lost a remarkably intelligent dog because of neglect. Even when he cursed my arm I couldn’t tell he was that dangerous! And by the way, I lifted the curse before I got back, so technically you can take that off my list of transgressions. Besides, the headmaster brought some healer for me.”
“I told the headmaster to bring him,” Jake interrupted. “Ethan was trained by Althea herself. He’s not at a high member level, but after training with Althea, he was promoted to one of the head healers of the Healer’s Hall at headquarters. He just hasn’t been carrying out missions lately.”
“He’s a Gathering member?” she asked, surprised.
“Of course, did you think a non-Gathering trained healer would be able to do the cursework?”
She hesitated, considering his words. “I didn’t think of that,” she admitted.
Jake nodded, a little self-righteously, but moved on. “Sam, why do you keep putting your life in danger? Every time I turn my back, or go back to Faitaille for a little too long, you end up in some situation I have to rescue you from.”
“You? Rescue me?” She laughed aloud at the thought. “Jake, why does it matter so much to you? I’m trained for battle. You always talk about how much the Gathering needs strong fighters. Yet you hold me back. For your own selfish reasons, you hold me back. Why does it matter to you if I get killed carrying out a mission? I mean—if I don’t go, it’s just one more day that I’m not dead. We all die in the end, Jake. What difference does it make whether I die now or later?”
Her words disturbed him, she could tell. But of all people, he more than anyone ought to know that she had given up trying to live. She went through the motions, she did what she was told, but her heart wasn’t in it. Ever since that battle almost six years ago, she had stopped wanting. Maybe in battle, she would opt for survival, perhaps victory, but most of the time she fought by instinct. Jake knew this; he had saved and trained her back to fighting condition. Under his supervision, her wounds—both physical and emotional—healed, though he hoped they would eventually be forgotten. Yes… that was when he first viewed her as his own responsibility.
“Sam,” he said, “we already discussed this—”
“Yes, we discussed this when I was barely conscious and in no condition to talk. When they let him die, but kept me alive.”
“Sam, that was—” he began, but she cut him off again.
“And if you think I’m grateful, you’re wrong.”
A silence settled between them, Samantha’s last words echoing in both their minds. The only sound in the room was the hushed rustling of the falcons on their perches. Jake shifted in the chair to find a comfortable position; he expected a long discussion now that she had brought up the gods of Kamali. Samantha knew he didn’t understand their existence, he merely accepted her insistence that they were there. But he didn’t know them or feel them the way she did. He didn’t know how they quarreled around her and clouded her thoughts when all she wanted was to be left alone.
Suddenly Samantha wanted this discussion to end. They would only repeat old arguments and talk in circles like they had so many times before.
“Jake,” she said into the silence, “I didn’t attack the Belsveign Headmaster for mission credit, but maybe I should have. Maybe then you’d stop doubting me. Maybe you’d finally let me live my own existence, whatever I want it to be.” She turned to leave.
She had already reached the door, and her hand turned the door handle, when he spoke, as if in an afterthought to the air.
“You didn’t kill him.”
She stopped, her hand still resting on the cool metal. She relished the touch, using it to calm the heat of anger and shame she felt. Slowly, she turned to look back at her cousin, who had begun writing a report at his desk.
Sensing her gaze, he paused, marked the end of the sentence, and added, “You left him to die, but he wasn’t killed by your hand.”
Samantha felt a shiver go up her spine as she involuntarily recalled the battle so many years ago. After a moment, she overcame her emotions to reply, “I don’t believe in killing. I did it once and I don’t plan on doing it again. A life is a life. My blade may be bloodstained, but I always walk away from a fight with my opponent alive, with a slim chance at life—a chance I never gave him.”
“Then you will never achieve victory. You’re not a true fighter.”
“What is a true fighter to you, Jake? My willingness to kill?” Her voice was rising now as her vehemence grew. “The value I place in life? My skill? The number of lives I have taken? What is it to you?”
Jake said nothing for a moment, letting her reel in her emotions, something he knew she was now adept at. Finally he replied, “Your passion. That is what you lack. You will kill when the time comes; you value life beyond your self; you’re exceptionally skilled; and you have taken a life. What is all this? Nothing if you have no passion for what you do.” He turned away.
Despite her strength of mind, Samantha felt the sting of his words. Suddenly she realized the importance of his approval, but she held on to her pride too much to admit this to him. In silence and deep thought, she left his room, and he didn’t stop her.
Jake finished the report quickly; there was little to say. He could not advance her, yet he had to give her credit for the successful mission. To advance her would mean to give her the independence to throw off his control. Already he knew she was powerful, and left alone she would disappear like she wanted to.
He couldn’t afford to let that happen. At this time, to lose her and her abilities would be disastrous. The kingdoms were on the brink of war again, and Jake needed the strength of every essedarian in the Gathering just to keep the society intact. Cryxanthia, a province to the south, had just launched a campaign into Apacath that threatened the livelihood of the Gathering itself. The combination of essedarian and quotidian troops intended to strip away the Gathering’s support in Apacath, most likely decimating the prosperous kingdom in the process. As Founder, Jake was now poised to make a decision on whether the Gathering would defend Apacath or not—a difficult choice for him to make.
Apacath was his birthplace, but he couldn’t let blood ties and loyalty influence his judgment. If he wasn’t careful, he would sacrifice valuable fighters—and needlessly sacrifice at that. All the same, he could become the hero of his homeland, but would it be worth the price of hundreds of lives?
Lost in his thoughts, he dressed absentmindedly and packed up his papers. Time to leave for headquarters again. He had other options to consider before he would be forced to choose between his homeland and the society he had worked so hard for.
Hastily, he jotted down a set of orders for Ethan, instructing him to confine Samantha to her room and ensure her recovery. Jake would rest easier if he knew the skilled healer would keep a watchful eye on her. She couldn’t get into any trouble without channeling ability anyhow.
Little did he know, Samantha was already channeling.
