Forged in Fire, page 3
“So it acts as an anchor?” Aven asked.
“Exactly,” Memfis agreed.
“What happens if they don’t eat?” Aria asked, taking her bowl from Aven.
Memfis frowned. “This is advanced for you, Aria. But the meat of the matter is that a seer needs that anchor, or they’ll get lost in the dreams. Start seeing things that aren’t there. Smoke Dancers are very careful about that, because it’s happened. There are warning stories about Smoke Dancers who lost their way back to the waking world. They don’t tend to survive long after.”
Memfis’ explanation was met with silence. Aven served Memfis, then himself. He sat with the bowl in his lap, collecting his thoughts so he could answer Owyn’s question.
“Remember I told you that they took me to Fandor’s house, to give to Mannon?” he asked finally.
Owyn nodded, swallowing a mouthful. “Yeah. You said you got away. You never said how.”
“How was Del,” Aven answered. “Del is Mannon’s slave. He freed me and helped me to escape. He wouldn’t come with me, though. I don’t understand why.”
“Because he knows better,” Owyn said, and took another bite “Runaway slaves don’t end up with happy endings.”
“It’s one of the reasons I made sure that Owyn’s adoption and manumission papers were filed before we left Forge,” Memfis added.
Aven picked up a stick and poked an ember back into the fire. “He’s one of us. I’m pretty sure of that. I knew him the same way I knew you and Aria. And he’s mute.”
“A Companion?” Owyn asked. When Aven nodded, he whistled. “That’s going to be interesting. And not in a fun way.”
“We’ll find him,” Aria said. “And once I see him, I’ll know if you are right. Then we’ll do what we must.”
CHAPTER THREE
THEY FINISHED EATING, and sat around the fire. Owyn set Trinket down so that she could play in the embers, and had picked his book and charcoal back up. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, but kept glancing up. At Aria, Aven realized, and wondered if Owyn was sketching her, and if he’d share the drawing when he was finished.
“Memfis, you said we needed to discuss our plans,” Aria said. “We need supplies?”
“I can bring up more fish,” Aven offered. “It’s not hard to dry it.”
“It’s not just food,” Memfis said. “Aven, how are you doing on salt?”
Aven frowned and reached over to pick up his carry-bag. He pulled out the jar of salt that Memfis had given to him back in Forge, pulling out the cork. There wasn’t much left. “I’ll need to refill it,” he said. “I can refill my waterskin here, though.”
“And have it last the three days it will take for us to get to the healing center?” Memfis shook his head. “We’re almost out of food. But we are out of salt. We need to change plans. The only problem is, I’m not sure what we need to change them to.” He sighed. “Planning was never something I was good at. That was your mother’s role, Aven. I never needed to plan. I’m a Smoke Dancer. We see what we need to know.”
“And if you don’t see it, you don’t know.” Owyn pointed his charcoal at Memfis. “And look at how that’s turned out.”
“You sound like Meris,” Memfis grumbled. “She always told me I was being arrogant, and that it would come around and burn me. She was right.”
“Didn’t you tell me once that Granna is always right? And didn’t she give you a map?” Owyn asked. “I thought she said there was one, right before we left. Isn’t it in the packs?”
“A map?” Memfis looked startled. “I never looked. I used to know this road like the back of my hand.” He sighed. “There’s no fool like an old fool, hm? Go look, Mouse.”
Owyn closed his book and put it down, getting up and going to the pile of packs. He started rooting through them, and Memfis sighed again.
“We used to ride this way, Milon and I. He didn’t like traveling between Forge and the palace by ship. He wanted to be on the road, so we’d ride. That’s how I knew this cove was here. We used to camp here.” He gestured off toward the curve of the cove. “There’s a little tidal pool, over that way, just around those rocks. Or there was. If it’s still there, it’ll be a place where you can sleep, Aven.”
Aven nodded. “I’ll go take a look when we’re done here. It sounds like we need to find someone to trade with?”
“We need a town, or a village. Even a farmhouse might have something we can use,” Memfis picked up a piece of driftwood and started breaking it into pieces. “Did you find a map, Owyn?”
“Yeah,” Owyn answered. He came back and sat down, spreading the scroll out on the sand. Curious, Aven moved over to sit with him, watching as Owyn traced a line on the map with one finger. “That village you said we were going to stop and resupply? It hasn’t been gone long. It’s still on this map.”
“Is there another off the main road?” Memfis asked. Owyn frowned. He ran his finger away from the line — Aven assumed that had been the road — and tapped a spot near the coast.
“We’re here, I think,” he said. “Which means... yeah. There’s something here. Off a side branch, and if you stayed to the main road, you’d never know it was there. If it’s still there, we can reach it tomorrow. Maybe... late afternoon?” He looked up at Aven. “What do you think?”
“I think I don’t know maps like this,” Aven admitted. “This sort of chart isn’t anything I’ve learned about. A static map like this wouldn’t mean much out on the deep. Aria? Do you know maps?”
Aria came over and sat down on Owyn’s other side. “Yes and no,” she said, tucking her hair back and leaning over the map. “We use maps like this, but they’re also different, because we travel by air.”
Owyn nodded slowly. “Right. What do you need with roads? Mem, it looks like the village is most of a day’s ride, if I’m reading this right. And it’s well out of the way.”
“But we’ll be able to resupply,” Memfis said. “All right. We’ll set out in the morning. Aven, you’ll fill your waterskin here?”
“And bring up some more fish,” Aven added. “I can set it up to cook in the coals overnight. Then we can eat well before we leave.”
Memfis nodded. “Then we have a plan. Or something very similar to one. Aria, let’s start your lessons.”
“If you’re going to teach, then we’ll only be a distraction,” Owyn said. He rolled up the map and got to his feet. “Aven, want to go take a look at that pool?”
Aven got up. “If it won’t bother you.”
“It’s not the deep water, so I should be good,” Owyn said. He glanced down the beach at the shoreline. “And you can tell me how you navigate, if you don’t have a map.”
ARIA WATCHED AS OWYN and Aven walked away from the fire.
“We need to be sure that Aven understands what Smoke Dancing is about,” she said. “He didn’t know about the waking dream.”
“Which isn’t surprising,” Memfis said. “It’s part of the arcana of the Smoke Dancer, and not something we talk about to people who aren’t in training. Aven’s father is half-Fire, and he never knew. Not until we told him. It’s not something that Smoke Dancers want known.”
“But if I cannot trust my Companions, there is no one I can trust in the world,” Aria countered. Memfis smiled.
“Truth. All right. You can explain whatever you like to him, and I’ll answer his questions. Just be sure that he understands that this knowledge is not to be shared outside your circle. Now, let’s start with teaching you how to clear your mind. Find a comfortable spot to sit.” He shifted, folding his legs in front of him, and waited until Aria was settled. “Clearing your mind is harder than it sounds. There’s almost always something, some distraction, that keeps your mind from ever being truly still. The sound of the water, perhaps. Or an itch where you can’t scratch it. But the mind must be clear in order for you to catch visions.”
“You make visions sound as if they’re butterflies,” Aria said.
Memfis grinned. “That’s actually very close to what I was taught, back when I was younger than you. My first teacher taught me that visions are always there. We just can’t see them because we’re too distracted. But if we quiet the mind, we become the net. He called it the web, though. I think he was thinking more of spiders than of butterflies.”
“I’d rather think of butterflies,” Aria said. “I don’t care for spiders.”
“You’re not supposed to be thinking,” Memfis said. “Close your eyes. You’re seeking stillness.”
Aria frowned. “How will I know when I find it?”
“You’ll know.” Memfis closed his eyes for a moment, settling himself more comfortably. Then he opened his eyes again. Aria’s eyes were closed, but she was frowning slightly. She tipped her head to one side, then to the other. Her frown deepened. Her fingers flexed where they rested on her legs, and her foot twitched. Her wings flared, then folded against her back again. The frown changed to a scowl, and her chin tucked down to her chest as her shoulders crept up toward her ears.
“If you keep on like that, you’ll end up with a headache,” Memfis said mildly. Aria’s eyes opened.
“It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“It’s the hardest part. But once you master it, everything else falls into place.” Memfis shifted, rolling his shoulders and hearing them pop. “Some people have their waking vision and never manage stillness. They go their whole lives only seeing the first vision.”
“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” Aria grumbled. “But everything was so loud and distracting! The water, the wind, and the fire. I couldn’t not hear them! And everything itched, all at once. Even my own heartbeat was annoying!”
“What about your breathing?” Memfis asked.
“My... my breathing?” Aria repeated. “I... I don’t know. Why?”
“Because breathing is the key. Did you notice, just before Owyn started to dance, he took three deep breaths?”
Aria frowned again, looking thoughtful. “I believe I did. Is that important?”
“It’s the key,” Memfis answered. He shifted, flowed up onto his feet, and held his hand out to Aria. “Stand up. It’s easier to show you when you’re standing.”
Aria took his hand and got to her feet. He nodded and moved to her side, looking her up and down.
“You have good posture,” he said. “Take a deep breath.” When she did, he nodded again. “All right. Close your eyes. I want you to take another deep breath, but through your nose. I want you to picture the air filling your whole body, out to your fingertips and down to your toes.”
She looked sidelong at him. “That’s silly.”
“That’s the first step,” Memfis corrected. “Learning to breathe. Once you learn this, we move on to the next step.”
“And what is that?”
“Learning to listen, and not to hear.” Memfis grinned at the look on her face, mingled shock and exasperation. “It’ll make sense later. Now, breathe!”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO know about navigation?” Aven asked as he and Owyn reached the edge of the cove. “Because I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to share outside the tribe.”
“How do you do it out in the water, without a map?” Owyn asked.
“I look up,” Aven answered. He tipped his head back. “The stars show me. In the Water tribe, every star has a name, and it has a place. The stars move, but in regular cycles. Once you know the cycles, you can tell what time it is by how far a certain star is from the horizon. And you know where in the sky that star is supposed to be. That gives you a direction.”
“And the angle changes depending on where you’re located?” Owyn asked slowly. “We did stars, Mem and me. He showed me, taught me some names. Told me some stories that went with the patterns. Bedtime stories.”
Aven chuckled. “I’d like to hear them. I wonder if they’re the same stories we tell?”
“We’ll compare them,” Owyn said. He looked up. “How does it work in the daytime? No stars.”
“Winds,” Aven answered. “And swell. And the angle of the sun, depending on the time of year.”
“Wait, back up. Swell?”
Aven considered, trying to think of how to explain it to someone who’d never been on the deep water. “The waves. They change depending on how close to land you are, and how strong the wind.”
Owyn frowned, turning to look out at the sea. After a moment, his eyes widened. “They’re constant, aren’t they? The waves out in the deep water? There’s nothing to block the wind, so the waves are the same.”
“And the wind blows in a straight line,” Aven added. “So if you follow the swell, you know you’re going straight.”
“So when you combine the swell and the angles of the sun or the stars, you know exactly where you are,” Owyn said. He shook his head and laughed. “That’s fantastic!”
“It’s not quite that simple. There’s more to it than that, more things you need to be able to recognize. And none of that matters if you don’t know how to control a canoe.” Aven held his hand out. “My mother is a navigator. She was tested by the mothers of our tribe when she was younger than me. She proved she knew how to find her way, so she has tattoos on the back of her hand.” He traced where they would be on his own hand. “They mark star positions at the solstices, primary winds, and the major current that our family canoes sail. It’s a high honor to wear them.”
Owyn’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Tattoos? And... wait, you don’t have any. I know. I’ve seen every bit of you.”
Aven grinned. “If I ever go back, we’ll see if my grandmother bends enough. I should have at least two by now. My family mark and my hunter mark. And, if I passed the tests, my navigator marks.”
Owyn stepped back, cocking his head to the side. He looked Aven up and down, then shook his head. “Nope. I can’t see it. I can’t see you with ink in your skin. And what do you mean, if? Once we’re done here, we’re all supposed to go back to our tribes, one per season. So you’ll go out on the deep—”
“And then the question rises — will my grandmother finally accept the Mudborn?” Aven asked. He shrugged. “I’ll never have so much as a line on my skin until she recognizes me as family. Which she’s said she’ll never do.” He started walking again, passing around the rocks. “When I told Aria, I thought she was going to take off and fly right to my grandmother’s canoe and challenge her.”
“She’d do it, too,” Owyn said as he caught up with Aven. “For you, she’d challenge the Mother Her own self.”
Aven glanced sidelong at Owyn. “She’d do it for you, too.”
Owyn nodded. He fell quiet as they moved out of sight of the fire. “I can do it,” he finally said.
Aven stopped and looked at him. “Do... what? Challenge my grandmother?”
“Not that, no,” Owyn laughed. “Not unless she comes to me. No, I could tattoo you. I know how.”
Aven’s jaw dropped. He stared at Owyn for a moment. “I... no. No, I can’t let you do that. But I thank you for making the offer. It wouldn’t be the same.” He swallowed, remembering something. “Aria made the same offer, you know.”
“For probably the same reason,” Owyn said. “Because this is something that is important to you. It would make you really happy to be really part of your family, and the tattoos would show it. And... well, we can still do it.”
“How?”
Owyn smiled and took Aven’s hand. “We can have our own tattoo. We could make it a new tradition for the Heir and the Companions from here on out.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Mouse, but it’s not the same.” Aven squeezed his fingers, kicking flotsam out from under his feet. Driftwood, seaweed, and broken shells littered the sand, far more than he’d seen on the beach. He looked around, then searched the rock walls. There was seaweed lodged in the rocks near shoulder-height. He let go of Owyn’s hand and went to pull it down. “Look at this. This cavern flooded. Probably with that last big storm.”
“The one about two months ago?” Owyn whistled. “And it still looks like this? The beach didn’t look like this.”
“It’s rained since. So it all washed back off the beach, or was collected by anyone else who came through here. This spot is sheltered and high,” Aven said. “It would be a safe place to weather a regular storm. Not that last one.”
“Yeah,” Owyn agreed. “That was really bad.” He crouched. “The driftwood is dry. We can bring it out for the fire.”
Aven nodded. He could see the pool Memfis had mentioned, the rocks around the edges littered with more driftwood and dried seaweed. The water in here must have been very high, to push trash that far back. He could see now that Memfis had been wrong. This wasn’t a tidal pool. Not this far away from the water’s edge, and with no channel to the sea. There was a crevice, he assumed. Something that would have caught the water and held it between storms, and kept level with runoff from rain. The air back here smelled sour, and the water in the pool here was probably foul — not good for sleeping at all. He stooped, picked up a piece of dry driftwood, moving closer to the edge of the pool. Something white gleamed in a pile of seaweed. A shell, he assumed, until he took another step and the shape of the pile resolved itself into a configuration that he recognized. He stopped and dropped the driftwood.
“Aven?” Owyn joined him. “What is it? Wait. Is that—?”
“Go get Memfis,” Aven said softly.
MEMFIS SIGHED AND RUBBED his forehead. Aria was trying. He could tell that she was trying. But she wasn’t making the connection between her breathing and the flow that was necessary to reach stillness. Or maybe he was just not explaining it properly.
