The First Binding, page 19
I resisted the urge to collapse on my back. The candle and flame held my attention once again and I lost myself in it.
My mind and eyes ached watching it however. It went against what I had just spent an ungodly amount of time visualizing. The little flame continued its dance, swaying as it saw fit. When it didn’t do that, it bobbed in place. Between that, it fanned a bit larger before dwindling to something smaller, all before resuming the size it had been earlier. It was like watching something alive, discontent with being contained and fighting it. This fire wanted to grow—yearned to move, and all that kept it from doing so was the candle, the wick, and the tin shell in which they sat.
“Learn anything?”
I snapped straight, ice forming in my chest and stealing my breath. It took me a ten-count before I steadied my heart and cleared my head.
Mahrab made his way back onto the stage, carrying a wooden bowl in one hand. His other held on to a piece of thin and folded bread. He placed them before me and nodded at the food. “I figured you’d like something to eat.”
I looked at the food. An unassuming mass of brown sludge floating in a runny liquid the same color. I sulked. “I hate lentils.”
Mahrab grabbed and waved the thori—the flatbread. “Everything’s better with a bit of bread, Ari.” He paused for effect. “And butter.”
I stared at the bread, noticing for the first time the thin gloss over its surface. My hand moved of its own accord, snatching the thori from his grip and tearing free a small piece. I folded it into something like the head of a spoon using my thumb and index finger, plunging the bread into the lentils. The first bite had more texture to it than flavor. But soon, the subtle layering of spices filled my mouth.
As much as I hated that dish, more from a mind-numbing repetition of eating it, it did the job of satisfying my hunger. I inhaled as much of it as I could before Mahrab put a hand on my shoulder to stay me.
“Easy, boy. You’ll choke. As with everything else we’ve discussed, give yourself time.” He shook his head, but it was clear the gesture was more for himself than me. “So, what did you learn?”
I gestured to the smear of blood along my upper lip. “I did it.” The words came out garbled courtesy of the food I chewed through. “It was a pain, but I did it. I held the flame in my mind and kept it still.”
Mahrab arched a brow and tilted his head to regard me. “Really? Just like that on the first time, hm?”
I nodded, moving slower this time as I scooped more bread and lentils.
Mahrab rubbed his chin. “Impressive. It took me a great deal longer than my first time to manage that. You’ve a knack for this, Ari.”
I beamed under the praise, but knew I hadn’t done anything special. What I had done had more to do with growing up in the theater around Khalim. My life revolved around listening to stories and internalizing their every detail. Most of my free time was spent in my head—my dreams, spinning up whatever fancies I could. That brought with it a skill when it came to shaping my thoughts and holding pictures in them. Mahrab’s exercises were simply the next step in that.
“And how did you feel while doing it?” Mahrab held his examinatorial stare. I could almost see the silent calculations going on behind his eyes.
“Like all the air in the world filled my head, and if it went any longer, it would burst. At the same time, it was like all the stones of the theater were squishing my skull. I knew the fire moved, but holding it still was like wrestling the fire. It was like fighting two living things. Myself, and the idea of how fire is really supposed to behave.”
Mahrab let out a low murmur more to himself than me. He opened his mouth, took a breath, then closed it. His face twitched, slipping into a frown before he pulled it into a neutral mask. “That’s because you were fighting two living things, Ari. Fire is alive. Never forget that. What you did with your mind was impressive and foolish.”
My eyes widened. I wanted to protest, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“Let me finish.” He scratched one of his brows, eyes narrowing like he was lost in thought. “There are so many things in this world you can work into a binding, Ari. And understanding the nature of things makes binding them easier. Remember, to bind something, you must be able to have the faith you can enforce your will on it and execute the binding. There is no room for half measures. Your faith and will must be perfect—both hard as Arasmus steel. To bind fire, you must understand it, because some things will challenge your attempt to bind them.
“Fire is alive. It is hungry, it is wild, it has a will to move as it sees fit. You must respect that. Holding it still speaks well about your ability to hold an image as you see fit. But holding fire still is contrary to its nature to move and grow and feed. Disrespecting that can threaten the folds of your mind when you work a binding, and you will lose control of it.”
I stopped midway through shoveling another bite of food into my mouth, taking in what Mahrab had said. He’d already made it clear that I would have to contend with my own mind when performing a binding, keeping it still and fixed on whatever I wanted to see. To add that I would have to sometimes understand and work with the will of something alive … it drove in the depth of effort and mastery bindings required. I could not form a proper response to that, so I nodded instead.
“Good.” Mahrab motioned with a hand for me to resume eating. “I know you want to jump into the bindings right away. But trust me when I say I’m teaching you this way so you don’t burn everything down around us. Brahm’s tits, you could burn yourself from the inside out if you’re not careful.”
That caused me a greater deal of pause than anything he’d said previously. It’s a sobering thought to realize that you could cook yourself if you weren’t careful with a binding.
“These are old and powerful things, Ari, passed down by Brahm himself, it’s said.”
I perked up at that. I hadn’t ever heard a story about him doing any such thing. “Tell me.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d realized I’d spoken.
Mahrab smiled and scratched the side of his head thoughtfully. “I suppose I can do that. I’m no storyteller, mind you. I believe that’s your knack for things. But I can tell it as best I can, though I’ll have to bring you something to better remember it by tomorrow.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by that.
“So, it’s said that when Brahm set about to create all things, he did so with bindings. Though he didn’t know it then. To him, it came as naturally as breathing. But when he saw the makings man made, he decided to teach them how to follow in his steps. We didn’t take as easily to it as the Shaen did. It’s rumored they have bindings and ways of working them unseen and unknown to anyone or anything else but the Sithre. Hidden bindings. I’d give up a great deal to learn of those.” Mahrab’s eyes lit with a glow that could have matched the still-burning candle.
I kept from voicing my criticism of his narrative abilities. He’d already gone off onto a tangent, but then, not everyone could tell stories the way I believed I could.
Youth can come with a certain certainty of self that life does a good job of abrading and putting in its proper place …
… for some people at least.
“When Brahm realized people had little to no knack for performing all the bindings he knew how to do, he went about things another way. He first taught us how to dream, to picture and shape things in our mind. From there Brahm showed us how to cast those thoughts and our will onto the world. He showed how the sun and moon were anchored together, and with that, man began to understand one of the bindings. You see, she and he are eternally tethered—bound—to one another. The moon was first among Brahm’s creations and she moves freely about her way. The sun came next and he’s bound to her and her sway. Brahm linked them with a binding to ensure the world would never be without one of them in their sky, always changing.”
A binding that could tether bodies as massive and heavenly as the sun and moon. Even at my young age I realized the implications behind that, and I understood one of the bindings. Or so I thought then.
“You can connect two things together?”
Mahrab pointed at the candle and flame. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. Keep your eyes on that and continue the exercise while I tell you the story. Only this time I want you to try to hold the image of fire as it is. You need to see it moving in your mind without your eyes. However the flame moves in reality, it moves in your mind.”
The next piece of food caught in my throat as I tried to sputter. My feeble attempt to swallow and spit failed as well.
“Perseverance is usually a suggested remedy for that, Ari.”
I broke concentration and glared at Eloine for the interruption. She stared back at me, mouth twitching into a smile. I appreciate a clever bit of innuendo as much as the next person, but never when I’m in the middle of telling a story. I held my stare and picked up where I left off.
Mahrab came to my side and thumped me twice on the back, helping me dislodge my half-chewed food.
“Bluckh.” I rubbed the back of my arm against my mouth to wipe away my spittle.
“I believe I told you something about patience?” Mahrab had the grace not to speak in a chiding tone.
“I know. Just how am I supposed to anticipate how the flame is moving if I can’t see it?”
He grinned. “Exactly. Right question to ask. This is where your strength should come true.”
I noticed his emphasis on “should.” He didn’t say “would.” Mahrab still wasn’t sure of my capabilities.
There are many reasons to exert oneself, but growing up spurned and rebuffed by others for the account of my birth and caste, I took to spite early. I abhor people assuming I cannot do a thing simply because of circumstances beyond my control.
I was not born smart and quick-witted. I earned those. I survived on those. I was not the cleverest boy around. I made myself into that. And in that moment, while I smiled to Mahrab, I resolved I would show him I could in fact be a binder.
And I would show the world.
I didn’t know then that I would succeed. Only that I wanted to. But sometimes that is enough—to want, and then to have the will to persevere.
“This is where you get to be the storyteller, Ari. And being a good one of those is knowing how to listen as well as you speak, or so Khalim tells me.”
Mahrab was right about that.
“So, watch the flame. Listen. And when you’re ready, you should be able to keep listening and close your eyes to see it perfectly. I don’t expect you to get this in one go. It took me months before I came close to anticipating how fire moves. And for me, close is good enough. I won’t say I’ve learned the story of fire, but I can bind it.”
I did as instructed, falling back to watching the candle and the flame. Months? I’ll do it in days. I stared at the fire almost as if I could bore holes through the candle wax.
Mahrab continued his tale of Brahm while I lost myself in the flame. “Brahm came to show mankind how the rules of the world worked, you see. Every bit of creation had been bound in certain ways. Things that go up will come down. All things fall in time, whether a stone is cast into the air, or a bird is too weary to fly. Eventually, anything not placed in the sky by Brahm’s hand will come down.”
That wasn’t exactly hidden knowledge, but I kept that thought to myself. Mahrab usually got to the heart of the matter … eventually. He just ambled about in how to get there and when.
“When people understood this, he was able to show them how one of the bindings worked.” Mahrab pointed toward the ceiling with one finger while tapping the stage with another. “What do you see?”
I made my expression as flat as the wood we sat on. “Candle … and flame.” Thwap. My arm didn’t sting from the light slap, but I would definitely be remembering it minutes from then.
“There are times being a clever ass is appreciated, Ari. Other times, asses like that earn slaps.”
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from uttering something about asses that only a young boy would laugh about. I didn’t always have a good handle on my mouth, but I was learning.
“Try again. What do you see?”
I gave the obvious answer, unsure what else Mahrab could be hinting at. “One finger pointing at the roof. Your other’s hitting the wood.” I inclined my head toward the stage.
Mahrab raised the hand he’d had on the ground to his waist now, waggling it. “Yes … and no. You see two points in the world around us. One above. One below. What if I told you I could bind the space above to the space below? At least, a point in each space to one another.”
I blinked, my mind spinning too fast for me to think up the possibilities. “You could bring down the roof of the whole theater? Is that what you were doing when you raised a hand overhead and the whole building shook? Were you threatening to collapse the place on Koli?”
Mahrab gave me a feral smile that would have shamed a lion’s. “In a manner, yes. Though, I didn’t actually want to bring the place down.”
“Because you wouldn’t have gotten your story from Khalim,” I said.
“Because I was standing in the building too. It’s hard to get a story, much less do anything else, when you’re the same height as the floor.” I caught Mahrab’s hand sliding along the stage toward what remained of my thori and lentils.
My attention may have been fixed on the flame, but a hungry boy’s eyes see a lot. Like the hand of someone trying to snag a piece of his meal. My own hand snapped out, fingers slapping Mahrab’s wrist. All the while, my gaze never left the candle.
“Vala mouna! Daritha sathva!” He pulled his hand back, shaking it and spitting to one side. The way he’d said that had almost sounded like a curse.
“What was that you just said? What’s it mean?”
Mahrab continued rubbing the top of his hand even though the blow I’d struck fell short of a stinging slap. “Hm? Oh, just something I learned at the Ashram. There are rumors of a secret place somewhere in the compound. An unseen wall bars the way, and there is clearly something behind it, but…” He trailed off and held up a finger, the gesture almost making me pull my attention away from the flame.
“There is no known way past the wall. It’s protected by a binding that no binder who has learned at the Ashram has been able to break. To unmake. None have been able to work a counter-binding against it either.”
All of which told me you could break someone else’s binding. Counter them. It sounded like something I heard in stories. Great clashes of magic with binders wielding terrible manifestations of the elements. Turning the land up and over. Felling mountains as they fought.
“What’s behind it?” I caught myself from breaking away from the flame and held myself still.
“I don’t know, Ari. Like I said, no one’s been able to get past the wall. Eventually, the rishis prevented anyone from trying. It grew to be too dangerous when young binder-trainees got too full of themselves and ended up bringing down chunks of the cavern on their heads. There’s a story of one fool trying to melt the damn wall and he ended up burning himself and his friends. And if that’s not bad enough, the idiot nearly sucked all the air out of the place.” Mahrab cradled his forehead in one of his hands, shaking himself.
“What I said were words I once saw in my time in the Ashram. Everyone stumped by that binding and place ends up spitting that curse. Damnable binding.” He shook his head in resignation. “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be the one to undo it, ah, Ari?” A tired grin stretched across his face. “But for now, don’t dwell on old magics and lost bindings.”
How could I do anything but that? The promise of something greater was out there, and though I didn’t know it then, Mahrab had his reasons for telling me of this.
My teacher snapped his fingers, bringing me back to my task.
I focused on the candle and the flame, losing myself once again in its rhythmic swaying.
Mahrab resumed the story. “Once Brahm was satisfied man grasped the faintest shape to bindings and how the world worked, he taught them the next steps. He taught them of the many folds a mind can make. Brahm showed them how to look within themselves and recognize the atham around them—the space which we all occupy greater than our physical selves. The second binding let man do as Brahm had done, to reach inside themselves and alter the world around them. Though, we’re rather limited in the scope and scale of such things. Brahm, born of fire and light, had no such restraints in power and understanding. He saw the true shape of all things, and so binding came to him as natural as sleeping does to us.”
I’d lost myself in a space past Mahrab’s story as well as my own wandering thoughts. Only a wall of black remained inside me. A lone flame hung in the void, pulling all my attention. I watched it until I passed out, Mahrab’s words nothing more than a distant dream.
When I slept, I thought of the candle and flame.
FIFTEEN
THE FOLDS OF THE MIND
Weeks passed under Mahrab’s tutelage, and soon, I could hold the candle and flame in my mind for hours on end. It floated perfectly within the black. I may as well have been holding a real fire inside of me. Every tendril flickered and bowed as if alive, and I began to see the faintest shape to how fire behaved.
It would be a stretch to say I understood it fully at that point in my life, but I grew dangerously close for someone so young.
Khalim and Mahrab spent more time together each day, discussing things behind the theater owner’s locked door. My earlier attempts to listen in on their conversations had led to my discovery by passing performers, all of whom quickly ushered me away but hadn’t told Khalim of my attempts.
So I avoided punishment and the likely lectures but still took the blow to my ego. No young boy likes discovering he’s not the clever snoop he thinks he is.
I resolved instead to spend my free time by tearing apart every word Mahrab had uttered in regards to the bindings, trying to work them out in greater detail on my own.
