The next day, Nerya and Wensworth rose rather early, as the mountain’s chill air had filled the small chalet.

  Wensworth hastened to place wood in the hearth and rekindle it, Nerya settling before it, shivering.

  “I understand we had to isolate ourselves, but this is a bit extreme, is it not?” she asked.

  “It is not the best season to come, yet it is a fair landscape in the fine days.

  And none will come here at this time,” he replied.

  He then went to the kitchen before returning with a bottle, pouring it into the cauldron which he set above the fire.

  He sat down upon the floor as well, rubbing his hands before holding them near the flames.

  “Yet I thought on it all night, and something troubles me.

  I was told I had no special power in coming here, so why is this creature within me?

  Did they change their minds in the end?” Nerya asked, troubled.

  Wensworth laughed at that, his gaze lifting to the creaking wood of the ceiling.

  “Not at all, it has nothing to do with that.

  Our mana takes form for a reason I cannot explain, even after all these years.

  But she is but an extension of you.

  She is not strong at all, she will learn as you learn, and she is bound by your own limits,” he explained.

  “Oh… so I am still just as useless as at the beginning, in truth,” Nerya replied, disappointed.

  “And I who imagined I might be somewhat special after all.”

  “You are, but not in that manner.

  Tell yourself that you may learn early.

  After my failure at the church I spent five more years believing I was incapable of the least magic,” Wensworth answered.

  He rose and took the cauldron from the hearth, pouring its contents into glasses before handing one to Nerya.

  He sat again beside her, setting his own glass before him.

  “I told you I would explain, this is the right moment.

  I learned of my creature when I was ten years of age, during a war where I saw horrors no one should behold.

  I was so afraid that day, afraid of dying, that my little Elzryne finally appeared,” he continued calmly.

  “Wait, you… is that why you wished to kill me?

  Because fear awakens what lies within us?” Nerya asked coldly.

  “In a manner.

  I told myself that, if it had worked for me, why not for you.

  When I felt the tremors in the air after your rejection, and saw you run out weeping, I merely formed a theory,” he explained.

  “But rest assured, I had no intent to kill you.

  And it worked.”

  They each took a sip, Nerya fixing her gaze upon the dancing fire without seeing it.

  Her mind shaped a thousand scenes, and she shivered a little at the thought of how far he might have gone, had she not answered as he expected.

  “I know, you have many questions, but shall we finish our milk and go outside?

  Rather than give you a string of pompous and wearisome explanations, to show them through demonstration would be better, would it not?” he said, lifting his glass to his lips.

  Nerya nodded and hastened to finish her drink, caring no longer for heat nor cold.

  They rose and dressed before stepping outside, the wide clearing ringed by endless forest gleaming with fresh dew.

  “Good, we shall have all the space here.

  Let us go a little farther still, I have no wish to sleep beneath the open sky should we err,” he added, setting off.

  Once they reached their spot, Wensworth turned toward her and drew forth one of his coins.

  “Now then, do you know the principle of magic?

  You have seen your parents or those around you use it in their daily life, I imagine?” he asked.

  “Yes, mama uses it often to heat water and such.

  But… there was also that time when that man ended burnt to cinders.

  I… since that day I did not know what to think.

  It was far from what I read in books,” Nerya answered.

  “Or in the alley with you as well.”

  “Good, then you have seen the different stages.

  You must understand that people are divided into three categories,” he explained in an easy tone.

  “To begin with, the one you shall see most often, the magic of the Everyday.”

  He took the coin in his left hand and held out his right toward Nerya, half-closing his fingers as though shaping a well.

  Without word or motion, a small flame appeared in the hollow of his palm.

  “Everyone possesses this one.

  It is not meant to kill, though in rare moments it may serve as defense.

  Yet unless you run swiftly, you have little chance of escape with this alone,” he added.

  He searched a moment at his back before drawing out a piece of cloth Nerya recognized at once.

  He unwrapped her sword and seized it in his right hand, letting the cloth fall and drift away in the wind.

  He focused, and Nerya saw again her father training with Telyssia, his blade shining with a golden glow.

  But the blade in Wensworth’s grasp began to pulse through the gem set in its pommel.

  A blue light shimmered like the beat of a heart.

  “Truly impressive.

  I know not who forged and enchanted this sword for you, but it is work rarely seen,” he murmured, studying the blade.

  “Why is it not like usual?

  When papa does it, his sword shines with a golden light,” Nerya asked.

  Wensworth turned his gaze to her and smiled.

  “It is normal.

  The stone channels all the mana I pour into it and cloaks the blade.

  Each stone bears its own properties, and without them, you see the raw mana of the wielder.

  But here is what a reinforced blade may do,” he explained as he stepped toward a tree.

  He focused for a brief instant, the blue glow pulsing fiercely, and with a clean stroke he drove the blade into the trunk, which offered no resistance.

  He drew it out just as swiftly, leaving only a deep gash behind.

  “If you know how to handle it and you bind yourself to what you hold, anything may become a weapon.

  That is what I call internal magic.

  You reinforce yourself, magic, speed, or as you saw…,” he said, pointing toward the tree.

  “Shape an object.”

  “Just like that, with mere concentration one can do whatever one wishes?” Nerya asked in astonishment.

  “No, you must… hmm, how to explain it?

  Imagine a radio.

  To speak with someone even at the far end of the world, you must be upon the same frequency.

  The more precise you are, the clearer the voice, do you see?

  It is much the same principle,” he replied.

  “I see, but… how are we meant to know that link?

  I mean, we do not have a ‘49.7’ button upon us,” Nerya asked, trying to picture it.

  Wensworth lowered the sword along his hand, grasped the blade, and held it out to Nerya.

  “No, but you need only listen to it.

  Focus upon what it tells you.

  Do not see it as steel, but as an extension of yourself.

  It is the same principle as the creature we may bring forth,” he explained.

  Nerya took the sword, his words recalling the sensation she had felt the first time she held it.

  At its touch, a chill ran through her body, and she heard as though a murmur seeking to enter her mind.

  She closed her eyes, striving to understand what it told her, yet only a harsh static rang without meaning.

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  “I… I cannot do it.

  It feels as though it says something, but all is tangled together,” she said, opening her eyes.

  “That is normal, and had you succeeded at once, believe me, it would have been far more troubling.

  But let us move on, you shall understand in time,” Wensworth answered.

  He took his coin again in his right hand and showed it to Nerya, who did not grasp why, since she already knew what he did with it.

  “As you saw in the alley, the third category is what I call external magic.

  Aye, I did not strive far in naming them, yet it fits the principle well.

  To give you a comparison, imagine a rifle from our world,” he went on, pocketing the coin.

  He stepped back a little and took a stance as though holding such a weapon.

  “My coin throws come from that idea, a trigger that sends forth a deadly projectile which cares not what stands before it.

  Yet I may control the force I grant them,” he said.

  He mimed pulling the trigger with his finger.

  A sharp whistle cut the air and a dull thud followed.

  Nerya looked toward where he pointed and saw a glint buried in the bark.

  She walked to it and found the coin lodged within, troubled that she had not seen it fly and certain he had put it away but a moment before.

  She pulled it free with some effort and returned to Wensworth, who held out his hand.

  “Are you so rich that you throw your money about so?

  And why did the tree not burst apart like the other?” she asked.

  Wensworth laughed at that and sat down upon the damp grass.

  Nerya imitated him, only to regret it as her clothes quickly grew wet and the cold crept in.

  “It is not coin, merely painted metal which I reinforce with internal magic before I hurl it.

  And so we come to the final point, the magic circles,” he replied, relaxing.

  “Circles?

  I heard of that two years ago, yet I did not understand what they meant,” Nerya said in surprise.

  “It is normal.

  Circles are but a classification of the power one calls upon.

  What you saw with my coins are second-circle magics.

  Already very strong, yet I limit myself to a single target at a time, balanced by the fact that I need no incantation to make them answer,” he explained with a sigh.

  “Incantation?

  I begin to understand nothing at all.

  When mama heats water she speaks no word…,” she said, cutting herself short.

  She recalled then a detail that had troubled her, when Grydhor cooled the water of the barrel, he had used a formula.

  “In truth there is nothing complicated, yet an important distinction must be made.

  The silent magic I use strikes swiftly but remains imprecise or confined to a narrow field.

  Incanted magic, on the other hand, allows greater precision or the striking of wide areas.

  Only, to incant requires time and places you in immediate peril,” Wensworth answered.

  “That is all well and fair, but papa never speaks a word when he reinforces his sword or moves swiftly.

  Yet he is very precise, so how does he manage?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “There lies the knot.

  It is simple, I assure you, yet there are so many variations that to explain all would take days.

  We shall try to make it plain.

  In short, to act upon yourself or an object requires a transfer of your mana.

  You imagine, you transfer that image, and it acts.

  The precision is already there, for you aim at a single point, as I told you with my throws,” he explained, his gaze intent.

  “So, if I understand, I need only imagine and then it happens?

  But… how does one learn the incantations?

  I suppose it is not enough to utter random words, that would be too easy, would it not?” she wondered, narrowing her eyes.

  “Ah, the small detail that angers, and which ensures many shall never use magic as we do.

  No, they are not invented.

  They are researches inscribed within very complex Codex.

  If you do not study at a magic academy or have a mentor to teach you, you remain with useless magic.

  And if you attempt to use it at random… at best nothing occurs, at worst you die,” Wensworth replied gravely.

  Nerya swallowed, recalling all the times she had tried to mimic what others did.

  “But one last thing I do not grasp.

  Why can we not use it before?

  I understand with all this that one must wait those five years, but why?

  And how many circles exist?” Nerya asked, more troubled still.

  “Humm, that answer should seem evident to you.

  Your body,” Wensworth replied.

  Nerya looked down at herself, perplexed, not grasping what he meant.

  “You are a child here, that I need not teach you.

  But you have returned to a frailty that mana could crush without the proper defenses.

  It is like a poison within you.

  Your body must learn to assimilate it before it can even bring it forth without suffering harm.

  An infant forced into awakening—imagine placing it within a furnace.

  I think the image is clear enough,” he continued, calm yet firm.

  A shiver ran through Nerya at the thought, her hands growing damp as she gripped her skirt.

  “And to finish answering you, there are four circles known to this day.

  But few ever reach the fourth.

  It is annihilation magic, which drives the human body to its harshest limits.

  To use it brings symptoms that erode the mind’s connections.

  Some could no longer live on their own thereafter,” he concluded.

  He rose and brushed at his trousers to rid them of clinging grass, Nerya remaining still for a few seconds before doing the same.

  “Some claim a fifth circle exists.

  Yet none truly believe it, given the scars the fourth leaves upon a person.

  If such a circle did exist, we would near divine magic, and I doubt the gods would permit such a thing,” he added with a wink.

  They spent the remainder of the day thus, training in the basics, so that Nerya might grasp through practice what was within her reach.

  Though hesitant at first, she soon let joy and eagerness overtake her, and Wensworth had more than once to insist upon the limits her body could endure.

  Evening fell as they sat at table, eating their meat and vegetables, when Nerya cleared her throat.

  “I wished to ask, where did you live before?

  And… how did you end up here?” she asked hesitantly.

  Wensworth nearly choked upon his food, setting down his fork and striking his chest with short blows.

  He swallowed loudly at last, clearing the discomfort, lifting damp eyes to Nerya before wiping them.

  “Forgive me, I was merely surprised.

  I lived in England before.

  I was a… ah…,” he faltered.

  “A what?

  If it helps, I lived in France before, and I gave voice to words others had written,” Nerya explained.

  “Best to be plain after all.

  I made troublesome people disappear, in exchange for coin.

  An assassin, in short.

  I always lived in shadow.

  Yet in time I had a family,” Wensworth went on.

  Nerya did not move for several seconds, frozen as though her body refused to answer.

  Wensworth leaned closer and laid a hand upon her head.

  “Do not panic.

  I am no mad butcher.

  We all do what is needed to live.

  And to answer your second question, it was my own wife who killed me,” he said with a faint smile.

  “Your… your wife?” Nerya asked softly.

  Wensworth sighed, his gaze drifting for a moment before he withdrew his hand and resumed his seat.

  “Yes.

  She knew my trade.

  I hid nothing from her.

  She was the one thing that kept me from sinking.

  But one day I took the contract too many—irony of life, is it not?

  I slew a member of her family.

  A monster, you would say.

  Yet it was him, or they would have turned their threat upon her.

  When she learned the truth, never would I have believed she would be the one to end my days.

  And so I arrived here after forty years upon the earth,” he said in a tone too calm for Nerya’s liking.

  He resumed his meal, and Nerya dared ask no further.

  They finished their plates in utter silence, until Wensworth set down his fork and fixed her with a steady look.

  “I would ask you a question in turn.

  Why play the role of a little girl and never seek to use your former life?

  You possess knowledge that would let you understand far more,” he said at last.

  “Why?” Nerya echoed.

  Her throat tightened as she searched for words, and she finally let out a breath before speaking.

  “It is less glorious, let us say.

  My mother died when I was born, and my father always blamed me for it.

  He could not bear to remain alone with me, so he remarried, and the ordeal began.

  Each day she accused me of anything at all.

  The smallest thing was cause enough to strike me.

  Of course my father called me a liar, and in time I shut myself away,” she explained, eyes lowered.

  She paused.

  To stir those memories was not something she wished.

  Yet as Wensworth had answered her in kind, she would at least give him the broad lines.

  “When I was nineteen, I quickly found work and took an apartment.

  I managed to steady my life and I even married.

  He was not perfect, but he was attentive and all that.

  Until my twenty-third year, the day of my birthday, when I learned he took his pleasure with another while I was at work,” she continued.

  “And how did you come here?

  Was it he who—,” Wensworth began.

  “No, I was the foolish one.

  I wished to leap from a bridge.

  But when I tried to draw back, I slipped and could do nothing,” Nerya cut in, giving him a faint smile.

  Silence settled between them once more, heavy and laden with averted gazes.

  “If I play the little girl, it is because I truly wish to live this life.

  At first I wanted to be like the heroes in tales, then I found something more precious.

  I have loving parents and a fine household around me.

  I do not want my past life to interfere with that.

  I only wish to enjoy what I could not have before.

  My instinct still compares, aye, but beyond that I strive not to mingle the two,” she went on, more at ease.

  “I understand better.

  I shall do my utmost to teach you then, but magic takes years before it is mastered.

  What favors us is the knowledge others do not possess.

  If you refuse to use it, you will take longer to reach your goal,” he explained.

  He rose from his chair and cleared the table, Nerya aiding him as she could.

  They ended by sitting before the hearth, watching the flames in silence.

  “Enough feeling for one day.

  Shall we sleep?

  Your adventure begins now.

  It is best to be fit for what comes,” Wensworth said at last.

  Nerya nodded and rose, making her way to the small chamber Wensworth had prepared for her.

  She undressed and donned her nightclothes before slipping beneath the covers, her mind swiftly sinking into dreams.