Free Mortals & Deities by Maxwell Alexander Drake Page B

what to do next. His thoughts lingered long on Shaith, alone and at the mercy of the Prince and his experiments . He hoped she was well. Yet, what could he do? He thought of his old instructor, Sier Sarlimac, though he was unsure if he could trust him. Or any Shaper for that matter. He avoided going to the Magistra here in Hild’alan. He even wondered if he should seek out Arderi. His brother had not gone to study with the Shapers, of that he was now certain. Still, to search all of Mocley? The city had a hundred, hundred, thousand people in it! What hope to find his brother in all that?
    The one thing I am certain of is I cannot stay here moping. I need to understand what has happened to me! I will find no answers here.
    Without thought, the Sight of the Essence—this strange new Sight that was so unlike what he had learned while training—dropped on him. The strange swirls—Strands, he had come to call them—danced around the room. He still saw Spectals inside of everything, though he now had the power to interact with them differently. He pulled in a Strand that twitched—the ones he now associated with energy . ‘Pull in’ was the only way he could describe what he did with it, for that is what it felt like he did—pull the Strands into himself. He smiled, making a spark of lightning dance between his fingertips. It tickled. Glancing into the mirror, he saw what he now expected—his eyes glowing red as they had the eve he Traveled home. Every time he let the Sight drop upon him now, his eyes blazed. Letting the Sight slip from him, feeling the power leave his mind, he stared into the mirror at his red eyes while they faded and returned to their normal shade of hazel. The display no longer made him feel uneasy.
    With his eyes back to normal, he stood and went down for firstmeal. The rest of the menfolk would be gone to the fields by now and he would have the dining hall to himself. The first few morns he had risen and eaten with the rest of the fielders. The talk was merry. Everyone seemed glad he was alive. Still, there was a distance between them now that felt almost palpable. When he spoke to his papa about working in the fields, Tanin had laughed, thinking he jested. An uneasy silence soon filled the lull in the conversation and Alant never again broached that subject.
    When he arrived at the dining hall, he noticed a plate of fried eggs and ham waiting for him at his usual seat. Walking over to it, he sat. Younger girls, his youngest sister, Tary, among them, scurried about cleaning up after the other men. It felt odd sitting in the dining hall alone. For seventeen winters he had eaten every firstmeal in this room surrounded by the other men who worked the fields around Hild’alan. They had all gone off to work, as was their duty, yet here he sat. Eating eggs. As if he was more than they. Better.
    This feeling of distance grew with each passing day he stayed in his parent’s public house. No one ever said anything—that would be rude. Still, everyone viewed Alant with the reserve they would any outsider. Not a stranger. More like a herder, who for some reason was forced to move in with the fielders. No one would treat the herder bad. Yet, they would not be treated as family either.
    It is just one more reason nagging me to leave.
    Lost in thought, Alant did not notice that the cleaning girls had all fallen silent and still. He did not even notice the man in the dark blue robes standing next to him until the golden starburst of the Shaper’s Order drew his eye. Looking up, he was struck by the impression of a bird hovering over him, and recognized the man who had Tested him so long ago.
    “Good morn, Alant. It is good to see you again after so many winters.” Sier Witlan Singe, Hon’nar to Grand Master Grintan, appeared even more the common man to Alant than he had in the past. It might have been his beak-like nose or his plain brown eyes that sat too close together—both common in folks from this