Gifford stared long and hard at Arion’s hands. His brows crawled up in a fleshy cramp above the bridge of his nose.
“Oww!” Arion jerked her hand back. “Okay, stop. Stop! STOP!”
“Did I cause you pain?” Gifford asked, stunned.
Arion rubbed her palm. “Just a little.”
Suri stared at Arion’s hand, confused. She hadn’t sensed anything, and any use of the Art would have been obvious.
Tressa glared at the potter and inched away, pulling the jug with her.
“You actually felt pain?” Gifford asked. “I made yew hand hot—just by thinking about it?”
Arion still rubbed her hand. “Not too bad. Felt like—like I was holding a sunbaked rock.”
“But I…I…” Gifford looked at Arion and then at Suri, and finally a bit guiltily at Tressa, who glared at him.
“People who are creative are usually that way because they are more attuned to the power and forces of nature. They can hear the whispers of the world, and it helps guide them in the right direction. Oftentimes we hear it as our own thoughts telling us to go left, or just a sense that going right is a bad idea. Some might call it intuition or a gut feeling, but it is the world speaking in an ancient language that you can almost understand. Animals are fluent in this language; that’s how birds know to fly south in autumn, squirrels know to store nuts, and bears know to sleep late when snow falls. Trees know it, too. This is how they realize when to shed leaves and when to wake up from their deep sleep. Everyone can understand the whispers because they are spoken in our native language—the language of creation. It’s how the world was made. It’s how we were made. Rediscovering how to speak our native tongue, how to tap and use that power in meaningful ways, is what we call the Art. Not everyone is capable of making an intentional connection; fewer still are able to manipulate the power to their will.”
“But you think I can?”
Arion held up her hand and rubbed it again. “Yes,” she said. “I believe you can.”
* * *
—
Suri didn’t say anything as they walked back up the alley. She glanced at Arion a few times but didn’t ask. Maybe it was none of her business. They were nearly out of the Rhune District when Arion stopped.
“You want to know why I lied,” Arion said.
Suri wasn’t the only one with the ability to read feelings. Suri didn’t answer, but she waited.
“Because I think he can.” She began walking again, heading toward the lantern that hung near the well. “Most of the time people just lack confidence. Doubt kills any chance they might have. People believe magic is impossible, and so it is because they refuse to try, or if they do try it’s only half-hearted because they know—deep down, they know—they can’t. Sometimes all a person of talent needs is a little encouragement and someone—sometimes anyone—believing in them. Avalanches have been caused by the tossing of a pebble, and miracles have come from wishful thinking that just happened to spill out in words.”
They were alone in the square that was dominated by the common well. This was where Brin, Padera, and several others from Dahl Rhen now lived. Spring had arrived, but nights were still cold, and Suri pulled her asica tight.
“Gifford will think about what I said. He’ll play with it in the back of his mind, wondering. The seed of doubt in the absolute certainty of the visible world will grow. And when no one is looking, he’ll try to make something happen. He’ll try to hear the whispers of the world. And because I said it worked once, he’ll keep trying long after he would normally have given up. Sometimes sheer tenacity does the trick.”
“Why is it so easy for me?” Suri asked.
“People are different, and maybe you suffered somehow.”
“Suffered?”
Arion paused at the well and nodded. “When people are happy, they can become deaf. I don’t know why that is, but I’ve noticed it to be true. Misery helps us hear. We notice more when we’re in pain. We see beauty more clearly, hear the sufferings of others more loudly. Since you pulled me back, every sunrise is so much brighter, every breeze a delight. I think people who survive tragedy aren’t so much scarred as they are cleansed. The wax comes out of their ears and the clouds leave their eyes. The barriers between them and the world are reduced.”
“You think I suffered somehow?”
“Maybe.”
“But I’ve been able to make flames since I was young.”
“Then whatever it was must have happened when you were a child, which makes sense. I think the younger the pain, the stronger the influence. That’s why Gifford seems a likely candidate. Looking at him, you can see he must have suffered for a long time.”