‘Your mighty blade is dull, Sodar.’
The old man laughed. ‘First of all, the sword’s name is Mercy – and it’s your blade now. Second, it’s meant to be dull.’
Annev replaced the weapon in its sheath. ‘For sparring?’
‘Partly.’ Sodar took the sword and unwrapped the light blue cord. A strange symbol like the letter ‘y’ was meticulously engraved into the metal beneath, the letter lying on its side, its tail and tops curved upward, like three sinuous claws.
‘That’s a glyph,’ Annev said. ‘For … “sharp air”?’
Sodar nodded. ‘It’s an arcane Darite symbol.’ He rewrapped the hilt carefully. ‘This is an artifact, Annev.’
Annev’s eyes widened. ‘Like my arm?’ Sodar nodded. ‘But … I can’t have any artifacts. All magic items go to the Vault.’
Sodar waved his hands, shushing the boy. ‘That’s why this is yours on condition that you show it to no one.’
‘A secret?’
Sodar nodded.
Annev’s bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment, then went dark. ‘A present I can’t use. And another secret, just like my arm.’
Sodar frowned. ‘Your arm would get you killed, Annev. But you can use the sword and the axe for sparring. And perhaps someday, when you leave Chaenbalu, they will be useful to you.’
Annev took the shortsword from the priest. ‘You named it Mercy?’ Sodar nodded. ‘How does it work?’
‘Draw the sword. Always draw it before activating its powers, otherwise you may compromise the integrity of the scabbard.’
Annev drew it far more carefully than he had the first time.
‘Now concentrate on the symbol you saw on the hilt. Imagine the blade honed to a perfect edge. The finer you imagine it, the sharper it will be.’
Annev cocked an eyebrow. ‘Is this some elaborate excuse to test my magic again?’
Sodar laughed. ‘Just try.’
Annev shrugged and focused intently on the blade. After a moment, he looked at Sodar. ‘How do I know if it’s working?’
‘I wouldn’t run a finger over it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Usually, though, I sense a depletion of my quaire: I become thirsty or winded, like I forgot to take a breath.’ Annev nodded, thinking he understood, and the priest placed a stick of kindling on the edge of the table.
‘Run the edge of the sword across the firewood.’
Annev approached the table, holding the sword in both hands. He studied the kindling – it was almost a foot long but barely an inch thick – then he crashed the edge of the sword onto the offending splinter. The stick shot out, rolling away from the sword’s dull edge, and clattered to the hard-packed earth floor.
Annev glared at Sodar and saw the priest was trying not to laugh.
‘Is this funny?’
The priest lowered his hand, still smiling. ‘It’s an artifact, Annev.’
‘I know that.’
‘Yes, but you’re treating it like a sword – a real sword. That’s not how it works. The shape of the artifact is meant to help the user imagine its purpose. Mercy could have been made into a rod or a wand, but giving it a flat surface – like a sword – makes it easier to visualise the weapon’s edge.’ Sodar picked up the scrap of wood and placed it back on the table. ‘Try again, but don’t use the blade to cut the wood. Visualise the true edge – the air surrounding the blade – and imagine that air parting the wood.’
Annev frowned but repositioned the sword over the stick. He glanced once more at Sodar then pressed the blade hard against the kindling.
Sharp air, Annev thought, trying to imagine what that would look like. But air isn’t sharp … it’s shapeless. Formless, like the wind. Instead of voicing those thoughts, though, Annev sliced the sword across the scrap of wood. Nothing happened. He looked up, his expression dark.
‘This is stupid.’
Sodar shook his head, his mirth gone. ‘Try saying the glyph’s name as you visualise. The word is géaraer.’
‘Shouldn’t I have used that the first time?’
Sodar tilted his hand from side to side. ‘Glyph-speaking is a misnomer. We use glyphs to form our intent, but Darite magic is fuelled by two things: quaire and words. The quaire comes from you – you’ll deplete your air or water when the spell is effective – but the words can be spoken or simply formed as a thought in your mind.’
‘But you usually speak the words.’
‘Yes, because spoken words are like water. They pour out of your mouth and take the shape of the vessel you’ve poured them into – they’re reliable. Thoughts are the opposite. They’re like air … always changing, floating away the moment we’ve formed them. But since spoken words begin as thoughts, they are the same thing, just as quaire is both air and water.’
‘Skywater,’ Annev said, understanding. ‘So I form the word in my mind and then give it shape by speaking.’
‘More or less, but remember: magic is an art and a science. Rules can define the form, but the rest is intuitive.’
Annev held his tongue, imagining the word in his mind, and touched the sword’s edge against the wood. He looked up at Sodar, who nodded. ‘Géaraer!’ Annev cried, dragging the blade across the kindling. He stopped midway through his stroke and glanced at the stick beneath the sword; it remained stubbornly whole. Annev cursed.
Sodar picked up the wood and turned it over in his hands. A faint scratch marred its surface. He sighed. ‘Don’t worry, Annev. We’ll break that block of yours one day. Somehow.’
‘Blood and bones! This is why I hate testing for magic. Every time – every time – it’s a disappointment.’ He kicked the firewood pile. ‘Why can I use my arm but not this?’ He waved the sword at Sodar. ‘It’s not fair!’
Sodar folded his arms. ‘How do you get that arm to fuse to you?’
Annev shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been using it for so long, I don’t think about it. It’s just sort of … natural. I know what needs to happen and it does.’
‘Interesting.’ Sodar stroked his beard.
‘What?’
‘Mercy was crafted by a Darite, so its magic is unlocked by glyph-speaking. Your arm was made by a Terran using dwimmer-craft, so its mechanics are … different. I can’t explain how since I’m no Artificer, but it typically requires a gesture or some other physical action.’
‘Right,’ Annev said, remembering. ‘Glyph-speaking works through words and thoughts. Ilumites use music. Terrans use gestures.’ He looked down at his arm, confused. ‘But Sodar, I don’t do any of that. My arm just … works. Like the stumble-sticks my class used in the nave this morning. I didn’t have to think about how to use those.’
‘But those were common artifacts, and your arm is not.’
‘You say it’s not common, but I think it is. I bet any cripple missing a left hand and half a forearm could use it.’
‘Bah!’ Sodar waved a hand at him. ‘Who is teaching whom?’
Annev gave a half-bow to his mentor, conceding the point without admitting he might be wrong. ‘Is there a way people use magic without glyph-speaking, spellsinging or dwimmer-crafting?’
Sodar huffed. ‘Not unless you’re a keokum.’