“Do you know how many idiots I’ve had to toss onto the bank because they couldn’t control themselves? Not everyone is fit for these conditions. Quiet,” Sebo ordered. She touched her fingers to his chest and chuckled. “Ah, you’re growing a pelt!” she said with a wicked grin.
Arram blushed. He would hardly call his few straggling chest hairs a pelt.
Sebo’s lips moved as power trickled from the top of his head. It fell in watery streams down his body, spreading to cover his every inch. Her Gift sparkled like sun on the water, until he looked away, his vision covered with light spots.
Do all mages become this powerful as they get old? he wondered, staring out over the river. Is a water mage stronger than a stone mage? What about a hedgewitch? How do they know a hedgewitch isn’t as strong as a master mage if no one ever tests people like hedgewitches or shamans?
“Pay attention,” Sebo said, flicking his nose with her finger. “Lift your left foot.” Arram obeyed. As the cold, exciting trickles of power enfolded his feet, Sebo explained, “This working blends air magic—drawing proper air from within and above the water—and sun magic—to draw warmth from the river’s surface. If you go swimming in the warded area, you know the Zekoi gets cold, even in summer.”
As she spoke, Arram recognized the water, air, and sun magic that he had touched upon in other lessons, but in a much stronger form. The air surrounded him like a stretched-out cocoon, enclosing a mild kind of heat like that he felt while sitting in the dawn sun. The water magic came as floating weight, enough to keep his feet down, but not so much that he couldn’t move. It also made a glass-like shell that let him see. He grinned. This was the most wonderful magic he’d ever witnessed! He couldn’t wait to learn how to create it for himself.
“Can you walk on the ocean’s floor in this?” he asked, excited.
“Well! You understand what this does and its possibilities. I thought so. Not everyone can follow the way I work, but I felt you paying attention. We shall do well, I think. Come along.” She walked down into the river and called back over her shoulder, “Yes, you can work a form of this for the ocean. It requires a few tugs and tucks, but it can be done. You must study hard, of course.”
“Of course,” Arram murmured, following her closely. The river surged around his feet, his shins, his thighs, his chest. Sebo’s shield fit itself around his body, leaving him full use of his hands. He was breathing, hardly aware of the cool substance against his lower body. Still, for all his excitement, he hesitated when the river was under his chin. His mind rebelled. It wasn’t natural, to walk into water up over his nose.
Put your head under or I will thrust it under; it is all one to me, Sebo’s unmistakable voice sounded in his head.
She could mind-speak! Arram sprang up with excitement, forgetting his surroundings. Coming down, he slipped and went under.
He thrashed, opened his mouth to shout—and no water came in. A striped mullet swam over to peer curiously at him as he regained his footing. He was now a foot underwater.
There was a trick to staying upright. He had to move slowly and carefully. He could breathe. The water touched the clear barrier, the one that sparkled faintly around Arram, and flowed around. He inhaled clean air.
Sebo waited until he was steady on his feet. Then she beckoned him to follow.
The river isn’t as clear and clean here as it is in the south. Her voice in his mind was dry and matter-of-fact. Humans dump trash into it—not the university or the palace, but villagers and city folk. Dead animals are here, of course. And there’s silt. It comes from each river and stream that touches the Zekoi, as well as its own banks. All that dirt comes right through here. It makes the waters murky.
Even in the murk there was plenty to see. Fish swarmed around them, confused and curious. Butterfish, uaha lampeye, and bresbarb stared at Arram as he stared back. It was strange to find such interest from something he was used to seeing on his supper plate. Green and painted frogs kept a cautious distance, but they were happy to approach Sebo and nudge her. She nudged them gently in return.
After giving Arram time to look around, she led him down the riverbed. He was soon shocked by waste in the mud: old jars, oars, entire boats or parts of them thrusting out of the silt, tree trunks, and even animal or human skeletons. He was unnerved by the human dead, his mind filled with questions about their presence. The sight of those bones and skulls made his skin crawl.
Over their heads passed the ferries and boats that traveled the river every day. Twice they saw hippos, but the great animals ignored them. Just after a small herd swam from view, he saw motion past Sebo’s shoulder. He reached out and seized her arm: the largest crocodile he had ever seen was swimming toward them through the murk. It had to be more than twice the size of the biggest bull among those that sunned themselves on the riverbank.
Sebo, he said, fear in his thoughts. Master—Master Sebo. The spells she had wrapped around him felt like no protection at all. There’s a monster!
The old mage turned to face the oncoming crocodile. This is no monster, she snapped, raising a hand in salute. He is Enzi, god of the river crocodiles. If you cannot pay him due respect, keep your distance. She walked toward the giant animal, who sank in the water until they were face to face.
Despite his fear, that sense of something huge squeezing his heart, Arram took several steps closer to his master and the god. Something streamed between them, almost like a colder vein of magic. Though he reached out with his own Gift, he was unable to touch it, but he was certain that a powerful force flowed between Sebo and Enzi.
After a moment Sebo began to walk forward again, with Enzi swimming above her shoulder. Gingerly Arram followed at a courteous distance, eventually renewing his inspection of the river’s bottom. He had just plucked a small Stormwing figure from the mud when the water above him turned darker and cooler. He straightened and stared into a huge crocodile eye.
The giant reptile slowly swam around Arram once. It seemed to take forever. At last he returned to Sebo. This time, when he spoke to her, Arram felt the god’s voice shake his poor skull: He is too scrawny to make so much as a snack. Return him when he is at least a meal. With a flick of his massive tail that rocked Sebo and Arram, he swam off into the clouded water.