Chapter 7 - The Gloves of Give and Take
The next two weeks kept Faeron’s nose glued to his desk, churning out homework like a full time job. He’d never experienced a more busy first week of academy in his life. Auri seemed to have little issue keeping her work in check even as she spent her afternoons going door to door with the youth group, collecting outdated and unused technology donations.
As soon as Auri returned home each night, the two would rush straight out to the balcony for meditations. To Faeron, the only way forward now was through learning to shape. His dreams might bring answers, but he’d known that for a decade. Faeron was tired of waiting.
One night, as Faeron reached, only to find his water glass empty, he recognized an opportunity. Faeron opened his eyes and held the meditation. Slowly, he rose from his seat.
“You’re still meditating,” gasped Auri, looking up from her chair. “I can see it, in your eyes. They’re glazed, far off, but almost brighter somehow. ”
Faeron grinned and the light faded.
“And its gone… isn’t it?” asked Auri, disapprovingly. “See what happens when I feed your ego?”
Faeron would continue to practice his waking meditations during nightly meditations, taking occasional breaks just to give himself a chance to get up and walk around. Auri, meanwhile, was hellbent on achieving the waking meditation herself before their next class. The first few nights were the most frustrating for her as she could only hold the deep meditation for a second or two without the Nylkshave. She could calm herself fine, just like Mathas taught them, but the peace would last only seconds before she’d breathe sharply and clutch her head. From there, her ability to calm her mind would spiral quickly.
“This is hopeless,” she told him, several nights into their increased meditations.
Faeron looked up from his calm to see Auri near tears.
“I’ve been trying to hide it long enough…” she said, “and you better… you better not try to pity me what I’m about to say, you hear?”
“Auri, I… I promise,” asked Faeron cautiously. “What’s going on?”
“I still see the crimson every time,” said Auri softly, the corners of her eyes watering as she stared out over the balcony at the colorful city below. “It never really stopped... I just pretended it did so you and Mathas would stop trying to fix it. I think… because I knew it isn’t something you can fix, but I still shouldn’t have lied.”
Faeron’s heart dropped. Ten years ago, when the Hoststone shattered, every kytra had seen the same vision, the obelisk of light and the crack down its center. Auri, alone, had seen something more. She saw beyond the crevice and witnessed the crimson light raging inside. Long before they had started meditations, it was all she could see in her dreams, nightmares of the crimson. Faeron had thought those had passed since they started meditations, but now...
“I know it's intense,” offered Faeron. In his deepest meditations he’d encountered tiny streaks of crimson, raging in the current. They were some of the most intense scenes, violent eruptions and dying stars. Still, Faeron always passed out of these images as soon as he entered, where Auri seemed stuck to them like glue. “I can see the colors, too, the other hues when I meditate, and sometimes I think it’s just a matter of letting it pull you through—”
“Pull me through?” said Auri forcefully. The tears were gone and now her furious bronze eyes were locked on him. “I get you’re trying to help, but you don’t know anything at all. You always talk about these little scenes in the colors of the current and how I just need to flow with them, but this isn’t the same at all. First comes the good light, the white and pearl of peridom, same thing you see... but the crimson is always close behind. It consumes everything else, and I know that if I don’t open my eyes it’ll take me too.”
“Auri,” said Faeron. “I think that if you just—”
“If I just what, Faeron?” demanded Auri. “Breathe deep? Relax? Let myself be taken by that nightmare!? You have no idea what I see and you always think you know the answer. You’re just so— Ugh” She growled and stomped off top bed without another word.
Faeron knew better than to follow her. For another hour or so, he sat in silence before venturing off to bed.
Faeron’s dreams were long almost every night. His two weeks were Jakob’s twenty as the dreamworld’s Highsun ended and Cropsun flew by, making way for a temperate Lowsun in the coastal city. The few images Faeron remembered from his dreams showed decorative lights strung up all down the block and holiday merchandise flooding shop windows throughout the art district. In all that time, Jakob had barely gotten through another two chapters of his book, and the few bits Faeron remembered were hardly his best work. Faeron woke up most mornings with Jakob’s stresses bogging him down and nothing useful to show for it.
Faeron didn’t bring up the crimson again, nor did Auri mention the events of the other night. Instead, she came to every meditation with renewed focus, often going the entire night without saying a word to Faeron. The night before their kytra classes picked back up, Auri made her first breakthrough. It was a brisk Lowend evening, and Faeron and Auri had spent the afternoon working through the rest of the new Prophet’s Guard setlist. An hour into their meditations, Auri sprang up suddenly from her seat, pulling Faeron away from peridom’s light as she loudly declared, “A minute and a half. I held it the whole time!” The evening breeze was cool on the balcony, and both she and Faeron were in cozy sweatshirts.
“Auri, this is…” grinned Faeron, blinking his eyes open to see her smiling triumphantly back at him. “What did you do different?”
“I fought back,” she said proudly. “I don’t know how else to describe it, but I think… maybe what I needed to do all along was just the opposite of what Mathas told me. I don’t need to let go. I need to face it head on.”
Faeron wasn’t sure he understood, but he was too happy for her to care. “You know what that means, right?” he asked her. “If you can do that tomorrow, all you need to do is open your eyes. Just hold it and open your eyes.”
“And I’ll have done the waking meditating, just like you,” she said, beaming brightly.
Even though she hadn’t managed the full waking meditation yet, Auri seemed to be in a great mood the next morning as they headed off to the Academy. The morning classes sped by and Faeron’s mind was filled with thoughts of shaping that evening. Faeron and Auri met Quinn in the cafeteria after Life and Legacy. Quinn was practically bouncing in his seat as he waved them over.
“Guys, guys!” called Quinn, as they joined him at a squat round table in the chatter-filled cafeteria. “There’s a big tourney in the Deity Lounge goin’ on.”
“So you mentioned,” said Auri, “five times last week.”
“Yeah, well an outsider, a Nomad, is playing for the first time ever and he’s made it all the way to the finals!”
“I didn’t think Nomads had Deity,” said Auri, her interest piqued despite the topic.
“Yeah,” said Faeron, “From the stories Vox told, that kind of stuff doesn’t exist beyond the wall. I mean, we’ve never seen a Nomad player before, right?”
“I suppose there’s gotta be a first,” said Quinn. “I’ve heard they have leagues in the Peak, so it was only a matter of time before the Nomads got in on it. Anyway, the finals are tonight, and guess who has VIP tickets for all of us?” The green of his hazel eyes shone bright as his toothy grin.
“Wait, why do you have tickets?” asked Faeron. “Not that I’m arguing. Believe me, I’m in.”
“I entered the tourney on a whim,” explained Quinn. “I mean, with you two so busy… why not? Figured I’d get knocked out early in qualifiers, but no loss in trying, right?
“Sure,” said Auri, as she chowed down on a buttery luppice roll.
“Anywho,” Quinn continued. “I made it all the way to the final sixteen before a real player finally smoked me. It was an embarrassment, but, not the point… It turns out that everyone who makes final sixteen gets their own private VIP lounge, win or lose. That means an upstairs suite with our own private table and anything we want from the menu.”
“Look at Mr. VIP,” said Faeron, twisting his fork through his noodles. “I humbly accept your invitation.”
“I hate to be that person,” said Auri, “but you do realize we have class tonight. A particularly important class for two of us.” She glared at Faeron.
“Don’t worry,” said Quinn happily. “It’s not until after. Besides, there’s always pre-game interviews and the like. We’ll have plenty of time to get settled in our room before the real show starts.”
“Well then,” said Auri. “I suppose I can’t say no to a night of free slushies, even if it is spent watching that… mockery of the Deity universe. I’m off to class, see you two!”
A.I. Upkeep, later that afternoon, felt like it was several dozen hours long as Faeron tapped his foot anxiously through Professor Bundst’s introduction of the city’s Weather AI, Revna. She was a younger AI and took the form of a large woman with dark stormy clouds for hair. As she spoke, her wispy locks rumbled, and whenever she raised her voice, a flash of lightning crackled down her back.
After class, when Faeron and Quin met Auri in the courtyard. Her nerves seemed to have really set in as she rushed from her perch at the lip of the ape fountain the moment she caught sight of Quinn and Faeron.
“There you are!” she called. “If I had to sit with my thoughts another second longer, I was going to go insane. There’s an hour and a half until class. Want to grab something light at Lilypad, then maybe practice a bit more before class?”
“Sure,” said Faeron, who’s stomach growled at the thought of food. “You in, Quinn?”
“Of course!”
Lilypad was a small place in the north end of Bellwillow Market. Faeron, Auri, and Quinn grabbed a tram from the academy and were able to get a table without any wait. The tables sat high and were set up around the edge of a round creek with the kitchen in the very center. While guests ate, they could watch the cooks at work, flipping meats and stacking fruit slices high. Flowing slowly around the creek were dozens of lily pads, and on them stood animatronic frogs in suits, just tall enough to reach the tables. The frog snatched plated food from the kitchen, and, with a bow, delivered them to guests as they floated past.
All three of them ordered rice rolls filled with fruits, just enough to hold them over until their free dining tonight. After eating, they rushed back across the park. In the low light of dusk, they arrived at the Athenaeum just a half-hour early for class. Surprisingly, the door was locked, the windows inside dark, and a sign had been posted reading:
Closed Temporarily
Returning Soon
“Where do you suppose he’s gone?” asked Faeron. Mathas rarely left the Athenaeum, to the point that Faeron sometimes wondered whether Mathas actually had a home outside his office.
“Not a clue,” said Auri.
“You’re guess is as good as mine,” added Quinn.
They sat on the steps, Quinn people watching, while Faeron and Auri practiced their meditations. Sounds of play and laughter faded in the darkness of his mind. As Faeron let the current of light wash through him, he could just make out Quinn’s voice calling in the distance. Faeron opened his eyes and saw Mathas crossing Loem Park. The old capillum waved to them and quickened his pace.
“Apologies for keeping you three waiting,” said Mathas, a twinge of excitement in his normally level voice. “A new book came in this morning, a collection of poetry discovered in the southern suburbs. I was just now at Forgeworks getting the reprint process set up.”
“Really?” asked Auri excitedly. “When can I read it?”
“As early as tomorrow,” said Mathas. “Speaking of early, there’s still another…” he checked his watch, “ten minutes until your class. I have some last minute business to attend to in my office, but I’ll let you three into the classroom now if you like.”
Mathas unlocked the Athenaeum and then walked to the classroom across the foyer, unlocking its door as well before heading upstairs in the elevator.
Auri, Quinn, and Faeron entered the small rectangular classroom and took their usual seats at the shared table with Faeron and Auri closest to the workshop window and Quinn at the head. The room had little in the way of decoration; it’s walls were barren but for the empty whiteboard by Mathas’ desk and the large workshop window. There was a second door in the back of the room that led into the workshop, though Faeron hadn’t been inside there in more than a decade.
“Faeron, you see this?” said Auri. She tapped her finger against the window.
Peering into the dark workshop, Faeron could just barely make out several tables like the one they sat at now. One of them was set apart from the others, in the center of the open workshop, and held a large contraption, too shadowed to make out in any detail.
“What do you suppose that is?” asked Faeron, and Auri pressed her face to the glass.
“Some sort of kytra experiment,” said Auri, betraying nervousness in her voice as she squinted through the glass.
“Let me see,” said Quinn, scampering over to get a view and squeezing in right next to Auri. “It looks kind of like a track or—”
Just then, the door swung open as Myllie and Kaelynn bounded into the room. They were still in their school uniforms with Myllie in a skirt and Kaelynn wearing long pants. Both their navy blazers were wrapped around their waists, and they had bright pink backpacks that they tossed haphazardly onto the table as they took their spots opposite Faeron and Auri.
“How’s the time off treated you two?” asked Auri.
“Kaelynn broke her toe on a kid’s face,” Myllie reported.
“Myllie!” hissed Kaelynn. “You don’t have to tell everyone everything all the time!”
“Oh no,” said Auri, “you can’t leave us without the details.”
“Some year seven boy whiffed so hard trying to catch a cross ball that he tripped straight into Kaelynn’s cleat,” giggled Myllie. “He had a concussion and had to be carted off, but Kaelynn acted all tough like nothing even happened. It wasn’t until we got home and she took off her cleat that we saw her whole sock was soaked in blood.”
“It was barely anything,” contested Kaelynn.
“It was disgusting,” asserted Myllie.
“Well, I certainly hope your toe is better now,” said Auri, wearing an amused smile.
“Yeah, it doesn’t really hurt or anything,” said Kaelynn.
“Not that you’d admit if it did,” added her sister. “Now, where’s Mathas?”
“On my way,” came a voice as the door swung open once more. Mathas ducked through the doorframe and swept into the classroom. “Apologies for the delay everyone.” He went to his desk with his long brown robe trailing behind him and took a set in his swiveling chair. “It’s been a lonely two weeks without you all around. How are your Academy classes going?”
“So boring,” said Myllie, burying her head in her hands. “Why do I even need to know math anyway?”
“I don’t know,” chirped Kaelynn, “but I’m liking this writing class I’m in.”
“Oh, really?” said Mathas, raising a wide silver brow. “Do you have anything I could read?”
“It’s private,” said Kaelynn definitively, her whole body locking up.
“That’s perfectly alright,” chuckled Mathas. “What about you all?” he looked at the three older kytra.
“My schedule is mostly politics and patronage history,” said Auri happily. “Aur Poro, too.” Like Bo Kora, Aur Poro was an old martial art, but its roots were in the more aggressive fighting styles of ancient Saldun, rather than the guarded techniques of the Old Scholars
“Gross, gross, and gross,” said Faeron, “we all know Bo Kora is just a better Aur Poro.”
“I’m happy to test that theory,” said Auri, cracking her knuckles loudly.
“Behave you two,” said Mathas, chuckling at their antics. “What about you, Quinn?”
“I’ve actually been working on something super cool in my salvaging class,” piped Quinn from the end of the table. “I repurposed an old chip for Logic that allows him to integrate with lots of pre-plague tech.”
“I wish my projects were that cool,” said Faeron. “All I’ve had is essays.”
“Well, you’re beyond the point of essays here, at least,” said Mathas. “Ten years, we’ve sat together, discussing the meditations which led the Old Scholars to shaping. You two have proven a keen understanding both in theory and practice, which means there’s nothing left to learn but the art of shaping itself. What do you say, shall we go check out the workshop?”
“Absolutely!” burst Faeron.
“And since it’s an occasion,” said Mathas, “the rest of you can come watch. Consider this a visual learning exercise.”
“If Faeron’s gonna be shaping, we’re all gonna need some serious safety pads!” said Myllie, grabbing a mask from her backpack and pulling it over her face.
“I don’t think it’s me you need to be worried about,” said Faeron, shooting a side glance at Auri. Snarling, she whipped her long dark hair around, treating Faeron to a face full of her metallic bronze ends.
Mathas walked to the workshop door and slid his key in the lock. For the first time in ten years, Faeron watched the workshop door creak open. A familiar woody smell drafted into the room, sending Faeron straight back to his childhood, to memories of his mother and her many strange contraptions littered about the open workshop.
“Serris, lights please,” said Mathas as Faeron followed him inside.
Long industrial lights hanging from the ceiling flickered to life, and Faeron saw the workshop looked much different now than he remembered. It was a large space, though not nearly as enormous as it had once appeared through his ten-year-old eyes. There were no windows besides the view from the classroom and a corner overlook from Mathas’ office on the second floor. Gone were the many strange wooden contraptions that filled Faeron’s memories of this place. In their place were four tables, three in the corner beneath the overlook and one set apart in the center of the marble floor. The tables in the corner were mostly empty, but for a single silver bunball. Near the center of the workshop, the table set apart from the others held a scaled down model of a mountainside city and a toy alca sitting perfectly still on a track that ran all around the mountain. Faeron couldn’t make heads or tales of what such a display had to do with shaping, but he was in no position to question Mathas’s methods. Beyond the table, several bright blue pads had been laid out across the floor, and Faeron could see a small platform with steps, about two feet off the ground, facing the pads.
Myllie ran over towards the platform but Mathas raised his hand. “Slow down now,” he said. “If you’re to join us in the workshop there are rules you must follow. First, and most importantly, is that only those of you ready to shape can enter the matted area. The rest of you will need to wait over there near the tables.” He pointed to the corner. “Second, I would request that any command I make, no matter how silly or strange, be obeyed at a moment’s notice. Shaping can be unpredictable and even volatile if a shaper is not prepared.”
“What do you mean, volatile?” asked Auri, the corner of her mouth twitching nervously.
“Come, I’ll show you.”
Mathas hobbled over to a table in the corner with a silver bunball in the center. The twins faces lit up as they saw the apple-sized ball, sprinting past the others to the table.
“Don’t touch!” called Mathas, just as Myllie was about to swipe the ball.
Once they were all gathered, Mathas reached into his robes, producing a pair of leather gloves. They were dark and fingerless, and their frayed ends looked aged. On the back of each glove was a single stone, mossy green in color. From inside the stones, Faeron could see a softly glowing light.
“Are those…?” asked Auri.
“Echo crystals,” answered Mathas. “For some of you, it’s been years since you’ve seen something like this, but it is the light that each of you see within these stones that is the surest mark of a kytra.”
Faeron was well acquainted with echo crystals, as his father’s office held nearly a dozen of such relics, locked away securely behind armored glass display cases. Since Faeron’s mishap with the Hoststone, this was the closest he’d been to one.
“As you no doubt remember from your studies,” said Mathas, “these crystals exist both in our world and beyond, in peridom. They are like a window through which a kytra may give and take light. There is, in my mind, no simpler way to demonstrate this than the Gloves of Give and Take. These artifacts were once worn by the Old-Scholars, thousands of years ago.”
“That’s one of the relics recovered from the monastery, isn’t it?” gasped Auri excitedly.
“Indeed,” said Mathas. “It remained incredibly preserved beyond the Nylkdoor, untouched by time until Evolice broke the seal.”
The young kytra all wore a look of awe as they stared at the ancient gloves. Faeron imagined his mother, about his age, venturing deep beneath the monastery of the Old-Scholars, unearthing these gloves among the other relics now displayed in his father’s office.
“The crystals you see here are refined gems,” continued Mathas, “fashioned by a kytra millenia ago. I expect these three know the difference well enough, but do you twins know what makes a refined gem different from its unrefined counterpart?”
Myllie looked to Kaelynn, who returned with an equally lost shrug.
“Alright then,” said Mathas, “Quinn, go ahead and tell the group what the difference is.”
“Refined gems do that shaping for you,” piped Quinn enthusiastically. “All a kytra needs to do is provide light and the refined gem shapes it as the crafter intended.”
“Exactly so,” said Mathas. “A perfect starting point for a kytra learning to shape. However, before either of you don the gloves, I have a warning.” Mathas ran a long slender finger across the back of one gem. “Do you see the cracks here?” Narrow schisms, no wider than a hair, snaked across the otherwise flawlessly polished crystal. “No instrument of man can damage an echo crystal. It is that strength which held the Nylkdoor against King Ozukette’s army all those thousands of years ago and protected the young Glavius Adaeus. So, how is it, do you suppose, that this crack was formed when Ozukette’s mightiest weapons could not break the stone?”
“THE BUNBALL,” yelled Myllie excitedly.
“No,” chuckled Mathas. “No explosive, nor technology, nor bunball has ever compromised an echo crystal.”
“You told us this is a warning,” said Faeron, trying to sort out where their mentor was leading them, “so it was an accident, a kytra trying to shape, like we are now.”
“Exactly correct,” said Mathas. “Balance is the very heart of shaping. What is taken must be returned, and what is given must be replaced. Should a kytra fail to reach balance when their tie to the light is cut, the universe will right itself. Often chaotic and destructive, there is no will to its method, simply the path of least resistance. Each etching you see on this stone is a mistake of the past. Some more… severe… than others.” Once again, he ran his finger along the stone, resting at the largest central crack.
“But how do we know if we’ve balanced or not?” asked Auri, looking nervously down at the crystals in the gloves.
“You will know,” said Mathas. “When shaping, a kytra can feel the light, the imbalance seeking a way home through the crystals. However, words can only explain so much. To understand further, you two are going to need to take the first bold step and feel the light for yourself. I shall demonstrate.”
Mathas pulled the gloves over his long capillum hands. They fit small, but not so much so as to break at the seams. “Come, you two,” he said, limping towards the mats and beckoning Faeron and Auri to follow, “and one of you please grab the ball.”
Auri plucked up the bunball as Faeron followed Mathas.
“I’ll need a volunteer,” said Mathas once they’d reached the mats. “Don’t worry, you’re not shaping yet.”
“I’ll go,” said Faeron.
“Very good, then step onto the platform.”
Faeron did as he was instructed, crossing the mats and climbing the two steps to the top of the sturdy wooden platform.
“Now, Auri,” said Mathas, “would you hand Faeron the ball?”
“On it,” she said, crossing the mat and passing the ball to Faeron. He felt a bit silly, standing there above the others with a bunball in one hand.
“Good, now step back please, Auri. Faeron, face me.” Mathas stepped back, just out of reach, while ushering Auri further back to the edge of the pads. “Go ahead and hold the ball out over the edge.”
Faeron held the ball outstretched in one hand.
“Good,” said his mentor, “just a moment.” Mathas closed his large black eyes, paused a second, and reopened them with a distant look.
“What’s he doing?” squealed Myllie from the corner. “Is he shaping?”
“Quiet” shushed Kaelynn.
“The act of catching a fruit midair,” said Mathas, retaining his glazed stare as he spoke, “is a classic first step into the world of shaping. The premise is simple. The fruit falls, the gloves stop its descent, and the kytra plucks it from the air. As not to be wasteful, we will be using something a bit more practical than fruit today. Go ahead Faeron, drop the ball.”
Faeron released his grip.
For several feet, the ball fell, as Faeron had expected it to. Then, his mentor outstretched his left hand.
A streak of mossy green light shot from the ball and coiled itself around the capillum’s open hand, shining brightest near the gem. The ball, meanwhile, hung perfectly still in the air.
The light snaking around the gloves began to fade the moment it appeared and only took a second to dissipate completely. Mathas had just enough time to step forward and grasp the ball.
“You must be quick,” he said, holding up the ball for all to see, “as it takes energy to hold the ball still. You’ll feel the light begin to slip away the moment you have it in your grasp, like trying to clutch a handful of sand.”
“What happens if we don’t catch it before the light runs out?” asked Auri, a twinge of nervousness in her voice.
“Let us find out,” said Mathas. “Faeron if you’d please.” He held the ball up for Faeron to take.
Faeron snagged the bunball. “Same thing?” he asked.
Mathas took a step back and nodded. “When you’re ready,” he said.
Faeron released the ball, and just like last time, Mathas let it fall for a few feet before reaching out with his left hand.
“Watch,” he instructed as mossy green light leapt from the ball, meeting his fingers and snaking down to the gem on the back of the glove. The light lasted just over a second before it faded, and, when it did, the ball fell again, hitting the mats with a muted thud.
“As you see,” said Mathas, “so long as you keep your connection to peridom intact, the gloves will ensure your hold on the ball is released when you run out of light to hold it. Now… unless there’s any other questions, I believe we’re ready to begin.” He looked between Faeron and Auri, giving them a moment to express any last concerns. Auri stood pale faced at the edge of the mats, but didn’t say a word.
“What about that?” asked Faeron, pointing to the mountainous model on the table.
“We’ll get to that,” said Mathas, knowingly. “But, for now, we’ll take things one glove at a time. Who’s first?”
Auri’s face said more than enough for Faeron to know what he had to do.
“I’ll go first,” said Faeron, his chest starting to feel tight. He’d looked forward to this moment his whole life, and if he didn’t dream as Jakob every night, he might have believed he was dreaming now.
“Very well,” said Mathas, pulling the gloves off his hands. “Come, switch places with me.”
Faeron hopped off the platform and took the gloves from his mentor. After collecting the ball, Mathas went around and began to ascend the steps, taking slow heavy steps as he climbed on his weak leg. He stopped where Faeron stood before, with the ball held out in one hand.
Faeron could feel his heart in his chest as he slid the coarse gloves over his hands. They were loose, but there was a string at the back to tighten them around his wrists. Seeing them closer, there were dozens of little cracks across the face of the stones and both had a large central schism. He knew that if he messed up, he certainly wouldn’t be the first, but the way Mathas had described balance, he wondered how many of those screw-ups had led to serious bodily harm.
“When you’re ready, go ahead and perform the meditation,” said Mathas, towering above them from atop the platform.
Auri gave Faeron a nervous thumbs up, while the other kytra looked on excitedly from afar.
Faeron breathed deep. Calming his body was easy, his mind less so. Doubts, fears, and trepidation screamed in his head, but with each inhale he let them shout their last, and with each exhale he released them. When Faeron’s mind was quiet, his body gone, and the light of peridom washing through what was left him, he told himself, open your eyes.
The whole workshop seemed to glow as every table, every mat, all the kytra and the polished floor let off a soft shimmering glow.
“Are you ready?” asked Mathas.
Faeron’s mind was blurred, like he’d stayed up for two days straight, but he forced himself to nod.
“Dropping the ball in three… two… one…” Mathas let go of the bunball.
The light around the ball flared as it fell. Faeron mimicked his mentor’s actions, reaching out with his left hand, but nothing happened. The ball fell to the mats and a wave of disappointment crashed down upon Faeron. The light vanished. His mind cleared.
“A valiant first try!” clapped Mathas. “Miss Lem, you’re up.”
Faeron first collected the ball, returning it to Mathas, then walked back to the edge of the mats. He handed the gloves off to Auri, whose face was now whiter than the marble tile.
“You can do this,” he whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “It’s just like you did last night. All you need to do is open your eyes.”
Auri gulped and wordlessly walked onto the mats.
“Any questions before you begin?” asked Mathas.
Auri shook her head, standing just an arms-length away from the platform.
“Then begin your meditation,” instructed Mathas.
Auri closed her eyes, her breathing slowed, and she stood still as a statue. Time ticked on, for how long Faeron couldn’t say, but the twins both began looking bored.
“Miss Lem?” asked Mathas eventually. “Are you ready to open your eyes?”
Auri finally moved. Her fists clenched and her lip snarled. “It’s a lot of pressure, okay?” she said. “Maybe Faeron should go again. I need a minute to get ready.”
“Of course,” said Mathas, “take your time. There is no rushing this process.”
Auri opened her fierce bronze eyes and stomped over to the edge of the mats where Faeron was waiting. Tearing off the gloves, she dumped them into Faeron’s hands and then stalked over the corner tables with the younger kytra. No sooner had she taken a seat and closed her eyes than Quinn scuttled over and took a seat just beside her. Faeron could see him whisper something to Auri, though she seemed to ignore him entirely, focusing intently on her meditations.
Once again up to shape, Faeron crossed the mats to the platform. This time he didn’t need to wait for instructions. Faeron closed his eyes and quieted his mind. Moments later, he blinked his eyes open to find the workshop shimmering. “Ready,” he said, training himself on the ball.
“Focus on the light,” said Mathas, “the energy building in the ball as it falls. First catch the energy, then catch the ball. Understand?”
“I think so,” said Faeron.
“Three… two… one…” Mathas dropped the ball.
This time, as the ball fell, Faeron focused on the pearl light surrounding the silver sphere. He reached out his left arm and imagined a second arm, longer, plucking the ball out of the air. As he imagined it, the ball obeyed, stopping at Mathas’ knee level.
Moss-green light leapt from the ball, rushing into Faeron’s outstretched palm. He could feel it, like living tendrils of liquid snaking their way around his fingers, seeking the gem on the back of the glove.
“I did it!” cried Faeron, his heart thumping excitedly. The outburst was all it took to sever his connection to peridom.
Crack!
The sound rang loudly across the workshop. With a will of its own, the light surged through Faeron’s fingers into the left gem. Just as suddenly, it reemerged gushing from the gem on his right glove, throwing his hand back with the force of a light punch. The ball, meanwhile, resumed its fall, bouncing once then rolling to a stop on the pads.
“Are you alright?” asked Mathas from his perch.
“Nothing hurt but pride,” said Faeron, looking for new scratches on the gloves. There were too many to determine which, if any, he had just made. He was just relieved that he hadn’t caused any real damage to himself or the gloves. Striding forward, Faeron bent over to grab the ball and handed it back up to Mathas. “Can I try again?” he asked.
“That’s up to Miss Lem,” said Mathas. “Auri, do you feel ready?”
“He can go,” she said gruffly from the corner. Again, Faeron saw Quinn whisper something to her. She nodded, and Faeron swore he even saw the traces of a smile before she shushed him and closed her eyes tighter.
“Looks like you’re up again,” said Mathas. “When you’re ready…”
Faeron calmed his mind and when the wave of pearlescent light took his consciousness, he opened his eyes.
“Three… two… one…” Mathas dropped the ball.
Faeron reached out and felt the light leap from the ball to his hand. He clenched his fist tight and it felt almost like squeezing gelatin, the light slipping through the cracks in his fingers. Before he could process and reach for the ball, the light was gone. The bunball fell to the mat with a light thud.
“Expertly done!” clapped Mathas. His hands shimmered brighter as they clapped together, and it was all Faeron could do to suppress his pride and hold his connection to peridom. He may only have suspended a ball in the air for a few seconds, but to him, it was perhaps the greatest moment of his life so far. He, Faeron Lovel, had bent the universe to his will. He was a shaper now, like countless kytra and Hosts before him.
“Before we move on,” said Mathas, “would you like to give it another go, Auri?”
Auri looked up, defeat etched in her eyes. “I’ll just watch,” she said sullenly. “I don’t think I’m going to get this today.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time to get it right,” said Mathas. “Your father spent years practicing, and I’m sure he’d tell you that patience is your best friend. Come, take a break from your meditations and let me show you the other half of the equation.”
Auri pushed herself off the table and trudged back over to the mats. Half his mind still adrift in the currents of peridom, Faeron could see the pearl light glimmering off Auri’s legs pulsing brightly with each step.
“As we now know,” said Mathas, “the glove of take is capable of capturing energy, if only for a moment, but what if you have excess energy when your task is complete? Faeron, the gloves if you please…”
Faeron removed the gloves, handing them to his mentor. “The ball as well?” he asked, but Mathas shook his head.”
“To properly demonstrate the glove of give, we will need a bit more energy than our ball can provide.” Mathas strapped on the gloves. “With nothing more than their own body, a kytra often has what they need to accomplish a task… in our case, that will be pushing an alca along its track. Observe.” He stepped forward, as if he was going to jump right off.
“Wait!” cried Auri, and Faeron lunged forward, shedding his connection to the light. The capillum could hardly walk on his leg let alone jump from any height.
“I assure you, this isn’t my first show,” smiled Mathas, “but I’m flattered for your concern. Mr. Lovel... if you could be so kind as to step aside.”
Faeron returned to Auri’s side as their mentor stepped off the platform. It wasn’t a far drop, and, as Mathas fell, he reached his left hand downward. The moment his feet hit the floor, Mathas retracted his arm, as if flexing. Moss-Green light shot up through his legs, across his torso, and down his left arm to the glove. It was far more light than the ball had made, and, as Mathas’ feet were firmly planted, it didn’t seem to be fading.
“The gloves can store a substantial amount of energy, but it is not without limits,” said Mathas, his eyes narrowing and effort in his voice. Light snaked into the gem on his left hand. “Even now, the energy I’ve taken seeks a path home.” He extended his right arm towards the model town and the light reemerged from the outstretched glove. It leapt from his fingers, to the alca, and the toy burst into motion, zipping up one hill and down the next. It made it almost halfway along the track before coming to a rest in a small valley beside a tiny red fire hydrant.
“That’s what you want us to do, today!?” asked Auri, her voice a panicked whisper, her eyes wide in shock.
“I am simply offering either of you the chance to try today,” said Mathas, “I expect we’ll be practicing this for some time before either of you succeeds.”
“I can do it,” said Faeron, confidently marching up to Mathas.
“Do show us,” beamed Mathas genuinely as he handed the gloves off to Faeron.
Securing the straps on the gloves, Faeron crossed to the far side of the platform and climbed the steps. At the top, he readied himself. Pride, excitement, and nerves at throwing himself half-conscious off a platform all washed away as he quieted his mind. There was darkness and then light. Faeron blinked open his eyes, taking in the shimmering model city just a few yards away.
Mathas joined Auri at the edge of the mats. “As you land,” he said, addressing Faeron, “capture the energy, just as you did with the ball. Pull the stress from your knees and shoulders. Still your body… let that energy escape into the gloves... into peridom. It’ll fight you, but your will must be stronger. Contain it, then direct it to the toy.”
“Pull, contain, direct,” said Faeron, “got it.”
“When you’re ready then.”
Faeron’s half-present mind struggled to keep thoughts at bay as he reached one foot over the edge. “It’s just a force diagram,” he whispered to himself, picturing the scene like a chart from his physics homework. Readying his left arm, Faeron stepped off the platform.
When Faeron’s feet met the mats, his knees locked and his core tensed, fighting the energy of his body, energy seeking a way out through the mats. Faeron didn’t let it escape. He pulled back with the glove of take, and he felt the light, seeping from his joints, running in ropes up his torso and down his arm. It forced his hand open and slithered through his fingers, far more forcefully than the light from the ball. The gem began to shake, jerking his arm back and forth. Panic twanged through his core.
Crack
The light jumped through the left gem to the right and then burst into the air like a bright green smoke bomb. Faeron’s arm bucked back, sending him stumbling into the platform. His calves smacked the wooden frame and he fell backward.
“Faeron!” gasped Mathas in concern, rushing over as fast as his legs would take him. Auri arrived only seconds later, leaping up onto the platform beside him.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Quinn, fetch aid kit from my desk,” called Mathys. “Bottom left drawer.”
“It’s fine… I’m fine…” groaned Faeron, rubbing his shoulder, “No need for that.” He looked down at his right hand, resting in his lap. A glowing fissure was carved into the stone, clearly visible as it forked off the main schism. “Mathas, I’m really sorry… I think I cracked it.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” said Mathas warmly. “Plenty of those lines come from Vox, myself, and even your mother. This is precisely why we started with the two-foot platform, and not the tower that Evolice built for herself.”
Faeron looked up at Mathas, smiling. He imagined his mother sitting here decades ago, doing the same thing he was now. “How long did it take her?” he asked.
“Believe it or not, Evolice struggled to capture the light for some time,” said Mathas. “Your affinity with the gloves is remarkable.
While Faeron blushed, Auri stomped off back to the corner.
“I’m done for the day,” she announced firmly.
“Perhaps it is for the best if you all have some time to reflect,” said Mathas, extending an arm to Faeron. “We can resume tomorrow night.”
“Freedom!” shouted Myllie, racing for the door. “Come on Kae, let’s go to the rec and practice a bit before we head home.”
“Right on,” said Kaelynn, and the twins ran off out of the workshop.
“Tell me, what did you learn from this?” asked Mathas, as Faeron met his grin and was hoisted upward with surprising strength.
“I didn’t expect it to be so strong,” said Faeron. “I panicked, and then I lost the connection.”
“Then balance was struck,” said Mathas, “and your shoulder paid the price. The first bruise for a new generation of kytra… you should be honored.”
“Hey... you ready to get over to the Deity Lounge?” called Quinn from the corner.
“Yeah,” Faeron called back, still massaging his sore shoulder. For all it hurt, he hardly cared. His heart was still racing from what he’d just accomplished. No matter how many times he heard the stories of the Hosts, how many times he told himself he’d be like them one day, nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of shaping the universe to his will. It seemed so far-fetched, an impossibility, and yet, he had just defied gravity.
“Come on!” barked Auri. “I wanna be anywhere but here.” She stomped out of the workshop to the classroom, and Quinn followed right after. Through the classroom window, Faeron could see Quinn chatting away as Auri quickly collected her things.
Riding the thrill of his accomplishment, Faeron skipped after his friends. He was almost to the door when Mathas called after him.
“Faeron, I’ll be needing those gloves back.”
“Right!” said Faeron, who had forgotten he was still wearing them. He ran back over the table and left the gloves laying there for the old capillum. “See you tomorrow, Mathas!”
“Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Lovel.”