Old Magic

“I’m not afraid,” Ayu said as he looked to his father on the other side of the campfire, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Not at all?” Unarak asked, his tone striding between fatherly concern and patronizing. “First battle tomorrow and there’s no fear?”

“I’m not scared,” Ayu repeated himself, crossing his arms.

The late evening wind blew, rattling the leaves and spooking nearby birds into cawing and squawking.

Ayu’s bright blue eyes focused on the ground, his dark hair framing his young face. He made an attempt to look up, into his father’s dark eyes, but couldn’t hold it for more than a breath. Unarak’s face wasn’t hard. Despite his sharp features and the scar running along the left side, from his eyebrow to his chin, the man’s expression was a deep well of patient understanding.

“My first fight was quick.” Unarak spoke in slow, carefully considered words. “No more than 10, maybe 20 breaths, and then it was over. I think I was only truly afraid afterward. That fear…” his eyes faded to something far off, “it’s never really gone away.”

“Well…” Ayu gulped. “I’m not afraid. I saw you fight, when… when I was little. I can do that too.”

Ayu shifted uncomfortably on the ground. A lizard ran into a bush and he flinched.

“I hope that some time between now and tomorrow you find your fear.” Unarak smiled as he reached across the fire and patted his son’s shoulder - the flame almost seemed to step aside as he moved. “Fear will keep you alive. Fear will help you decide if this is truly your fight.”

“But, I’m a man of the village,” Ayu stared into the fire. “The village might make war. It is my duty.”

“Your duty is, and always will be, to your own choices.” Unarak attempted to smile, but couldn’t hide the sourness on his face. “The war chief will throw pretty words at you, and make promises of everlasting glory. She will talk of weaving rugs in your honor, and commissioning songs that sing your praises. But she will not have to live with your scars.”

Ayu ran his hands along the spear beside him as he looked up at his father.

“Do you think I should fight?”

“You’re a man of the village” Unarak shrugged. “No one else can say what you must do - even if they pretend to know better.”

The wind howled and Ayu played with the spear beside him, absentmindedly poking the sharpened edge. It hurt, and he imagined thrusting it forward, into someone’s chest - maybe an old woman, maybe a young man his own age.

Ayu remembered the way the pig had squealed when his mother taught him how to butcher - he missed the artery and didn’t strike with enough force against its thick neck. The animal screamed and rolled around in the dirt as he cut it with the blade, blood spilling along his hands and face, turning the soil beneath his feet to mud. Its little legs kicked at the air as Ayu cut into the poor thing again, and again, and again, until his mother pulled the blade from his hand and ended the pig’s life with a single, expert cut.

Ayu continued thumbing the pointed spear, and imagined that he was the pig - some brave warrior standing over him, stabbing him repeatedly as his limbs flailed uselessly.

He shivered, and pushed the thought down, to the place where feelings go to fester. The wind pressed on him, his thin leather clothing barely holding the cold at bay. He moved his bare feet closer to the fire, hugging his knees against his chest.

He could see the little pig flailing in the fire’s movement. The wind pressed harder, screaming through the trees.

The wind howled. The pig squealed.

Howl… Squeal…

Howl. Squeal.

HOWL. SQUEAL.

HOWL! SQUEAL!

“Will you tell me how the world began?” Ayu asked, squeezing the spear so hard that his fingers hurt.

“A story?” Unarak laughed. “Now?”

“Well, we’re just waiting for the others to arrive. Why not?”

“And you’ve prepped the camp? Where are the beds?”

Ayu pointed up into a tree where four hammocks moved back and forth in the wind.

“And the defenses?”

“I already laced the bottom branches with thorns - when you were preparing dinner.”

Unarak opened his mouth to speak when Ayu beat him to it.

“They’re big thorns this time - big enough to poke a bear’s nose and make it think twice. And I turned the thorns inward. No one’s getting stuck until we turn them out before bed.”

Ayu smirked at his father’s silence and waited for the next challenge. His mind raced as he thought of all the chores - he’d checked the campsite for bees and any droppings from predators. He’d found a water source, hung their food up high, and made sure to seal it as best he could in a leather satchel. The thought of sharp spears and squealing pigs was fading fast with this distraction.

“We should be listening for the others,” Unarak said flatly.

Ayu sighed.

“Do we have to?”

Unarak gave him a knowing glance.

“But I’m bad at it,” Ayu whined.

“And how do we improve at things we’re bad at?” Unarak gave a look that one might give to a child.

“We practice,” Ayu mumbled, knowing that he was not behaving like the man he was supposed to be.

“You can’t always rely on me to do it.”

Ayu nodded in acceptance and then turned toward the nearest tree root. He took a deep breath, placed his hand on the gnarled root, and did his best to quiet his mind. He let the tree become his ears, his eyes, and opened his mind to the soil. Two ant colonies waged war within the bowels of the tree. Ayu physically twisted his body away from them, not ready to have the sensations of a thousand dying ants invade his mind.

He searched the forest floor. Mushrooms sucked the life out of a dying stump. Two foxes flirted in the bramble nearby. Somewhere, several trees away, an unborn owl scratched against the inside of its egg. The warring ants pressed into Ayu’s senses and he felt barbs stabbing into his neck, wrists, eyes - felt the blind rage of a platoon of insects trampling over their own kind to get just one more kill.

Ayu pulled back from the tree and searched farther, pushing deeper into the soil as he listened for footsteps. Pulses came from nearby - heels, toes, hands grazing the leaves. It was the rest of the small war party - Tove, Artro, Ren.

He focused on Tove as he imagined her long black hair, her coy smile, her beautiful black eyes. Heat emanated from her breath, her legs, her chest, from her beating heart. He thought of the way she twirled her hair around her fingers when she teased him, thought of the way she laughed when Ayu pretended to struggle in a shallow, knee-high stream. Suddenly there was a jolt of pain in Ayu’s foot and he jerked his hand away from the tree, shivering.

“You ok?” Unarak asked.

“Yes. They’re near. A few hundred paces maybe.”

“Any updates?”

“I don’t know. Um… I think Tove might have stubbed her toe. I can’t tell anything else. It’s… it’s so loud. And the ants.”

“I know. They’ve cornered the queen,” Unarak looked down. “It’s going to be over soon.”

Ayu nodded.

“So, if you’re not going to be listening” Unarak began. “Does that mean you’re going to hold the fire? Or am I doing both jobs today?”

“Sorry,” Ayu smiled sheepishly. “I can hold the fire… if you tell a story.”

Unarak let out a beleaguered laugh.

“When they get here. Maybe.” The man spoke in a stern voice, but his smile drained his words of any gravity. “I’m going to release the fire; are you ready?”

Ayu took a deep breath and let it out, held his hands out to the fire, and nodded to his father.

Unarak relaxed his shoulders, slumped his back, and released a long breath. As he did so, the campfire that had stood strong against gusts of wind shrunk down to a tiny flame.

“You’re going to lose it,” Unarak said.

“No, I’m not,” Ayu barked, holding his hand out toward the fire, as if he were trying to squeeze life into it.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the heat source, imagining that the heat was from his own body, that the coals were just extensions of his finger tips. In his mind, he repeated the words his father had drilled into him - all things are one; you are all things.

Ayu felt heat leaving his body as he tried to pump energy into the fire.

“Eyes open,” Unarak lectured. “We’ve talked about this.”

Ayu opened his eyes and looked at the small flame, connected with it. The flame was born under a full moon. The flame blushed when Tove smiled at it. The flame wanted to show bravery in battle, even though it was scared. The flame had become closer to its father ever since its mother died.

“I am the flame,” Ayu whispered. “The flame is me.”

He flexed every muscle and imagined the robust fire that his father was able to support, but a gust of wind tore through their camp and the fire shrank to smoke and embers.

Ayu growled at the obstinate flame that refused him.

The fire was everything that was wrong - the ants had to kill each other, and he couldn’t butcher a pig, and the wind was too loud, and he was so bad at everything, and nothing worked right!

“Aagh!” Ayu shouted and threw his fist through the air.

At this movement, the smoldering coals erupted into a bright flash of heat and multi-tentacled flame. The thing lashed out, tickled the tree branches above, then faded into wisps of smoke.

A nearby twig turned orange with flame. Unarak extended his hand to the thing as the flame grew - he turned his palm into a fist and the sapling flame above Ayu's head quickly extinguished.

“We do not use anger…” Unarak reprimanded.

“I’m sorry,” Ayu caught his breath and looked at the twig his father had put out.

“I know it’s hard, but you control this just as you do your fingers. Do not get mad at your hand because it cannot lift the heavy stone. Just practice so that you become stronger.”

“I’m sorry, father.”

“You will be a great man someday - AFTER you’ve learned to control yourself.”

“I know, Father.”

“Try again.”

Ayu nodded and turned to face the challenge. He held his hand out and focused on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slow control.

Ayu pressed his energy into the embers, but saw no result. He pressed harder and it leapt up at him like a wolf leaping out from the bushes; he stumbled back to avoid getting burned. Before his father could say anything, Ayu was back at it, open palm facing the flame. He breathed, focused, and suddenly the heat became normalized and the flame was a comfortable, controlled thing - the perfect campfire.

Ayu smiled and waited for his father’s congratulations, but the man was turned away, greeting the other members of the party.

Ayu looked to his Uncle Ren, who held his hand out to the flame with concentration; Ayu slumped forward in defeat.

“Sorry, that was mean,” Ren smiled. “But you tried.”

“Well, you’re in charge of the fire now,” Ayu rolled his eyes.

“Good to see you too, nephew.”

Artro tried to help Tove into the camp. She refused his help, so he just placed his hand gently on her shoulder as she hobbled on a tender foot, with the littlest toe throbbing red and bent at the wrong angle.

“What happened here?” Unarak asked.

“She tripped,” Ren shrugged. “Hurt her foot.”

“That’s not like you, Tove,” Unarak said, eyeing the foot that she nursed.

“I caught someone listening waaay too closely,” Tove locked frustrated eyes with Ayu, a mild smirk softening the accusation. “It surprised me so much that I kicked a tree root and hurt my toe.”

Ayu’s face burned bright red and he looked at the ground.

“Do you make a habit of listening inappropriately?” Artro raised an eyebrow as he put his hands on his hips and imitated the elders of the village.

“I’m sorry,” Ayu spoke softly, entirely unable to meet Tove’s face. “I’m still figuring out how to listen well. It - it’s hard to get right.”

“My baby sister’s got better listening sense than you,” Artro grinned. “And she’s barely five cycles old!”

“Enough of that,” Ren hit Artro’s shoulder. “Chiding in the face of an apology is not how you show honor.”

Artro’s snarky face softened, and he nodded in agreement.

“Sorry, Uncle. Sorry, Ayu.” The young man - only a cycle older than Ayu - spoke quickly and with sincerity. “Listening is hard to get right. I know.”

“Thanks,” Ayu nodded.

“May I see it,” Unarak motioned for Tove.

Ayu watched Tove sit on a tree stump and extend her leg toward Unarak’s waiting hands. There were very few people in the village who could heal. Some villages didn’t have a healer, and they needed to carry their injured for days to find a place that did.

And even when a healer was found, many with the ability still left scars or slight disfigurations. But Ayu had never seen anyone who could do it with as much skill and grace as his father.

Unarak placed his hands above Tove’s foot, not quite touching it. He took in a long breath, and even though he was looking down at the girl’s limb, his eyes focused on something far off. The man moved his hands about, as if snatching bugs out of their flight and weaving them into an unseen tapestry. Ayu noticed a strange motion in the air, like ripples in the water from some unseen fish.

The fire dimmed to hot coals even though Ren held the heat source with concentration. Tove tensed and released the tiniest flinch, but kept her face calm and passive the entire time. It was all over in the span of a few breaths.

Unarak pulled his hands away, and the toe was now at the correct angle, with the skin still red and bruising.

“That will still hurt,” Unarak said. “But the bone is mended.”

“Thank you,” Tove made a slight bow and smiled. “You do me a great honor, War Captain.”

“You’re too formal,” Unarak chuckled uncomfortably. “My title will be gone as soon as the battle is over - if it even happens. But thank you for joining us.”

Tove stepped away to help Ren and Artro unpack their gear; before Unarak could do anything, Ayu approached him.

“How did you learn to become a healer?” Ayu asked his father.

“You’ve asked me this before.”

“I want to learn. The village only has three - and I wouldn’t trust Omarc to heal a bruise.”

“What did I tell you the last time you asked?”

“You said that…” Ayu looked for the words. “When you develop a mastery of listening, you will see that one complex web connects all life. But, that’s not helpful. I already know how to listen - I want to learn how to heal.”

“Really,” Unarak glanced at Tove’s mended foot. “You know how to listen?”

“That - that was an accident,” Ayu felt his face burn with embarrassment. “I know how to listen, I just… I got distracted by the ants, and I didn’t listen well this one time. And, it’s so windy, and - and - it’s just hard sometimes.”

“And you may have your first battle tomorrow. And that’s scary.”

“I’m not scared,” Ayu blurted, his nostrils flaring.

“Careful, son,” Unarak smirked. “Some trickster godling might hear a lie and come running.”

“It’s not a lie,” Ayu mumbled and looked away.

“All skills start with the ability to listen. Whatever you decide to do with your life, you’d better learn that first.”

Ayu opened his mouth to say something, but his father cut him off.

“We will speak of this later. For now, let me do my work as War Captain.”

Ayu nodded.

“Thank you for joining us, Brother,” Unarak nodded to Ren. “Your skill and strength are a rock upon which I may lean. Thank you for coming, Tove. You are good with a bow, and there are few as brave. Thank you for coming, Artro. You are a cunning warrior, and you make us stronger. Thank you for coming, Ayu - my son - I am honored you are here.”

The party sat around the campfire, the flattering words lifting weight from their shoulders and easing smiles onto their faces. Ren kept the fire going with his large hands held out, while Artro pulled small pelts from his satchel. He smirked at Ayu as he handed him the smallest one. Ayu wanted to make a fuss, but it felt so nice to have the dark tan pelt over his legs and chest, fending off the wind. He was extra thankful to the deer who had died so he could wear its skin.

“I do apologize, for there will be no stories tonight,” Unarak said as he handed out strips of smoked fish one by one. “Please eat up and get to sleep soon. Your hammocks are waiting for you.”

With Ren, Unarak, and Tove already receiving a fish, Artro reached out for the larger piece of the two that were left. But Ayu was faster and snatched it up. Artro gave him an annoyed face and Ayu smiled.

“Almost,” Artro grumbled.

“Almost,” Ayu smirked.

Ayu enjoyed the taste of the fish in his mouth, and the heat of the flame, and the weight of the pelt.

Movement caught Ayu’s eye, and he looked to see a large beetle crawling toward the flame, the orange glow reflected beautifully on its dark blue shell. He reached for it, when Artro snatched the thing up, and dropped it into his mouth in one fell swoop.

“Almost” Artro smiled wide as he crunched down on the large bug. “Mmm, this was a juicy one too.”

“Hopefully it’s a stink-bug,” Ayu chuckled.

“Tomorrow you may see battle,” Unarak stood and spoke, his eyes glaring into Ayu. “For some of you, this will be your first battle. If you so choose. It will require ALL your focus. Even then, it will not be easy.”

The words fell over the campfire, and then no one spoke for a while. Tove snacked on her fish with one hand while running her fingers over the twenty or so arrows in her quiver. Ren focused on the fire and said nothing. Unarak crossed his arms and closed his eyes, seeming to quietly process the world,

“Are you scared?” Artro leaned over and whispered to Ayu.

“No,” Ayu responded, far too quickly to be convincing. “You?”

“A little,” Artro looked away as he said it, using loose strands of his hair to hide his face.

Ayu lowered the half-eaten fish onto his lap and accidentally locked eyes with Tove across the fire, before quickly looking away. Her face was a pure expression of calmness and control, and the stoicism only made the anxiety in Ayu’s heart flare up. The wind picked up, and he imagined the horrible squeal of a dying pig.

“I don’t want to die tomorrow,” Ayu whispered.