The Chronicles of Nir

24 | A Dangerous Day at the Beach

The festivities lasted until the full moon set at dawn. Exhausted, but satisfied from the long night of revelry, everyone retired for bed and slept past noon. Aeslin permitted them a proper rest and time to recover from excess indulgences before the crew took up their duties for the second shift, and things returned to business as usual aboard the Gatekeeper.

Early the following day, Ben's training resumed with renewed intensity, for Aeslin had announced that they would make their attempt to push back at Volaer in one month's time. Interest among the crew increased as well, and hopeful eyes followed Ben everywhere, making him incredibly uncomfortable. Some of the elves made signs of respect when he passed, and he often found himself with larger portions of the best foods.

"They're putting all their hopes in me," he complained to Bran. "Treating me like a hero. But I haven't done anything yet, and I don't even know if I can."

"All the more reason to do your best, then," Bran countered mildly, "so you do not disappoint them."

Ben did not find this advice particularly helpful, but poured all his efforts into mastering what he could. He learned to make plants grow from seed (on purpose, and selectively), and to call birds from the sky to land upon his arm. Then, he sat for an entire day without moving, remaining deep in trancelike meditation, and became adept at guessing the numbers, colors, and objects that Bran held in his mind. His rapid progress impressed both Aeslin and Bran, but while the former grew more hopeful by the day, the latter showed increasing apprehension.

Though Ben had gained an impressive measure of control, he continued to bleed magic, and Bran hypothesized that he always would—probably for the rest of his life. The effect was noticeable, and the area around the shore grew more verdant each day as the curse retreated an inch at a time. On one hand, it would take ten thousand years to cure all of Springwood at that rate, and in the meantime the threat that Volaer or his followers would make some counter strike increased. On the other, it meant that Tallon could safely join Ben on the beach, and Bran now regularly instructed them both.

One day, about two weeks after the full moon, the three of them sat cross-legged on the sand as a soft breeze played about them, fresh from the south. Ben had just successfully shielded his mind from a mock mental attack, accurately guessed what Bran had in his pocket (a strange, many-sided die used in fortune-telling), and summoned a ball of light with Tallon's help. Bran was impressed, yet remained strangely troubled.

"When were you born?" he asked Tallon. "Where, and what day and hour, precisely?"

Tallon frowned. "I was born in Sagehand on the thirty-first of May, 1474 of the Second Imperial Age. Around three in the morning, I think. Why?"

Bran rubbed his jaw, eying Tallon thoughtfully. "I have some astrological calculations to make," he said. "That will be all for today."

With no further explanation, he rose and returned to the ship, leaving Tallon and Ben with the rest of the day to themselves.

"What's wrong?" Ben asked, catching Tallon's errant thoughts and finding them distressing.

Tallon shook his head. "Nothing. I just realized that I arrived in Ballsdeep on my birthday. It hadn't occurred to me before now."

He didn't add that even at home it would not have been a grand affair. He preferred it that way, happy with the homemade meals his mother and sister, Liari, always made for him.

Liari and their brother, Van, were different, though. They received fine gifts—gowns and jewels for Liari, hunting gear and even a horse, once, for Van—and a fuss was made over the festivities. Not that either of his siblings wanted it any more than he did; Liari would protest the reckless expenditure, and Van would rather have been off gallivanting with young nobles his own age. Still, the difference was notable, and noticed.