Part II.2 - Unexpected news

It took him a few seconds to get used to the sparsely lit tent. The only light source was a small oil lamp, the wick burning low. It was probably more than enough for an elf, but Nárhin's human eyes could barely make out the vague shapes inside the tent. Someone must have realised that, because the wick was turned up and the flame got bigger and brighter. He now saw that the lamp was standing on a small table, behind which sat Ramara. She had been busy reading a report of some sort, but now she looked at them with penetrating, grey eyes. A look of mild surprise crossed her face as she saw Nárhin, but she only smiled in a friendly manner before turning to the blue-robed examiner. 1

“What’s this about, Velion?” she asked. 2

“We had a little incident,” he answered in the calm way of his. “Apparently, Demoira decided to extend the Trial a little bit on her own.” Nárhin noted an edge to his voice when he said this. He obviously didn’t approve of what she had done. “But I think it would be best if you heard it from the source yourself,” Velion continued. Turning to Nárhin he added, “Please forgive me, I haven’t even asked your name. Who might you be, then?” 3

“I’m Nárhin Gilthanel,” said Nárhin, not really sure what more to say. He had half expected to get a fiery scolding, but up to this point there had been no indication that such was the case. 4

“Nárhin, pleased to meet you, although the circumstances could be better. I’m Velion, and this is Ramara as I’m sure you remember from earlier.” Nárhin nodded. “Now, if you could please tell her what you told me…” Velion’s voice trailed off, and he took a small step backwards as if to indicate that Nárhin now had the floor. 5

Casting a quick sidelong glance at Velion, Nárhin turned to face Ramara and began retelling, step by step, what had happened. He tried to explain the best he could how he had experienced it, but he didn’t go into any specifics about the content of the memories, merely stating that they were from his early childhood. As he finished and fell silent, Ramara was quiet for a while before responding. 6

“Let me get this straight,” she said, emphasizing every word. “You severed a psychic bond with a highly skilled telepath? A bond that not only was forced upon you, but also had you confused and in pain?” She sounded as if she were having trouble digesting it, but the confirming nod from Velion as well as Nárhin's honest, open face finally seemed to convince her. With an unreadable expression she turned to Velion. She looked as if she was about to say something, but then changed her mind. However, the small, almost imperceptible whisper of psychic energy didn’t pass Nárhin by unnoticed, and he realized that they were communicating telepathically. The discovery annoyed him a little, being bypassed like this; especially since they obviously were talking about him. His manners kept him from eavesdropping, though. Besides, he was pretty sure that he would be caught if he tried, so he had no other option but to swallow his indignation and wait patiently. After all, these were two people who made a living out of this particular art. Trying to trick them would just be foolish, and he felt that he had had enough trouble as it was already. He just wanted to go home and forget that this day had ever happened. 7

After what must have been almost a minute they broke their stare and returned their attention to him. Ramara addressed him once again. “From what you have told me, backed up by Velion’s observations, you have done nothing wrong, Mr Gilthanel and you are free to go. I would also like to add my personal apologies about this unfortunate incident. I assure you that we will deal with it accordingly.” Her voice was sharp when she finished and her nostrils flared. For a moment she got a sudden but distinct aura of power around her, as if she was somehow electrically charged. The flame of the lamp fluttered for a second, even though the air inside the tent was dead still. It only lasted for an instant, then the sensation passed and Ramara looked as friendly as before. Nárhin felt a torrent of goose bumps run up his spine; he almost felt sorry for Demoira. Almost. With a silent sigh of relief he bowed and turned to leave, eager to get back into the sunlight and open air. But just as he was about to grab the tent flap, Ramara spoke once more. 8

“Wait!” Nárhin froze in midstride. “How thoughtless of me! Because of this incident, your Trial was never fully completed,” she continued, “and even if Demoira did complete the test, I would not give her testimony much credit after this. Therefore, I would like to redo it properly, right now, if you agree? If you chose not to, then I’m afraid you will have to wait until no sooner than next year before you can do it again.” She smiled at Nárhin’s hesitance – an understanding, sympathetic smile that seemed to say that she knew exactly how he felt. “I understand if you are reluctant to do this again so soon, but I assure you, when done properly this is not at all the unpleasant feeling you described. Velion here is one of our finest examiners, with lots of experience. You are lucky to get him.” 9

Taken a little by surprise, Nárhin’s heart had almost skipped a beat. He was not overly eager to have someone poking around inside his brain so soon again, but on the other hand he really didn’t want to wait a whole, long year until his next chance. Besides, he found that he really trusted Velion. The man had such a calm, confident air about him that it spread to Nárhin and wiped away some of his apprehension. With a sigh he made up his mind. 10

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said. 11

“Very good,” Velion said. “Your courage and determination is admirable, young man. Most people would probably not have had the guts to redo this so soon.” He seemed to really mean it, and Nárhin straightened his back a bit. “Now, just relax and think of nothing in particular,” Velion continued. “Just empty your mind like the last time, and we’ll be done in no time at all.” With those words he closed his eyes and focused. Nárhin shot a glance over at Ramara who was leaning forward slightly, looking curious. When she noticed him watching, she gave him an encouraging smile and a small nod, urging him to go on. Nárhin closed his eyes. 12

He could feel Velion’s mind touching his, pressing in just like Demoira had done, earlier in the pavilion. The feeling was profoundly different from with Demoira though. Where she had felt like a cold eel slithering through his mind, Velion’s presence was slightly warm, like the faint rays of the winter sun. It was actually a pleasant sensation. Feeling reassured, Nárhin relaxed and allowed Velion to sink deeper into his subconscious. 13

Other than the almost tickling sensation of lukewarm, psychic tendrils, Nárhin felt nothing in particular and he almost dozed off where he stood. He was not sure how much time had passed when finally he felt Velion withdraw and he opened his eyes, but he guessed it could not have been too long because Ramara was still sitting in the same position as before. She had her eyes fixed upon Velion, apparently curious about the result. When Nárhin met Velion’s gaze, he immediately knew the answer. 14

“I’m sorry Nárhin, but I do not sense the gift of magic in you,” Velion said, simply. He sounded surprised, and Ramara was looking just as mystified. 15

Emotions tumbling around, Nárhin’s voice was forced when he answered. “So, I’ll just try again next year, can’t I?” He heard himself as if from some distance away. 16

“No, I’m afraid not,” Velion responded, apologetically. “In your case, it is not a matter of a weak gift that might grow stronger. It is not there at all, just as with most humans. No matter how long you wait, that will not change. Either you are born with the gift, or you are not. That’s just the way it is. I’m sorry.” Nárhin’s shoulders dropped, and the knot in his stomach was suddenly back again, tenfold this time. What was Fendil going to say? 17

“I understand that you are very disappointed, and I’m sorry to bring you such bad news,” Velion continued in a soft voice. Then he gave a small chuckle. “Still, look on the bright side; few are those who get accepted into Ingolë, but even fewer can say that they knocked their examiner unconscious,” he said with a lopsided grin, attempting a joke. “In fact, I’d say you are pretty unique, Nárhin, and that is no small thing. I’m sure you will do great things in your life.” Nárhin couldn’t help but smile back, although the smile didn’t reach as far as his eyes. 18

“I guess you’re right.” He sighed heavily. “At least, now I know for sure. Thank you for giving me an extra try, and for not getting angry with me.”19

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Ramara said, having been quiet for a while. “Rest assured that you have done nothing wrong, Mr. Gilthanel. You may go home now, and try not to let this weigh you down too much. Not everyone is meant to become magicians. The world is full of interesting crafts to learn, and as Velion said, I’m sure you will do great, whichever you choose.” 20

Somewhat heartened by their kind words, Nárhin bowed, bid his farewell and thanked them once more before he turned around and hurried out the tent. 21

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“Now, that was interesting,” Velion said when the boy had left. “Not as much as a trace of magic gift, but still he managed to shock Demoira like a ragdoll. An instinctive reaction strengthened by panic, perhaps?” he suggested to Ramara. 23

“Maybe,” she said, thoughtfully. “It is weird the way he described it, though. From what I gather, he not only managed to produce a very strong mental ward – which in itself is an extraordinary feat at such a young age, – but he also hit her back with a blow of his own. A blow so strong it actually stunned her. Stunned her, Velion! That’s what mind-breakers do, not ten-year-old boys.” 24

“Yes, I know. Amazing is what it is. A pity he wasn’t gifted. It would have been much interesting to see him develop at Ingolë.” 25

“Yes, it is a shame. And the fact that he is human just makes it so much more interesting. They aren’t normally telepathic, are they?” 26

“No, human telepaths are very rare, as I recall,” Velion said, thinking. “But they do exist. However, something tells me that there is more to this boy than we have seen here today. I have a nagging feeling that this is not the last time we hear from him.” 27

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right,” she replied. “But only time will tell for sure…” Her voice trailed off, and then they were both quiet, lost in deep thoughts. 28

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Nárhin sat in a small clearing in the woods, surrounded by nothing but the chirp of small birds and the rustling of leaves. Taking deep breaths, he willed his racing heart to slow its beating. 30

As soon as he had left Ramara and Velion, Nárhin had taken the shortest possible route across the Arena towards the surrounding woods, trying his best to ignore all the people. He wasn’t sure if they knew what had happened inside the pavilion earlier, but it was obvious that rumours were already spreading. Some had even pointed in his direction and excitedly whispered to their less informed comrades. Speeding up his steps he had jumped through some brush and blindly followed a deer trail until he reached the clearing he now sat in. 31

Calmed by the comforting presence of nature around him, Nárhin leaned his head back and let the sun warm his face. With a flurry of brown and black feathers, a small sparrow landed on his shoulder, tweeting happily. Smiling at the tiny creature he extended his mind towards it. A torrent of emotions met him as they touched; there was the urgency to find food, as well as a defiant lust to fight anyone who dared intrude on its territory, along with a constant awareness of possible predators and the prospect of having to flee at a moments notice. 32

As the sparrow flew again – undoubtedly to search for more food – Nárhin chuckled to himself. Perhaps his own life wasn’t so bad after all, he thought. Brushing off his trousers, he stood up and tried to orient himself. Looking around he realized that he had no idea which direction was home and, having no wish to trace his steps back to the Arena and then go home from there, he cursed his own stupidity. As he stood there pondering which direction was most likely to be correct, his thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched cry from above the tree tops. Looking up, he saw a red-tailed hawk circling the sky, looking for prey. Following a sudden impulse, he extended his mind upwards and reached for the sharp, focused intent that was the hawk’s consciousness. Unlike the sparrow, the hawk’s mind was concentrated on one thing and one thing only: the underlying forest and its possible prey. It had no reason to fear being eaten, being in the top of the food chain, so every ounce of its brain capacity was devoted to analysing the forest, ready to strike at the slightest flicker of motion from anything furry and small and unfortunate enough to be out and about. 33

Congratulating himself to his own cunning, Nárhin turned about ninety degrees left and began walking home, following the crystal clear picture of his surroundings he had gathered from the hawk’s mind. 34

As he walked there, Nárhin thought back to what had happened during the Trial. He knew he ought to be upset about his failure, but somehow he wasn’t. It was a shock, yes, but he didn’t feel very sad. Instead he felt relief; relief at finally knowing why he had never managed to do magic before. It was as if he had been living with an unknown weight on his chest; a weight that now that it was gone allowed him to breathe in a way he had not known possible. Nolwëndil had always had such a knack for magic, but whenever Nárhin had tried to summon the white, pure light that was the most basic of all magical skills, nothing had happened. Not once had he managed to produce as much as a single flicker of light. And Fendil had tried so many times to describe how to search within him to find the link, but to no avail. Now he finally knew why. It was because there was nothing there. 35

Despite the relief he felt, Nárhin also had a hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest that he found it difficult to name. If he had been a few years older and seen more of life, he might have realized that he had just lost one of the factors with which he defined himself. Even though it had never really been there, he felt like he had lost a part of him, and now he wasn’t entirely sure as to whom he was. Even more important, he had lost a big connection to Fendil. Without the uniting attribute of being magicians, the detail of foster father suddenly felt so much more significant. Of course, Nárhin’s concerns weren’t nearly as well formulated as that, but they were no less tangible. Troubled he kicked a small rock in frustration, only to discover that it was only the tip of a much larger boulder firmly anchored in the ground. Swearing and hopping on one foot, he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. Sitting down on the leafy ground he rubbed his toe, trying to determine if it was broken or not. He winced as he moved it, but it seemed to have escaped long-lasting damage. With a grunt he got up and continued, a bit more carefully this time as to where he stepped. 36

The more Nárhin thought about it, the more he realized that he had probably never wanted to go to Ingolë in the first place. Not really wanted it. Not like Nolwëndil who could spend hours reading the books he borrowed from Fendil. Nárhin always got bored after only a few minutes with such a book. Sure, he admitted it was fun to play about and pretend to be a powerful mage, but if he really was honest with himself, he had no wish to spend years – nay, decades – of his life researching old tomes and scrolls in dusty libraries. He wanted to go out into the world! He wanted to visit new places and talk with strange people from far way. He wanted to be a warrior of great power, slaying enemies left and right while defending his land! 37

Stopping dead at this new thought, Nárhin’s face slowly broke into a big grin. A fighter… he tasted the idea, turning it over in his head. Yes, he could be a fighter! Why not, everyone could become a fighter. You didn’t have to have any special gift, only determination and a strong body. Knowing that there were nothing wrong with his willpower, Nárhin looked down at his ten-year-old body: thin arms and legs, dirty knees on his trousers and a few holes here and there, yet to be noticed by Fendil. Remembering the skilled warriors sparring in the enclosure earlier, Nárhin wowed to himself that he would hone his body into that same perfection. Then he though about some of the stories Vanrod used to tell from his mission, and he made a little jump out of pure excitement, his injured toe forgotten. Spreading his arms out wide he spun around in circles, laughing at the clear autumn sky. He continued like that on his way home, spinning and dancing around the trees like some forest dryad, until his heel got caught in a root hidden beneath a windblown heap of leaves. With a yelp he fell to the ground, the impact luckily dampened by the same heap of leaves that hid the root. Laughing at his own clumsiness, he got up and continued in a more casual manner, but still with a smile on his lips and a new light shining in his eyes.