was barely aware of them. Only in moments of particular stillness or agitation did he become conscious of the progression that built step by orderly step in his mind. The disciplined mental activity helped him retain control, helped him keep buried those thoughts and memories that would threaten his equilibrium.
As he had cloistered his body away, so had he cloistered his thoughts away. The process had begun long ago; now he had nearly perfected it. With each mind-focusing exercise his attention narrowed, telescoping on the here and now, forming walls that held out past and future, that kept his thoughts fixed on a single path, a safe path. He had learned that he could not allow himself to withdraw from the present, to drift away like a ghost.
In drifting he could lose control. Instead, he remained firmly in the present and blocked out everything else. Walking also helped him to retain control.
The regular fall of his footsteps soothed him, as his vision narrowed to his worn boots and the few empty feet of floor ahead. In this manner, he contained the tech's agitating energy. He needed to call the fire down upon himself only a few times a week to hold it to a manageable level.
"Again!" Tzakizak's deep voice echoed down the corridor, yelling out harsh, one-word commands.
Tzakizak maintained a grueling training schedule for his apprentice Hekuba, in chrysalis stage. Galen passed the small room where they worked every morning. Neither of them knew, of course, that their training was for nothing. In one more year, when the time for the next convocation arrived, Hekuba would not be initiated; none of the apprentices would. There would be no tech to implant into their bodies, no tainted gifts from the Shadows to insinuate their way inside apprentices who dreamed of adding magic and beauty to the world.
As Galen continued down the corridor, Tzakizak's angry voice carried after him.
"You aren't concentrating! I'm tired of your laziness!"
Galen picked up his pace. Twenty. Thirty-seven.
Around the curve in the corridor ahead, Circe came into view, wearing a black robe and her customary tall, pointed hat. She was walking in his direction, her head lowered in thought.
Galen had hoped for solitude, yet that was difficult, no matter the hour. Continuing forward, he moved as far to the right as he could, to allow sufficient room for her to pass. In the confining environment, they had deteriorated to such a state that a simple dispute over right-of-way could trigger violence. She glanced up at him, then looked again, her attention lingering.
He nodded. He had, to a limited degree, gotten over his self-consciousness around others. There was no more chance of passing himself off as normal, as he used to try to do. Though the mages didn't know what he'd done on the rim, they sensed, somehow, that he'd come back changed, that he didn't really belong among them. At this point, they'd gotten used to his avoiding them. When they happened to encounter him late at night or early in the morning, most seemed at a bit of a loss, as if a specter had suddenly appeared.
"Galen."
Circe stopped when he was nearly upon her. Reluctantly, he too stopped.
"Circe."
Beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes were in shadow, and he found himself focusing on her mouth. Although she was only in her forties, deep creases framed it, and tiny lines etched her upper lip, signs of the damage done when she had destroyed her place of power.
"I don't believe I've seen you in months," she said. "Curious that I should see you today."
Galen didn't know why today should be significant.
"I keep late hours."
"Oh, yes. You have an important job for the Circle. Observing the universe outside. Reporting to them what you find. That must keep you very busy."
"I fill the time, as must we all."
"You will meet with them today, will you not? The Circle."
"Yes."
He met with them every week.
"You must feel quite honored."
"I do what they ask of me."
She crossed her arms,
As he had cloistered his body away, so had he cloistered his thoughts away. The process had begun long ago; now he had nearly perfected it. With each mind-focusing exercise his attention narrowed, telescoping on the here and now, forming walls that held out past and future, that kept his thoughts fixed on a single path, a safe path. He had learned that he could not allow himself to withdraw from the present, to drift away like a ghost.
In drifting he could lose control. Instead, he remained firmly in the present and blocked out everything else. Walking also helped him to retain control.
The regular fall of his footsteps soothed him, as his vision narrowed to his worn boots and the few empty feet of floor ahead. In this manner, he contained the tech's agitating energy. He needed to call the fire down upon himself only a few times a week to hold it to a manageable level.
"Again!" Tzakizak's deep voice echoed down the corridor, yelling out harsh, one-word commands.
Tzakizak maintained a grueling training schedule for his apprentice Hekuba, in chrysalis stage. Galen passed the small room where they worked every morning. Neither of them knew, of course, that their training was for nothing. In one more year, when the time for the next convocation arrived, Hekuba would not be initiated; none of the apprentices would. There would be no tech to implant into their bodies, no tainted gifts from the Shadows to insinuate their way inside apprentices who dreamed of adding magic and beauty to the world.
As Galen continued down the corridor, Tzakizak's angry voice carried after him.
"You aren't concentrating! I'm tired of your laziness!"
Galen picked up his pace. Twenty. Thirty-seven.
Around the curve in the corridor ahead, Circe came into view, wearing a black robe and her customary tall, pointed hat. She was walking in his direction, her head lowered in thought.
Galen had hoped for solitude, yet that was difficult, no matter the hour. Continuing forward, he moved as far to the right as he could, to allow sufficient room for her to pass. In the confining environment, they had deteriorated to such a state that a simple dispute over right-of-way could trigger violence. She glanced up at him, then looked again, her attention lingering.
He nodded. He had, to a limited degree, gotten over his self-consciousness around others. There was no more chance of passing himself off as normal, as he used to try to do. Though the mages didn't know what he'd done on the rim, they sensed, somehow, that he'd come back changed, that he didn't really belong among them. At this point, they'd gotten used to his avoiding them. When they happened to encounter him late at night or early in the morning, most seemed at a bit of a loss, as if a specter had suddenly appeared.
"Galen."
Circe stopped when he was nearly upon her. Reluctantly, he too stopped.
"Circe."
Beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes were in shadow, and he found himself focusing on her mouth. Although she was only in her forties, deep creases framed it, and tiny lines etched her upper lip, signs of the damage done when she had destroyed her place of power.
"I don't believe I've seen you in months," she said. "Curious that I should see you today."
Galen didn't know why today should be significant.
"I keep late hours."
"Oh, yes. You have an important job for the Circle. Observing the universe outside. Reporting to them what you find. That must keep you very busy."
"I fill the time, as must we all."
"You will meet with them today, will you not? The Circle."
"Yes."
He met with them every week.
"You must feel quite honored."
"I do what they ask of me."
She crossed her arms,
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