Chapter 6: Decisions
Silence followed the question. A wind blew past, carrying scattered petals with it as it circled the benches. Wren idly tossed a stray leaf back into the garden, where it fluttered down and settled onto the dark soil. “Why do you ask?”
Enya swallowed and kept her voice steady. “I remember Aeon saying she’d be back.” Her eyes hardened. “I want to be prepared if that happens.”
“When,” Wren muttered. “When, not if.”
“You seem to know her well,” Enya observed.
“We have a bit of a history.” The woman sighed and stood up from the bench, hair swaying behind her as she began to pace around the small patch of flowers. “You’ll see it for yourself one day, but Arks aren’t all great people.” She laughed humorlessly. “Quite the opposite. Many of us are awful. It’s the price of immortality, I suppose.”
“So Arks are immortal?”
“Sort of.” She shrugged. “We don’t age after we awaken, and the fragment keeps us alive even when our bodies would die, so it’s pretty hard to kill us. But it can still be done, even if it’s rare. If we do die, the fragment just attaches to our next incarnation.” She pointed at herself. “According to the oldest Ark, this is my fourth time being reincarnated.” She smiled wryly. “Clearly not invulnerable.”
Enya’s throat suddenly felt dry. “How?”
Wren shrugged with disinterest. “My former incarnations were reckless, I suppose. I’m a bit of an unusual case. Only one other Ark has been reincarnated after awakening, and he only died once.” She chuckled. “It’s not so bad, though. I think it’s given me a different perspective on things, at least compared to the other Arks. It’s a lot easier to forget your humanity when you’ve been separated from it for longer.” She sat down on the bench across from Enya, the circle of flowers providing a small gap of distance between them, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Being an Ark isn’t just about being more powerful. Awakening means a final goodbye to your humanity and any chance at forming regular relationships with mortals. Are you sure you’re ready to deal with that?”
Enya hesitated. She wanted to say yes, that it didn’t matter to her as long as she could protect Acrine village from whenever Aeon made good on her promise. She balled her hands into fists. At the same time, it was difficult to understand what immortality truly entailed, what it would really feel like to watch the people around her fade away while she stayed the same. The image of sharp rubble and still bodies trampled under the feet of Decays flashed in her head. She clenched her jaw. Some things were more important. “How does someone awaken?”
Wren was quiet, amber eyes piercing as the woman studied her. Whatever she was searching for, she must have found it because a moment later the Ark straightened her posture and responded.
“Three ways. One, you wait for the fragment to bind to your soul naturally. I’m guessing that’s not what you want.” She held up two fingers. “The second way, sometimes an Ark can force an awakening under extreme circumstances. It’s rare and unpredictable though, so I don’t recommend trying to do this.” Another finger. “And lastly, you can speed up the awakening process by training your magic. Stronger control over your magic reserves gives the fragment a better avenue to bind to. It’s not perfect, and there’s no guarantee how much it’ll actually speed up the process, but it’s an option.”
Enya frowned. “What do you mean by forcing an awakening?”
“It’s exactly like it sounds.” She brushed her hair back, red strands blowing messily in the wind. “I don’t know the specifics, but some of the Arks have said that they awakened during some kind of traumatic event. If you wanted to learn more, you’d have to ask one of them.” She pursed her lips. “It’s a bit of a touchy subject for them, as you can imagine.”
Enya didn’t want to think about what kind of event would be considered “traumatic enough” to forcibly bind one’s soul to the fragment. Her gaze drifted over to the garden, where a butterfly had landed atop one of the flowers. Its lavender wings were the same color as Nadine’s earrings, she thought absentmindedly.
The third option seemed like the only viable one. She could still remember the wave of cold that had followed her flames, how easily Aeon had neutralized her magic and how utterly drained she’d been afterwards despite her opponent leaving without a scratch. She had to do something to prepare, and even if she didn’t awaken, at the very least she could become stronger should worst come to worst.
Enya looked up again and met Wren’s eyes. The woman was still observing her silently. Even like this, without using her magic, there was visible strength in the way the Ark held herself, in the subtle bulge of muscles beneath her cloak, or even the experienced sharpness of her stare that could only be seen on a hardened warrior. Aeon had left when she’d approached, Enya remembered. She swallowed, recalling how the woman had transferred magic to her, how she’d saved her life. Could she ask for another favor?
“Would you train me?” The words tumbled out before she could regret them. Wren raised an eyebrow, and at first Enya thought she’d made a terrible mistake before a slow smile spread across the woman’s face.
“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to help.”
Enya’s eyes brightened, and she realized she’d stood up. “Then we can—“
“Not today,” Wren interrupted, chuckling with mirth. “You’re not fully healed yet.”
Enya frowned. “I can assure you I’m fine.”
“For now,” Wren continued as though she hadn’t heard her, “Why don’t you tell me what kind of magic you can use, and we’ll figure out a plan. Sounds good?”
Enya nodded and sat back down, albeit a bit reluctantly. “I have an energy and heat magic affinity,” she began. “I’m decently comfortable at using that kind of magic, especially heat or, well, fire,” she corrected. Her brow furrowed, thinking. “I’ve used motion magic before, but I’m not particularly good at it. I’m capable of using it in bursts, but I don’t have much control.” She stared down at her boots. “And I can’t use form magic at all.” Of the three physical fundamentals, form was always what she’d struggled with the most. No matter how many times Theresa explained it to her, nothing ever stuck. Energy magic was typically drawn and used in quick explosions of power, and that was the approach she’d adopted with motion magic as well. Form magic, however, couldn’t be used like that. It required a degree of fine control that Enya had never particularly excelled in.
She said as much to Wren, who nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like we already have a plan, then. Your energy magic is already sufficient, so we’ll begin straight away with form magic.”
Enya’s eyes widened in surprise. “Not motion?” She would’ve thought it’d be easier to work on mastering the area she already had some degree of progress in first. Wren shook her head.
“If control is your biggest problem, then we need to tackle that first. Besides,” she added, voice lower, “form magic is the most important type for an Ark to master.”
Enya frowned. “Why is that?”
“You saw what Aeon could do.” Wren gestured vaguely. “I told you the fragments lets us live through things that would kill a regular person. Well, even if our soul survives it, our bodies don’t heal on their own. You don’t want to end up in a situation where you’re sliced in half and don’t know how to patch yourself back together.”
Enya shuddered at the mental image. “Noted,” she muttered.
“Besides,” Wren continued, “form magic is the most similar to the metal fundamentals, so mastering it will help you learn those once you’ve awakened.”
“Arks can use both categories?” That was unheard of for a regular person. Magic was divided into six types, and those types were grouped between physical and mental fundamentals. A person was born with an affinity for one particular type of magic, but they were capable of using all three kinds of magic within their greater grouping. Enya, with her energy affinity, belonged to the physical category. Altair was the only person she was close to who had a mental affinity: perception, in his case, though he used magic about as often as Nadine did, so she rarely saw it in action.
Wren nodded in affirmation. “It’s one of the things separating Arks from mortals,” she explained. “Don’t worry about it for now, though. That won’t come until after you’ve awakened, and I’ll train you then. For now we’re focusing on what you’re currently able to do.”
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Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Enya that Wren would still be willing to train her after she awakened. The thought brought a warm feeling to her chest.
“What time do you want to train?”
“Evenings,” Enya answered automatically. With her recordkeeping duties, no other time would work. She paused. “Unless you’re busy then?”
Wren chuckled. “This might come as a shock, but I’m not really a mercenary, or at least I’m certainly not part of any guild. It doesn’t matter to me what time we train, I’ll just stay in Acrine as long as needed.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you mind if we train at your place? You live at the edge of the village, right?”
Enya frowned. “Could we meet there and move somewhere outside of town?” For some reason she didn’t feel comfortable having Nadine around while they trained. But then, this had been true for a long time. Ever since Nadine gave up on being a Paragon all those years ago, Enya had never felt quite right practicing magic around her.
“That’s fine.” Wren stood, brushing off the leaves that had fallen onto her. The fell to the ground with a soft rustle. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Be sure to get some rest, some actual rest, tonight.”
Enya hurried to stand as well, nodding. The woman paused. “Oh, and Enya?”
Enya looked at her, curious. Wren grinned.
“I won’t be offended if you use sayings involving the gods. Remember, Arks aren’t the same, so it doesn’t bother me.”
Enya felt her face heat up as she nodded, embarrassed that she’d been so obvious. Wren laughed, the sound rich and warm, and Enya couldn’t help but smile as well.
“May the Second bless your sleep,” she said. The woman waved.
“You too.”
—
There was a lightness to Enya’s step as she returned home. Free from recordkeeping duties, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the village. It had been a long time since she’d been able to simply walk around and enjoy the weather. Most of her time was spent outside the village, tracking the Rot, and as a result many of the shops and buildings had felt new and foreign to her as she passed them, as if she was reacquainting herself with the place.
As she made her way down the street, she noticed a familiar figure walking up ahead. Quickening her pace, she caught up rather easily. Up close, she realized he’d gotten taller since she’d last seen him.
“Callan,” she greeted. “Are you returning from school?”
The boy barely glanced her direction. “Mask lady.”
Enya blinked. She’d forgotten about the nickname after not seeing the boy for so long. Back when Raynor had first introduced his little brother to them, Callan had told her, rather bluntly, that she “acted weird” and looked like she was always wearing a mask because “your face barely moves.” Nadine had found the encounter very amusing (personally Enya hadn’t thought the nickname was particularly clever, though she had the tact not to say that to the boy’s face), and her sister had even adopted the nickname herself for a brief period of time before it lost its novelty. It seemed it hadn’t yet for Callan.
“How have you been?” She paused, noting that it was rather late in the day for the boy to be returning home now. On closer inspection, he was walking very slowly. “You’re out late,” she commented.
The boy mumbled something. Enya frowned. “What was that?”
“…don’t wanna go home,” he said. Enya’s mind drifted to her conversation with Nadine the previous night .
“Is this because of the Rite?” She spoke slowly, gauging the boy’s reaction. Callan’s face immediately scrunched up like he’d eaten a lemon.
“Raynor’s stupid,” he declared, kicking aggressively at a pebble as he walked.
Raynor would probably scold his brother for his language if he was here, but Enya didn’t think that would be particularly productive right now.
“Being a Paragon is a noble job,” she said carefully, trying her best to adopt the reassuring, calm tone Maren had always used around her. “Raynor’s very brave.”
Callan’s head snapped her direction, scowling. “Then why’d you give up,” he countered.
Enya furrowed her brow. “Who told you that?”
“Altair. He said you gave up because your mom died and you were ta—traum—tratamized.” The boy stumbled over the words. Enya’s mind reeled, and something must have shown on her face, because Callen stared back at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Enya released a long breath. “No, it’s alright. It’s true I gave up on being a Paragon, but Raynor doesn’t intend to.” She paused, frowning. “You should talk to him, tell him how you feel.”
Callan didn’t respond to that, and Enya could tell that the boy wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation. The two soon reached a fork in the road, and Enya turned towards the left. “Get home safe,” she instructed. Callan nodded, and as she turned to leave, she heard the boy mutter, “Sixth bless your travels” under his breath.
She turned around and called out, “May the Second bless your kindness.” She didn’t get a response, but she hadn’t expected to. Enya turned back to the road and continued her way home, a strange heaviness in her stomach. She shook her head, pushing the feeling aside. For now, her primary concern was figuring out how to tell Nadine that she was going to start training with Wren. Everything else was secondary.
Up above, the sun was beginning to descend, bathing her surroundings in a golden hue as Enya made the rest of her way home. She continued forward, running through different conversation starters in her head, not thinking about Raynor, the Rite, or the persistent sense of unease that trailed after her with each step.