Martel was from Nordmark. He knew very well that the length of the days changed with the seasons. Winters were dark and cloudy, sumrs bright and sunny. He was also aware that it varied. After living several years in Morcaster, he knew that the difference seed less pronounced. While he had not spent as much ti in Sindhu, he had noticed the sa might be the case there.
Even so, it had never occurred to him that if one continued north, the days would eventually get so long, they just never ended. It baffled him, yet thinking it over, he began to understand so of Atreus’s instructions. This had to be why it was important he made it here before sumr solstice, that he might observe this phenonon. It also explained why he had to be in a place that let him observe both sunrise and sunset, to notice that neither took place. Lastly, it explained the puzzling remark of ‘night is day’. In this place of never-ending day, that was literally the case.
But what was he supposed to learn from this? Besides his body being confused, Martel did not feel enlightened; there was plenty of physical sunlight, but that did not help him in the taphorical sense. But perhaps it would make itself apparent, if only he stayed on the peak long enough. With nothing better to hope for, Martel made himself comfortable and extended his sense of magic in every direction, taking in everything it told him.
Martel eventually gave up. How long he had sat in the sa place, he could not say. But he had run out of water, and his food would not last much longer; a few days, except that was not a useful way of asuring ti anymore. The result was the sa regardless. His body might be confused about when it was ti to sleep, but it had no trouble feeling hunger.
As a result, he had to make his way down the mountain. Not all the way to the lowlands, but still a considerable distance until he reached a stream of water. In addition, he struck a goat with a fire bolt. He felt guilty doing it; the poor beast was lazily chewing on brown grass, completely unaware of the danger that a hungry wizard posed. But Martel needed to eat, and there was nothing to forage.
On their travels, Eleanor had taught him the basics of cutting up an animal for the at. While not as skilled as her, Martel cut out so good pieces for himself. He enchanted a stone with heat and cooked the at on that. It was chewy with little flavour, but it would sustain him. As for the remainder of the carcass, he burned it to a crisp rather than attract predators and carrion eaters.
Being near the cave he had found on his first journey up, Martel returned there to sleep. The reprieve from the constant sunlight was a balm to his eyes, and the darkness made his rest easier.
When he woke, the outside was as before. The sun shone, and the mountain was bereft of life; determined to continue, though not sure how, Martel returned to his peak.
The sun completed circle after circle. Martel stayed on the peak, feeling the magic of the land, or the absence of sa; his surroundings seed no different than if he was in Morcaster, magically speaking. The lack of people and any living things ant that he did not pick up on heat, other than what the sun provided.
He took to counting ti not in days, as that had no aning without night, but rather in trips down the mountain to eat. And so he first noticed a change after three roasted goats. As the sun travelled towards the horizon, it ca so close that, for a short while, it dipped below.
It could hardly be called night. Twilight at best. But for the first ti, Martel saw his surroundings in faded light with lengthy shadows. He released a pulse of magic to feel any difference, and it ca to him. Minutely, barely noticeable, but a change.
His teachers at the Lyceum would have predicted this; they would have told him that magic was weaker during the day, when the sun reigned, and stronger in its absence, especially if the moon was in the sky.
Yet while the change was real, Martel disagreed with the nature of it and the established explanation. It did not feel to him like there was less magic present; only that it was less tangible. To so, that might seem a difference without distinction, and perhaps it was. Still, having nothing else to think about, Martel hung on to this. And when the next night ca, lasting two brief monts rather than one, he noticed it again. He could not put it into words, he could not argue why he thought it mattered or explain what exactly it was, but he felt it.
His best attempt compared it to cold fire, the magelight that he could summon. It did not have the heating property of real flas, and it would be useless to a man who only needed warmth; yet it existed, it resembled fire, and it shared so characteristics. Martel was used to thinking of magic as being the sa; while different places used it in different ways, they all drew on the sa power. Could there be two kinds of magic? Or, just as different traditions existed that resulted in different expressions of spells and power, could magic in itself have different facets with all humans only accessing one while still being ultimately the sa energy?
Martel had no answers. He was not even sure he understood the question, or whether it was the right question to ask to begin with. But he began to see why ditating in this place of all places mattered. And so he continued, day after day, brief night after night, until the latter grew longer and longer, sumr ended, and winter began.
Reviews
All reviews (0)