Elestar Ravencrest's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

At first light Elestar climbed the stairs with a book under his arm. He had spent an hour picking one from the shelf. Every spine on it glowed with a sigil meant for a trained hand. He chose the thinnest volume he owned and hoped thin meant simple. Rowan waited at the desk. The flower creature perched on the lamp and swung a stolen sock like a pendulum. Elestar set the book down and opened it to the first page. The letters swam. He held the page closer, then farther. The runes stayed blurred at the edges. He had written them himself, three centuries ago, in a hand he could no longer read without a glass. He did not have a glass. He had not needed one when he wrote them. "Read the top line," he said, to buy time. Rowan leaned in. His finger moved along the runes. He read four words, then stopped. "This one draws lightning into a bowl." "That is the third chapter," Elestar said. "The first says the same, smaller." Elestar stared at the boy. He had shown Rowan nothing. The book was keyed to a mage who already knew the base forms. There was no primer in it, no drills, no shape for a child's first day. He turned the page. The next spell folded space. The one after called wind through bone. He turned faster. Every page assumed a decade of study. He closed the book. He had nothing else. His whole shelf was written for the man he used to be. "Go outside," he said. "Walk to the tree line. I need an hour." Rowan took his satchel and went. Elestar sat with the shut book. He thought of the farmer who had taught him. No book. A stick in dirt. Fire wants to spread. Water wants to fall. He had forgotten how a lesson begins. He did not see Rowan slip back through the side door an hour later. He did not see the boy lift the thin volume from the desk while he dozed in the chair. He did not see Rowan carry it to the sill, open it in clean light, and read. At the tree line, a dryad watched from behind a trunk. She had followed the boy from the wood. She had meant to step out. She saw him settle with a stolen book and a hungry face, and she pressed her palm to the bark and stayed hidden. She had heard men speak kindly to trees and still take the axe. She would wait longer. By dusk Rowan had read forty pages. He had spoken three of them aloud under his breath and felt something answer in his chest. Elestar woke to a cold cup and an empty desk. The thin book was gone from where he had left it. He knew, before he turned his head, where it had gone. His problem had changed. The boy did not need a first lesson. The boy was already teaching himself the wrong ones.