Thistle Moonwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Thistle slept badly and woke before dawn. The rite was today. Finding water was the only thing his body knew how to do, and he did not know how to do it on purpose. In the shed yesterday he had stumbled onto the warm spot by walking. At the rite he would have to show a talent, not stumble into one. He got up and went outside while the grove was still grey. Lysander was already at the woodpile, splitting kindling with short, clean strokes. He set the axe down when he saw Thistle. "I need to practice," Thistle said. "Before we go." "Practice what." "Finding water on command. Not by accident." Lysander nodded once. "Show me how you do it now." "I walk. My feet get warm. I stop." "Then walk somewhere you know is dry." Thistle crossed to the flat stone slab behind the shed. He stood on it. Nothing. He stepped off and walked in a slow circle. Nothing. He walked wider. His soles stayed cool. Celestia came out with her hands wrapped in fresh linen. She sat on the step and watched without speaking. Aldric came down the path a few minutes later, robe dragging in the dew. He stopped at the edge of the yard. "He is trying to control it," Lysander said. "Good," Aldric said. "Then stop letting him walk." Thistle turned. "How else do I find it?" "Stand still. Close your eyes. The warmth is in the ground, not in your walking." Thistle stood on the packed dirt. He closed his eyes. He waited. His feet stayed cool. He shifted his weight. Still cool. He opened his eyes. "Nothing." "Move one pace. Try again." He moved. Closed his eyes. Cool. Moved again. Cool. On the fifth try the soles of his feet began to prickle. He held still. The prickle spread to warmth. He kept his eyes shut and pointed down. "Here." Aldric walked to him and pressed a thumb into the dirt where Thistle pointed. "Seam runs under this. Yes." Thistle opened his eyes. "I did not walk to it. I stood." "You found it by choosing to look," Aldric said. "That is the difference." He made Thistle do it four more times, in four spots around the yard. Two were dry. Two were wet. Thistle called them right each time. His feet knew the difference now between cool and cool-turning-warm. Celestia stood up slowly. "That is a talent." "It is a small one," Aldric said. "But it is his. He can show it." Lysander picked up the axe again. "Then we go." Thistle looked down at his silver breeches, then at his bare warm feet. He could show something now. He still did not know what the judges would want it to mean.