Kenist Miana Stories: Earth and Air

The ground trembled just slightly beneath a heavily furred, stone-spined enkeyn and a patchy-skinned, gold-gemmed, humanoid dragoness-- student and teacher-- the sound just a rumble of slow, weak protest before it really started to move. A circle of earth under the silent pair cracked free of its surroundings, reluctantly shook itself up an inch, then slowly and smoothly began to rise, a spire of packed earth supported by and woven through with shaped stone. It rose a foot, two, three, slowly climbing until it stood taller than the forest around them. Then it hesitated, shot up one more foot, shuddered, and went still.

"That's as high as it will go," Terynesa said, not opening her eyes. Stone might like to stay in one place once it got there, but it hadn't considered itself as "gotten there" yet, in this unnatural tower, so she had to keep her concentration on it. "There's not enough stone in the ground to support anything taller."

Fedalamar grunted; she guessed it was an affirmative. After a moment, his gravelly voice asked, "Going to look around?"

"Once it's-- there." The platform beneath them gave a final, shifting sigh, and she opened her eyes to look around. She stared, mouth falling open. She hadn't realized she'd gotten it this high!

Fedalamar snorted at her expression, but didn't give her time to congratulate herself. "Fuse it," he barked, shaking her free of her amazement.

A little surprised-- she hadn't expected that they'd be leaving the peak here-- Terynesa snapped her eyes shut again and reached her magic back down into what she'd made. It took longer than she would have liked-- surely the sun had moved enough that several hours had passed-- and she was sweat-sodden and gasping for breath by the time she was finished, but she managed it. She'd never turned this much dirt into rock before, though she'd done smaller amounts, and she'd certainly never done fusing this late in the lessoning. After an hour of terrain-sensing, an hour of moisture control, half a morning of gem and stone transmutation, and then the effort taken to make the blasted thing... he had to be proud of her for managing this, even if it took a long time!

When she looked up again, Fedalamar's green eyes were sharp on her face. He blinked when their eyes met and gave his furry head a shake. "Turn it back," he growled.

This, she'd also done-- just never on this scale, and not when she had done this much work first! She was tired! "But--"

"No buts. Turn it back."

Terynesa glared at him, struggling to get her breathing back under control, and he glowered back. It was the student who gave in-- this time. And only after she'd caught her breath. She shut her eyes again and clenched her fists in her lap. If she'd wanted to, she could have simply shattered the pillar of stone into gravel-- it might have taken more sheer power, but it took far less concentration, control, and time. But since both she and her teacher were sitting on top of it, at least forty feet off the ground, that would probably have been a bad idea.

By the time she was finished, the sun was well down on the horizon, she was panting, reeling where she sat, and starving, despite her hearty breakfast that morning. But the previously stone pillar was now once again packed earth, held together with only veins of stone and her own powers. Just like he'd asked.

This time Fedalamar's eyes were rolled down, critically eying the platform as if he could see through it, all the way the bottom. She watched him anxiously, waiting for some sign of approval, disapproval, pride, disappointment, or anything at all. For a long moment, the only sound was her own rapid breathing. Finally he grunted again, a sound which could have meant any one of those things.

The pillar shuddered suddenly, making Terynesa jump-- she knew there wasn't any instability in it! She would have noticed! But Fedalamar didn't do more than rustle his wings and resettle the feathers over his haunches, apparently not concerned at all. Taking her cue from him, Terynesa settled back down again, though she gave the earth beneath her a weary but wary look.

"Good," Fedalamar said, distracting her from her concern about the stability of their seat. When she looked quickly back at him, he was watching her. This time he didn't look away, and neither did she.

Then the meaning of the single word sunk in past her exhaustion. Her gaze turned into a shocked stare. "You mean-- I did good?"

"Well," Fedalamar said, and it took her a second to realize he was correcting her grammer. "You did well, yes."

"But-- I took so long!"

"Nothing practice can't cure."

"I-- I-- oh, thank you!"

Even as a teacher, Fedalamar was close-mouthed, to begin with. Getting praise out of him was so rare that Terynesa could count the times he'd complimented her on her work on one hand. The first time he'd done it, she hadn't believed it; the second, she'd actually launched herself at him in an enthusiastic hug, much to his embarrassment. This time, though the idea was tempting, she was simply too tired.

"There isn't anything else I can teach you," he continued, nodding to her thanks. "Just practice and you will get better."

For a moment she glowed, beaming and forgetting how worn out, sweaty, and hungry she was. That was the highest praise he could possibly have given her. But her grin faltered almost immediately. "But-- will you still be my teacher? We'll still meet for lessons, right?"

"I don't have anything more to teach you," the enkeyn repeated, and Terynesa's face fell. Grouchy, grumpy, and taciturn he might be, but she liked Fedalamar. They both shared a love of earth and stone, and she was used to his grumbling after two years as his student. She saw more of him than anyone else at Kenist Miana, with the sole exceptions of Dune, who tutored her in everything else, and her bond.

Fedalamar glared at her downcast expression, and she looked down, trying to think up an apology or a thanks for all his help, or something. He coughed softly into the silence, clearing his throat, and rumbled before she could speak, "It is not as if I am disappearing from the ranch, Terynesa. If, for some unfathomable reason, you wish to see me, you know where to find me."

"You mean it?" she asked tentatively. "I won't bother you?"

"If you do," Fedalamar said stiffly, "be sure I shall tell you."

That made Terynesa laugh, which seemed to annoy him-- or maybe embarrass him. She prudently changed the subject. "So are you putting this thing back, or am I?" she asked, grinning-- though secretly hoping he would do it himself, so she wouldn't have to. She'd probably have a headache from all this magic, later.

"It's staying right where it is," Fedalamar snorted, rising and giving himself a vigorous shake. Stone spurs rattled on tail and heels against each other, and dust rose from his thick coat. Somehow, as the dirt it had a mind of its own, it always managed to get into his fur whenever he stayed put for long enough, even if he didn't do anything that seemed to invite it.

"Staying here?" Terynesa asked, confused.

"Staying here. The local Sharians wanted a fire tower here that wouldn't burn if the forest goes up."

"Then why did you make me change it back?" she demanded as he shook out his wings and gauged the distance to the ground. "A stone tower would be better than a dirt one!"

"I wanted to make sure you could do it," Fedalamar growled at her, and without another word pushed off from the platform she'd made them and glided steadily to the ground.

Irritated, Terynesa beat him to the ground by teleporting-- after all, she didn't exactly have wings. As she turned to watch him make his more leisurely way, she stopped and gaped. The spire of packed earth that she'd so painstakingly changed to stone and back again over the course of an entire afternoon was, somehow, stone again. She hadn't done it-- she was too tired, she couldn't have done it!

Which meant--

Fedalamar landed, flipped his wings shut, and started wordlessly back towards the ranch. He certainly didn't look like he had fused forty feet of dirt into solid granite within the span of ten minutes, while it had taken his student two or three hours.

But he obviously had.

"I want to be as good as you are, someday," she whispered, awed, to his retreating tail. If he heard her, he gave no sign, and after a moment she stumbled after him. The least he could do after being so damn good was let her lean on his shoulder, so she wouldn't trip over her own feet!