Brightly Burning

When he had exhausted his repertoire, he came up out of his self-induced trance with a little grunt of frustration. As his trance state faded, he became aware that he had sat in one position for far too long. He felt as stiff as a wooden doll; his right shoulder hurt, and his mouth was dry.

:I know how you feel,: Satiran said, as he opened his eyes to see more than a thumb length of candle gone. :There was something about that—stirring—last night. I don't know what it was. It bothered me then, and it still bothers me.:

:Emotion is what it was,: Pol replied, getting up to stretch and walking slowly toward his fire. :Very raw emotion, and a great deal of it, with no control to speak of.:

:Adolescent,: Satiran confirmed. :Yes, that's it. A Gift waking under pressure of emotion? That's not a comfortable thought—and, gods, I do hope it isn't Empathy!:

:I can't think of anything worse than an Empathic Gift bubbling up under such circumstances,: Pol agreed, and yawned. :On the other hand, if that's what it is, there isn't a better place than Haven for someone like that to appear. We've an entire Collegium full of experienced Healers prepared to deal with that sort of thing.:

Satiran 'absented' himself briefly from the close conference with Pol; he was probably conferring with the other Companions for a moment. Pol took advantage of the free moment to check his time-candle and decided that it was late enough that he wouldn't get any visitors tonight. Using all of his Gifts in sequence like that was tiring, especially calling up things he didn't often have an occasion to invoke.

He blew out all but his bedside candle, unclasped his hair, and stripped for bed, wistfully regarding the empty half of the bed where Ilea should have been. He was under the covers and reaching for his bedtime reading before Satiran got back to him.

:No one else has any more idea of what it was than we do,: the Companion told him. :And no one else but you felt it. So that means that, whatever else it is, it isn't Empathy.:

:So it's something really odd.: Pol cheered up a little at that. If there wasn't a Herald here at the Collegium that had felt the surge last night, that meant that there wasn't anyone here who could teach whatever it was.

So if this Gift manifested rather than being repressed, Pol was guaranteed at least another few months within Collegium walls. That meant more time with Ilea, when she returned.

Of course it was even odds which it would do—manifest or submerge. :Are any of the Companions feeling restless?: he asked Satiran. That would be one indication—if the nascent Gift belonged to a presumptive Herald, the Companion due to Choose him would start sensing that his or her time was near. Or at least, nearing.

:Not that I've noticed, and nobody has volunteered that information, but... whoever it is might not. No one likes to be disappointed in public.: Satiran himself had experienced two 'false alarms' before he was drawn to Pol, and the Companions often felt a certain guilt when an expected call didn't come. Pol had a good idea why that should be; there was always the feeling that there was something that one should have done... that if, just perhaps, a vague urging had been followed, there might be one more badly-needed Herald.

:Well, you might as well get some sleep. Or whatever,: Pol replied lightly, and was rewarded by a mental chuckle.

:Whatever. Not that it's your business!: came the taunting reply.

:Oh, thank you! When you know that Ilea is hundreds of leagues away from me! Twist the dagger, why don't you?: he taunted back.

:Chastity is good for you. Think how much more you'll appreciate her when she comes back!: was the retort, and Satiran dropped out of the front of his mind.

Pol laughed, and opened his book. He had decided to stay awake a little longer than usual, just in case that unknown with the odd Gift was only manifesting in sleep himself.

That might be the case, and might account for why he hadn't touched off an echo when he looked for it.

That would also account for the raw emotions, the sort of uncontrolled feelings that occurred in dream- sleep, when all the inhibitions of the day were gone.

But he was nodding over his book in short order, and finally decided to give up and call it over for the night.

Whatever it was would appear again—or not. But if it did, he wouldn't be caught unaware the second time.

SIX

THE next day brought the start of the autumn rains; there had been occasional showers before, but Pol woke up to the kind of steady downpour emerging from solid gray skies that meant there would be day after day of rain for the next several weeks. There would be breaks in the rain, but the sun would have to fight its way through the overcast and, for the most part, would lose the fight. By now the fields outside were getting soggy, which meant that there would be no more grueling circuits of the obstacle course for some time. Satiran didn't care about rain, but he hated mud, and the obstacle course would be a morass until the rains ended. Back when Pol had been a Trainee, they hadn't had any choice but to run the course when they were ordered to; now that they had that choice, by common consent they avoided the place during the autumn rains.

Sadly, the rains also brought the cool, crisp days full of brilliant colors to an end as well. A quick glance out