Brightly Burning

'Good lad!' Pol replied, and replaced the bit of lint on the saucer. 'Now, try again.'

This time, it seemed to be a little easier. It certainly didn't take as long. Pol ran him through the exercise a few more times before changing the focus.

'Right; let's take a break here—or at least, a break for you.' Pol smiled at Lan's look of relief. 'Kalira will link you in to me, and you'll see how this is done.'

'Why can't Kalira show me?' Lan wanted to know. 'If she can control the power, why can't she show me how to do it myself?'

:Because I'm not handling the power the way that you and Pol will,: Kalira replied. :I'm doing something only a Companion can do. We're born in energy and live in it all the time, that's why we're white. This kind of energy bleaches every live thing that it contacts after a time.:

'It is?' Lan asked, intrigued. Even Pol was intrigued; this was new information to him. Usually Companions revealed very little about themselves; he hadn't realized that they were so intimately involved with the force behind the Gifts.

:Indeed. You can't dye us either,: she chuckled. :We bleach right out in a few days.:

'Annoying of you,' Pol put in. 'It would be so much more helpful to Heralds who are trying to gather information unobtrusively if you could just become an ordinary chestnut color once in a while.'

:Learn from adversity, Herald; we won't do everything for you.: Kalira was still highly amused, and Pol sensed that Satiran was, too.

But her sire was willing to put up with only so much insolence from his offspring. :Respect your seniors, Companion,: the stallion chided. :At this point in his life, Pol has accomplished more than you have ever dreamed of doing. Let's get on with this.:

:Sir!: she replied promptly; obedient, but with a hint of amusement, still.

Pol felt Kalira form the link between himself and his pupil. This way Lan was not directly in his mind, nor was he in Lan's. This was a much better way of dealing with the task; he didn't want Lan privy to his uncensored thoughts, and he certainly didn't want to experience the poor lad's uncensored emotions.

He shifted his concentration to the lint, not that he had to concentrate a great deal. What he did have to do was slow things down so that Lan could see exactly what happened.

It wasn't spectacular; basically, it was very similar to using the Fetching Gift at a very tiny scale. Although he no longer had to think about how he did this, he vibrated the materials until the heat they generated ignited them. He moved infinitesimal bits of the oil and lint so that they rubbed against each other, creating heat by friction, until the lint burst into flame.

When the lint flamed, he looked up at Lan, and saw the Trainee's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed with concentration, but his mouth forming a slight 'o' of surprise.

'So that's what's happening!' he said, looking up into Pol's eyes.

'Basically, yes; just very, very quickly. And in your case, it's—' he tried to think of an analogy, '—hmm. Like an avalanche instead of a single, aimed stone. You just pour out power, and everything in its path goes up in flames. Things that are very flammable burn immediately, things that are around or near fire have flames jump to them, channeled by the power.'

Lan winced, but nodded. Pol was deliberately reminding him of what had happened, because he also wanted these sessions to desensitize Lan to what had happened by accident—

—because one day, he might have to do it on purpose. He couldn't keep wincing away from creating a major fire. He had to be able to create it when and where it was needed, even offensively.

Pol was privy to information known only to the King, the King's Own, and a few other, carefully selected members of the Council. What no other Herald teacher in the Collegium knew was that the situation on the Border with Karse was getting more serious with every passing day. They were taking advantage of the milder southern climate to increase their probes along the Border. If there was a war—ready or not, Lan might be needed.

Trained or not, he may be needed. It was a sobering thought, and one that kept Pol lying wakeful at nights. If—no, when war came, more Trainees than Lavan would be thrown into Whites, all unready, and sent out to the South. More young Healers would follow; and young volunteers to the Guard.

Best to end it quickly, and for that, it might be necessary to unleash Lavan Chitward's power, unchecked, unhindered, in all its ferocity.

'So, do you think that if Kalira controls the amount of energy you get, you can replicate what I just did?' Pol asked.

Lan drummed his fingers restlessly, his eyes looking off at some far distant point while he sorted things through in his own mind. 'Not yet,' he decided. 'Can you show me again, three or four more times, I mean?'

'Certainly.' Pol was actually relieved to hear Lan's caution. 'Kalira, if you would be so kind? Link and hold the link for four repetitions of the exercise?'

:Certainly, Pol,: Kalira said cheerfully. She insinuated the link with great skill and delicacy; Pol spared a moment to admire her touch.

Four times, he ignited tiny balls of lint, going so slowly that it was possible to see a minute coal form at the heart of the ball before the flame rose. Four times, Lan 'watched' with his eyes closed in concentration. The third and fourth time, the furrows in his brow eased, and he nodded slightly when the lint caught fire.

After the fourth iteration, he looked up and smiled.

'I can do it, Herald,' he said with confidence. 'Let me try again, doing it right.'

Pol placed another lint ball on the altar of sacrifice, and Lan stared at it.

In three heartbeats, as Lan's smile increased to a grin, it was nothing but ash.