Ruinlore

He called himself Caledonensis. Eirian didn’t know if that was his real name, but she didn’t much care. The name was a mouth full for truth, so she had taken to calling him Cale. She would have called him lord and master if he wanted; the gift of his company was easily worth that and more. For the month they had been traveling north, the old man taught her more runic lore than she had learned at university in two years.

Granted, the first years for everyone were hard, even if you had the Knack. Those without at least some natural predisposition to Stoning would be lucky to light a lamp or make a small breeze in a closed room. Useless skills, and rarely pursued. Eirian had skill. She assumed that was why Cale had chosen her from the class assembled in dome. How he had known that, since they had never met, she did not know.

The Head Master apparently knew Cale, though he did not enlighten her on his origins, motives, or temperament. So it was with barely time to collect her few belongings, that Eirian found herself walking the dusty ribbon of the Traveler’s Highway. Just a few hours into the journey, with no knowledge of their purpose or destination, struggling to keep pace with an old man, Cale had begun her lessons.

Quickly she learned that Cale was not traditional Magi, nor did he bare a great resemblance to the Freecasters she had known. They would wake on random mornings, and Cale would lead them off the Highway, and into a thick wood, or a swamp, or down a deep valley. Invariably there would be a Binding Stone at the end of the jaunt. Eirian had seen the university maps on the known stones. Even if university hid some from students (which it surely did) that would not account for all the stones they found in this manner.

Two days north of Couldor was the first of these rabbit trails. Buried in a tangle of vines against a steep cliff a mere half league from the road, was a pristine stone. Cale had moved the foliage away, careful not to disturb their roots. Then running a hand fondly over the cold surface, he turned to look at her.

His eyes, Eirian had noticed many times before, were a piercing blue. Never though, had the bore into her in this manner. The gaze was not angry, accusing, or disapproving. She felt as though he was rummaging through her head; looking for something specific. After a long, silent moment he spoke.

“I wondered if I choose wisely when I picked you from the class in Couldor.” He smiled then, tempering the gaze that had become increasingly uncomfortable, “But since I never make mistakes, it is clear you are the one.”

She would not take the bait.

In the last two days, he had questioned Eirian on her knowledge of the Runes. They never once though, discussed what Cale needed from her, and why it was her he needed.

His smile deepened, “There are ways to take measure of a caster.” He turned back to the stone and said almost in a whisper, “but that is another lesson, and far down the road.”

She waited as Cale continued to read the stone. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but changed topics as an unreadable look crossed his face.

“Can you read this rune here?” His ancient hand, steady as stone, pointed out the marking.

Eirian moved close and peered at the stone script. The symbols seemed to squirm under her gaze; moving every time she began to get a sense of their meaning. The old man laughed quietly.

“You are smart and quick, but there are many things that are far beyond you. I don’t say this to discourage you, but to warn you of the dangers of this knowledge.” He moved his hand further down the stone, “Here. This one should come easier to you.”

A quick moment was all she needed. Two of the symbols intertwining were known well to Eirian, and the third in location was easy enough to decipher. She spoke the words slowly; drawing them out, “yurish~so~della~meahs.” Her chest tightened briefly, and the vines that had once covered the Binding Stone began to grown and move as they snaked around once more to cover the monolith.

“Good.” Cale looked genuinely pleased, “But did you know what that last symbol would do to the ruin power?”

“Suspected only.” She answered quickly. It would not do to lie to this man.

He nodded, and there was his quick grin once more, “Now you will learn to use that ruin without the audible crutch you have.”

With that began a long day and longer night. Eirian worked the ruin in her head; over and over again. Attempting to hold its pattern and not speak seemed impossible. But sometime, long after the suns had set, with only the strange dancing light provided by Cale, she did it. Lines of power snaked from the stone, and Eirian nearly lost her concentration. But the ruin held, and the vines grew and she let out a cry as if she was still a small girl on her name day.

So every time they came to one of these lost stones, they would camp for a day. Cale would grill her all night on a single rune on the stone. He knew she was sharp, and so did Eirian. Even so, reading new runes was not easy. Add to the that, the fact that there were new runes every couple days. Her head constantly ached; she loved it.

The knowledge she gained was exhilarating. And there were other lessons. Secretly Eirian suspected that these were even more important to Cale than the rune readings. If they were important to the old man, they were important to her. He taught her the relation of the stones to the earth, and the balance of the Heaven and Earth. There were deep philosophical studies, and here, she thought, Cale had found a worthy opponent. Ethics, especially concerning Stoning, occupied their walking time, and her eyes were open to new ideas they did not teach at university.