Daniel spent the rest of the week experimenting with the dirt on the floor of his room, moving it about, digging holes with his power and refilling them. It had never occurred to him to use his abilities in such a way before, until he had nearly been killed by suffocation.
During his experimentation he also tried creating small whirlwinds of dust and dirt, like he had done during his last combat. He had never really thought about air as a solid ‘thing’ before, always considering it ephemeral or intangible, but he had become aware of it as something truly physical now.
He could tell he was stronger. Something had changed in him during his fight with the woman, or possibly during his fight with the wardens. His power flowed more easily and he felt stronger. Continual practice had paid off, and he was able to envision complex shapes and forms far more easily than in the past.
When the time came for his next fight in the arena it was only Garlin who came to escort him. He said nothing as they walked.
The fight proved to be a let-down. His opponent this week was a Prathion mage, but he wasn’t particularly strong. As soon as he vanished, Daniel created two circles, a small one around himself and a much larger one that encircled him at a distance of over fifty feet on all sides. The larger circle he covered with a tiny layer of diffuse aythar just below the surface, extending from its edge inward to his smaller circle.
He ignored the other mage’s attacks, small probing assaults that came from a distance. He became visible for a moment each time, but Daniel didn’t bother attempting to respond. His opponent would vanish and move immediately after each assault. Daniel waited.
Eventually the man drew closer, probably hoping to try a more focused close range assault on Daniel’s nigh impregnable shield. Due to his complete invisibility he failed to sense the aythar that was spread across the earth beneath his feet.
Once he felt the contact of bare feet within his outer circle Daniel swiftly changed tactics, abandoning the thin layer of aythar on the ground in favor of raising a giant shield, following the outlines of his larger circle. He had the other mage trapped now, between his small inner shield and the larger one.
He began to move the air in a circular fashion, creating a small cyclone centered on himself. Lifting dirt and gravel the area was soon filled with a miniature sandstorm. The Prathion quickly dropped his invisibility and created a strong shield around himself, but it was far too late for that.
Daniel was merely experimenting. His room was too small to create anything large, and the soil of his floor only extended a short foot before it reached a wooden floor created by the root of the god tree. Here in the arena he had earth and air to play with and an opponent to focus on. The audience was just an added bonus.
He whipped the air and the dirt it carried into a blistering frenzy, scouring a wide circular depression into the ground. Eventually the force of it became so great that the other mage’s shield failed. He died terribly, for the man’s aythar still anchored him to the ground as the wind scoured the flesh from his bones. When he finally lost consciousness, his power failed completely and the air lifted him, to tumble around. By the time Daniel stopped the wind and lowered his shield, there was nothing left of the man. His body had disintegrated and been absorbed by the earth that had flown around the ring.
The She’Har roared with approval as he left the arena. Glancing at the crowd, he saw several with the distinctive silver hair of the Illeniel Grove, but his magesight did not find Lyralliantha’s aura among them.
He walked back to Garlin, feeling somewhat elated by his victory but without the adrenaline madness that had filled him the week before. “I’m glad it’s you today,” he told the warden.
“None of the others wanted the task,” said Garlin noncommittally.
“I lost my temper,” admitted Daniel. “It was Lavon who angered me though, not you.” He didn’t apologize. It would have been insincere, and besides, Garlin didn’t expect one, he had been raised in a different world.
“He was a bigger ass than most,” commented the warden.
“We’ve been ordered not to touch you in future. Most of the others want you dead,” Garlin informed him. “If you decide to do anything wild in the future, don’t worry about me. I’m not to interfere.”
“Why have you escort me at all then?” asked Daniel.
“To show you where to go and advise you if you are about to do something that will result in punishment from Thillmarius. There isn’t anywhere to run, Tyrion.”
“He made sure I was aware of that,” replied Daniel.
When he was back in his room, Daniel relaxed by using his aythar to peel away some of the outer layers from the wooden block that he had originally cut from the ‘table’ in his room. The table itself had healed over and grown back to its former shape, while the piece he had cut free seemed to be slowly drying out.
Daniel only peeled a small layer off, helping it to dry more evenly, but he was mindful of the fact that if it dried out too quickly it might begin to crack. He kept the piece in the soil under his bed most of the time, to prevent it from drying too fast.
Today he took the shavings and let his imagination play with them. Thin layers of wood became petals and small fibers peeled from the edges knitted themselves together to hold each in place, attached to a slender wooden stem. After more than an hour of delicate concentration Daniel found himself with an interesting facsimile of a rose. Drawing up reddish pigments from some of the soil, he tinted the petals a faint red color while leaving the rest a light brown.
Then he waited for Amarah.
She hadn’t spoken to him since their ‘punishment’, but she continued to bring his food and water twice daily. He plied her with words and apologies, but she shrugged them all off without any sign of interest.
Today he blocked her exit again, “Wait.” Before she could protest he produced the wooden rose. “This is for you.”
Amarah’s eyes went wide. “What is this?”
“A flower,” said Daniel simply. “I have nothing here, other than memories. I made it to remember the past. I thought you might like it.” Before she could respond, he pressed the wooden stem into her hand.
She was gone before he could guess what she might be feeling.
The weeks passed slowly after that, without much to relieve the tedium. Daniel was summoned each week to face a new competitor, but the fights were no longer a challenge. The arena had become his playground, and each contest was merely an opportunity for him to practice his skills in the open air and sunshine. He killed men and women without compunction, though he was glad that he hadn’t been forced to fight any more children. Apparently that was only for the inexperienced.
He could no longer be certain exactly how long he had been there, killing and living in near complete isolation. The seasons passed, and he knew when summer arrived again that it had been at least a year.
The block of wood he had saved was fully dry now. There were some small cracks in the exterior but Daniel’s magesight could see that they didn’t run deep. The main body had dried slowly and remained whole. Taking his time—he certainly had plenty of it—Daniel used his ability to slowly remove material from the outside, carving away pieces of wood to create the body and neck of a cittern.
His mother’s cittern had been constructed of several pieces of light wood, carved and then glued together. Notably, the body had been made from two large pieces to form a bowl and the open face, while the neck had been an entirely separate piece. The frets and other protrusions were additional pieces of wood and metal that had been glued into place.
Daniel had no glue, nor did he have any metal, but he had patience and a tool that allowed him to remove fine amounts of material even from the interior. He slowly carved the interior of the bowl out and shaped the neck, crafting the entire thing, including the frets, from his single block of wood.
The tuning pegs he was forced to make separately, using some larger pieces he had removed while shaping the body. Using his aythar, he carefully drilled holes in the head, tapering them so that the pegs could be withdrawn slightly when tuning and then pushed firmly inward to wedge them in place once the desired tension had been found.
Amarah took notice of his strange work when she came twice a day, even pausing on occasion to watch him for a minute or two. He always complimented her, and attempted conversation, but she rarely spoke.
After a couple of months his work was nearly complete, and his unformed block had become a well-defined and elegant looking instrument. It lacked some of the color of his mother’s, but it made up for that in the fineness of its woodwork, along with delicate patterns of wildflowers etched into the face of it.
Eventually Amarah’s curiosity got the better of her, and she asked him a question. The first question he ever recalled coming from her in fact. “What is that?”
“A cittern,” he replied quietly.
“What does it do?” she continued.
Two questions! Today was a landmark in his communications with her. “If I can finish it, I will show you,” he told her. “But I don’t think I will ever get that chance.”
“Why not?” Amarah was obviously fascinated by the beautiful and utterly foreign device.
Daniel sighed, “No strings.”
His mother’s cittern had had metal strings, an expensive luxury, but they made for a lovely sound and held up well over time. Daniel had no hope of finding anything like that in Ellentrea. He had also seen strings made more commonly from gut, which was something he probably could get ahold of, if he was sufficiently brutal during his next arena match. In the past, the thought of using a fellow human’s intestines would have sickened him, but he had descended far past that, to a level of practicality that was just shy of animalistic.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t really an option either. Even if he carried a grisly trophy back from his next match, he had no idea of the method used for curing and producing strings from gut. He did know how to make string from hair or wool, by twisting and splicing fibers one at a time, but he had no good source of hair, other than his own.
He tried initially to craft strings from wood fibers, using his aythar to separate and wind the tiniest of fibers into a lightweight string, but it had proven brittle and weak. Using his own hair produced something more serviceable but it still broke when he attempted to play on it.
He needed a longer hair, with a thicker shaft. At home, he had spliced hair from the tail of his father’s horse, using it to create string and short ropes for halters. That would be ideal, but he had no idea where the wardens stabled their horses, nor how he would convince them to let him use their hair.
“What do you do with strings?” she asked.
Daniel mimed playing on the instrument, strumming with one hand and pressing down at various points along the neck with the other. “You play them. The strings generate the notes, if you pluck them properly. Can you get string?” Seeing her interest, he began to wonder if perhaps she might be convinced to help.
“They have a thick yarn here…” she began.
Daniel interrupted, “No, yarn won’t do. It’s too thick. Horse hair would work, but I have no way of getting it.”
“Horse hair?”
“From the tail,” clarified Daniel. “The long pieces. White hair is usually stronger if you can find it.”
Amarah stared at him for a moment before turning and leaving without comment.
She didn’t ask him about the instrument the next time she returned, but after a week she surprised him one morning. Placing the tray with his food on the table, she waited rather than leaving immediately.
That was unusual behavior for her. Then Daniel noticed the mass of hair piled along one side of the tray, long strands of white hair, most of them over two feet long.
“How did you get this?” he asked her.
“Some days I care for the horses,” she told him, making a brushing motion with one hand. “No one notices if I take a few from the tail.” Her lips parted slightly, exposing her upper teeth slightly.
Is she smiling?
A flood of emotion struck Daniel at that realization. He had never seen Amarah, or anyone else in Ellentrea, smile. He didn’t count Thillmarius. The She’Har’s smiles were often more frightening than his serious expressions.
Standing suddenly, Daniel put his arms around Amarah before she could retreat, his cheeks wet. “Thank you,” he said honestly, though his voice had gone hoarse.
She stiffened in his grasp, unfamiliar with such affection. “We’ll be punished again,” she said fearfully, probably thinking he meant to seduce her once more. She tried to pull away.
He held her tighter. “No, this is different. I won’t try that again. This is just a hug.”
After a long moment she relaxed, returning the embrace, and the two of them stood there for some time, content. Finally she spoke, “You are crying,” noting the wetness on her bare shoulder.
“So are you,” returned Daniel.
Touching her own face, she seemed surprised, “I am.”
They continued holding one another until Daniel began to become noticeably aroused and released her. “We’ll be punished,” he observed sadly.
Amarah glanced at him once more, making eye contact, which was unusual in itself. Then she glanced downward, eyeing his erection. “You are beautiful,” she said, borrowing one of the phrases that Daniel greeted her with each day. Reaching out she touched him there casually before turning and leaving without another word.
Oh hell, thought Daniel, suddenly overwhelmed by lust.
Later, when he had regained his calm, he couldn’t help but laugh as he reviewed her statement. “You are beautiful,” he mused aloud, “that has to be the first time any woman has ever said that to me before, especially when referencing you.” He glanced downward.