Rachel stared at the large fish impaled on the pole Drake had improvised. "You were fast," she said to him as he sat beneath a tree a few feet away from her, removing the fish from the end of the stick and pulling out a small dagger. Rachel set down the bundle of twigs and branches in her arms. She had tried to find decent firewood while staying within Drake's line of sight from where he fished in Jepson Lake, and she'd only just collected enough in the time it took him to sharpen the pole and catch tonight's meal.
Drake scoffed, the gesture magnified as he began the unappetizing task of gutting the fish. "I was much better before Harthenham. Six lifetimes of being fed day in and day out by servants does take a toll on one's survival skills."
"You were there for that many?" she asked.
He nodded. "Not as long as it sounds. Not the way I lived them, anyhow. It's almost a relief to be self-sufficient again."
"Jasher knew his way around in the wild, too," Rachel remembered. "Are a lot of your people like that?"
Drake didn't make eye contact, instead setting down the fish and turning his attention to the wood pile. He began arranging it in a formation that would better lend itself to a campfire. "For the most part. We tend to grow our own food in the Vales. Lots of crops and farmland. My people enjoy feeling independent. The northernmost portion of the Seven Vales is rugged terrain that requires a lot of hunting and gathering, and most of us have ventured there at least once."
He began tearing grass from the ground and setting it in the center of his campfire. Thanks to the early summer heat, most of the grass in this area was dry and brittle enough to serve as tinder.
Taking a deep breath, Drake mumbled a few strange syllables, hands outstretched slightly, brow creased, eyes squinting at the small wood structure. Rachel didn't recognize what he had said, but she somehow sensed the meaning. He had told fire to collect in the pile of tinder. Drake closed his eyes, inhaled through his nose, and then repeated the phrase. Suddenly, a little flame appeared.
Rachel blinked in surprise. She had seen him do the same thing before, but not while sitting so close, and it was always a bit alarming to see a fire ignite almost spontaneously. She turned to look at Drake, cocking her head. "How do you do that, anyway? You told it to catch on fire and it just... did."
The flame began to spread, first to the rest of the tinder, then to the wood Rachel had collected. Warm light radiated from the fire to Drake's flat face. Rachel noticed a bit of perspiration on his forehead. "Edomic," he said.
"The wizarding language?" she asked.
He nodded in reply.
Her eyes widened. "But... you're not a wizard."
Drake laughed almost noiselessly. "Not by any stretch of the imagination. I've learned a few simple commands I can perform on a good day." He reached for the fish, speared it on the stick again, and held it over the growing fire.
"You learned them? You mean you can teach yourself magic? How does it work?"
He met her curious stare. "Edomic is referred to as the language of creation," he explained. "Matter understands it intuitively, and if you speak with enough authority, the matter will respond."
"I could kind of tell what you were saying, even though I'd never heard it before," Rachel agreed. "Can you do it again?"
"Maybe," Drake sniffed. "It takes serious effort. I studied and practiced for years. Of course, Eldrin designed the Amar Kabal to have incredible difficulty with Edomic, but most would have a hard enough time even without his interference. The only true master remaining is Maldor himself."
"I want you to show me how you do it," she insisted. It was hard for her to restrain her enthusiasm.
Drake noticed and gave a soft chuckle. "One moment," he said. Still holding the pole and fish, he stood up and made his way toward Mandibar. He spent several seconds rummaging through the contents of his saddlebag. "In the interest of not extinguishing our campfire," he said, coming to a stop beside her shoulder, "why not try using this?" He held out an off-white candle stump, cylindrical and maybe two inches tall. She took it in one hand. The remainders of old wax drippings gave the otherwise smooth surface a slight lumpy texture.
As Drake returned to his tree and reclined against it, Rachel turned the candle around in her hands and stared at the darkened wick. "So what do I say?" she asked him.
Setting the stick at an angle so the fish would continue to cook, he leaned forward. "It isn't just the words," he explained. "It's the will behind them. You must mean what you say, or the heat won't listen. It requires quite a bit of concentration. There are many nights when I have to settle for using flint instead." He shrugged. "Anyhow, I suppose I'll see if I can teach you." Drake spoke the same phrase from before, but enunciated each syllable more clearly. Rachel repeated after him several times, enjoying how the words felt on her tongue.
"I think you have it," he said. "Now, focus on the wick, say the words, and demand that the heat obey. Be forewarned: It's harder than you think."
Rachel gazed at the wick, squinting her eyes and furrowing her brow. Excitement stirred within her, but she worried about Drake watching. When she stole a quick glance in his direction, she noticed that he had returned his attention to the fire, though he seemed to be peeking out of the corner of his eye. That would have to be good enough.
Eyes and mind trained on the candle, Rachel pronounced the Edomic phrase and pictured the wick burning as vividly as she could manage. She sensed what might have been the beginning of a response to her command, but it seemed just out of reach. Her mind felt hazy. She wanted to lie down. Determined, Rachel murmured the words again, almost forcing them to come true. She felt sweat on her temples.
And a flame blossomed along the candle wick.
Rachel gasped, hardly believing she had done it. She felt such a surge of elation that she couldn't help laughing aloud. Her eyes flicked to Drake, whose usually impassive features displayed naked surprise. Had he been that certain she wouldn't succeed? Of course, Rachel allowed, she hadn't considered the possibility before tonight either, and she remained rather shocked herself.
"I stand corrected," Drake murmured. His amazed expression had faded, though he still raised his eyebrows as he glanced from the candle to Rachel and back.
"That was exhausting," Rachel admitted with a sigh, realizing as she did how short of breath she was. "And for such a tiny fire. I can't believe wizards could actually create entire races that way!"
Drake seemed to be studying her through narrowed eyes. "They did have centuries of practice. It gets somewhat easier with experience, though I'd never dare attempt a more complicated command."
Part of her wanted to try again. Even more than the euphoria she had experienced, Rachel craved reassurance that she had truly made a fire with nothing but some words from a friend and pure willpower. However, she felt tired enough that she wondered how she would stay awake to eat the fish Drake was cooking. She still couldn't resist asking. "What other commands do you know?"
Drake shook his head. "Very few. Nothing as ambitious as calling fire. And nothing I could demonstrate easily."
Nodding, Rachel didn't mind the lack of specifics. If lighting a candle had tired her so completely, she could imagine how igniting a campfire would make Drake reluctant to show her the full extent of his knowledge at the drop of a hat.
"I'll let you have your candle back," she told him, shifting her weight and lifting one hand to contain the smoke as she prepared to blow it out.
Drake's crooked grin made an appearance. He relaxed into the tree trunk behind him. "Keep it," he replied. "I expect you have more use for it than me now."
Rachel smiled, letting both hands cradle the waxen shape again. The candle grew warmer as the flame she had called continued to burn.