Tavi had felt the relaxed air, the openness between them--it getting all shut off is an instant warning sign to the diplomat in him, and not for the first time he pities his mother for the years he hid his emotions from her.
"We've never called it that. The Canes--who use... certain blood rights to create and control magic--and the Marat, who have none, call it sorcery. We never have. It's not... magic, to our minds. No spells, no ritual castings. It's crafting. There are spirits in the land--wind and earth and all the rest, and they work with us. It's the only way we survived and carved out what land we have."
He leans back, sipping his wine again. "Everyone--every human, every Aleran--is born with an affinity for one or more elements. The high houses have all of them, and in incredible amounts. The country way is the way I prefer, certainly. There are... distinct spirits, in many ways. Some even have personalities. They can be passed on, generation to generation, father to son, to help us survive." He smiles faintly. "Those are the average furies. The Great Furies--the great spirits of the land--go a little further. Kalus, the fury of the volcano Mount Kalus, was bound for many years, and my grandfather woke him once. It was easily one of the two hardest decisions he ever made.
"Furies tend to be well-matched to their humans. Angry, vicious people will have vicious and heartless furies, no matter what shape they take. On the other hand, one of my dearest friends, Max: he manifested a lion of water, but a gentler beast when not protecting something I've never known." He pauses then, not sure whether to reveal the secret of the strength of the House of Gaius to this man he barely knows. "The greatest of the furies, though..." he says at last, slowly, "they're independent. They don't just bond with humans on instinct. They grace us with their choice. They choose the house they live with, the ones they trust with their power, to care for the land."
He waves vaguely. "The Marat worship the One, and others I've known in this Bar revere different deities of all sorts. We don't worship the furies, although anyone with sense respects them. But we swear by the great furies, because they are the land--and the land kindly allowed us to survive. It is by its grace and goodwill that Alera is what it is today." His eyes are bleak. "The land itself arose to purge a race of devourers which nearly overran us, not so long ago."
He remembers Alera Imperia before its destruction. He remembers his grandfather.
And, quite suddenly, he grins. "Honestly, we don't understand it very well ourselves--it's just how life is. Especially in the country. The land helps us survive, and we revitalize and maintain the land. Perhaps we call it crafting because we take something raw and unbridled and try to fashion a living work of art from it."
He realizes, suddenly, that he's talked a lot--but he doesn't often go into such detail on such short notice about his home and his own furies. But he sensed that emotional void--and in his experience, Alera fills herself fills that.
"Maybe one day I'll introduce you to her. The one I work with, when I need the aid."
no subject
Tavi had felt the relaxed air, the openness between them--it getting all shut off is an instant warning sign to the diplomat in him, and not for the first time he pities his mother for the years he hid his emotions from her.
"We've never called it that. The Canes--who use... certain blood rights to create and control magic--and the Marat, who have none, call it sorcery. We never have. It's not... magic, to our minds. No spells, no ritual castings. It's crafting. There are spirits in the land--wind and earth and all the rest, and they work with us. It's the only way we survived and carved out what land we have."
He leans back, sipping his wine again. "Everyone--every human, every Aleran--is born with an affinity for one or more elements. The high houses have all of them, and in incredible amounts. The country way is the way I prefer, certainly. There are... distinct spirits, in many ways. Some even have personalities. They can be passed on, generation to generation, father to son, to help us survive." He smiles faintly. "Those are the average furies. The Great Furies--the great spirits of the land--go a little further. Kalus, the fury of the volcano Mount Kalus, was bound for many years, and my grandfather woke him once. It was easily one of the two hardest decisions he ever made.
"Furies tend to be well-matched to their humans. Angry, vicious people will have vicious and heartless furies, no matter what shape they take. On the other hand, one of my dearest friends, Max: he manifested a lion of water, but a gentler beast when not protecting something I've never known." He pauses then, not sure whether to reveal the secret of the strength of the House of Gaius to this man he barely knows. "The greatest of the furies, though..." he says at last, slowly, "they're independent. They don't just bond with humans on instinct. They grace us with their choice. They choose the house they live with, the ones they trust with their power, to care for the land."
He waves vaguely. "The Marat worship the One, and others I've known in this Bar revere different deities of all sorts. We don't worship the furies, although anyone with sense respects them. But we swear by the great furies, because they are the land--and the land kindly allowed us to survive. It is by its grace and goodwill that Alera is what it is today." His eyes are bleak. "The land itself arose to purge a race of devourers which nearly overran us, not so long ago."
He remembers Alera Imperia before its destruction. He remembers his grandfather.
And, quite suddenly, he grins. "Honestly, we don't understand it very well ourselves--it's just how life is. Especially in the country. The land helps us survive, and we revitalize and maintain the land. Perhaps we call it crafting because we take something raw and unbridled and try to fashion a living work of art from it."
He realizes, suddenly, that he's talked a lot--but he doesn't often go into such detail on such short notice about his home and his own furies. But he sensed that emotional void--and in his experience, Alera fills herself fills that.
"Maybe one day I'll introduce you to her. The one I work with, when I need the aid."