TREEHOUSE

  Why He’s the Master

  The moment Skye awoke, he leaped from his bed as if it were ablaze. He darted to the door and raced down the wooden steps Master Ku had shaped from protruding branches. The living room was empty, as were the kitchen and all the unlocked rooms, so he headed outside.

  At the door, he paused, squinting against the brightness until his eyes adjusted. He strode hastily into the meadow, where the dew-drenched grass sparkled like scattered jewels under sunlight. Wildflowers of every hue dotted the field, their blooms alive with bees and butterflies. Skirting the massive treehouse, he finally spotted the master’s garden.

  It stretched across the meadow, enclosed by elm saplings whose intertwined branches formed a living fence. Their leafy crowns arched inward, weaving a canopy that cast dappled shadows over the garden, mimicking a natural greenhouse.

  Seated by a wooden table in the shade just outside the garden’s edge, Master Ku sipped tea from a simple cup. Plates of olives, bread, honey, cheese, and jam lay before him.

  “Skye!” Rico chirped, dropping his peach and bounding toward Skye. “Are you rested now? Do you want to go hunt in the forest today? Oh, oh, or go fishing?” His tail wagged so furiously, Skye feared it’d break.

  Something fluttered overhead. Above, Luccello perched on a low-hanging branch, expression stern as ever. “He’s here to train, not to play.”

  Rico drooped his head, groaning in disappointment.

  Skye rubbed Rico’s feathery head. “Sorry, Rico; he’s right. I’m running short on time.”

  A few steps from the master, the memory of last night’s ghost returned, and he paused. He could hear its cries, see the man’s pained expression. The same fate would befall him someday. He’d considered it throughout the night and decided he didn’t mind the experience. If it meant someone could remember their shared history, he’d pay this price gladly.

  Pushing the thought aside, he smiled and stepped closer, settling on the soft grass across from the master. He could barely contain his excitement. He’d finally learn how to channel; he’d have power to wield against the traitorous wardens.

  “Good morning, Master. I’ve been thinking about what denomination of magic I should start with, and I have a plan. This morning, we should focus on learning how to breathe fire, then in the afternoon, we’ll switch to windriding so I could fly. In the evening, if I’m not so tired, I want to learn how to control lightning. Otherwise, we can save it for tomorrow with the other elements. Green Eve is looming close, and I have to make time for my return trip. I’ll have about ten days to train before I leave for Kastrala. How many elements can I learn during this time?”

  Master Ku popped an olive into his mouth, crushing the seed with his strong, white teeth. He chuckled as he listened. “Sounds like your night would have been better spent sleeping.”

  Skye blinked. “What? Why?”

  Luccello fluttered down, landing on Ku’s shoulder. “Learning how to control a single element takes months of practice; mastering it takes years from a dedicated channeler. Pursuing multiple denominations at once is like tossing every ingredient in your kitchen into a pot and calling it a meal. It’s a mess, and no one’s eating it.”

  Master Ku raised a finger. “One denomination. I can teach you the basics of one element of your choosing. Otherwise, we’d be wasting our time.”

  Skye’s shoulders sagged, his earlier excitement dimmed. He knew it’d be hard, but he’d hoped the greatest teacher in all of the Dunya might have some mythical method. No matter. If one denomination at a time was the way, then he’d conquer them one by one.

  “What is magic?” Master Ku asked.

  Skye frowned. The question was simple, but the answer eluded him. He’d read countless books on magic, fantasia, and channeling, each offering a different perspective. Yet, sitting here before the master, his knowledge unraveled into a tangled mess.

  He reached for a piece of bread, smearing it with cheese and jam as he pondered. “Magic is when you… umm, control the elements,” he said at last. “It’s the process of converting fantasia into real-life effects.”

  “That’s channeling,” Luccello said.

  “What do you know about the different orders of channelers?” Master Ku asked.

  Skye swallowed. “A lot. I’ve read much about them, but every author seems to have their own categories and classifications. It’s confusing.”

  “Let’s focus on the basics.”

  “The basics, right… The most common order is the elementalists.”

  Luccello scoffed. “Maybe in your city.”

  “Let him speak, Luccello,” Master Ku said calmly. “Please continue.”

  Skye cleared his throat. “Elementalists. Then there are mentalists, naturalists, etherealists, specialists, and um….”

  Master Ku raised a hand. “That’s enough for now. Are you familiar with what each order entails?”

  “Their names are pretty self-explanatory,” Skye replied with a shrug. “Elementalists control elements, like metalsmiths, tidebreakers, sandsurfers… Mentalists are different; their channelers usually control multiple denominations at once. For example, someone might be a mindmanipulator, a foreseer, and an animator all at once. But I’ve always wondered why specialized animators who only control one element aren’t considered elementalists.”

  “That’s a good question,” Master Ku said, though he offered no answer, instead popping another olive into his mouth.

  Skye pressed on. “Naturalists control living matter. Greenfingers and fleshmasters are the most well-known orders. Rico and I are fleshmasters, and you’re a greenfingers. Right, master?”

  “Go on.”

  Skye took a hasty sip of tea and winced as it burned his tongue. “Luccello and Ka’ib are etherealists, being a luminary and a shadowcaster, respectively. I’ll admit, this order confuses me the most. For instance, why aren’t shadowcasters considered tenebraries? Aren’t shadows just a form of darkness?”

  “You can’t describe magic technically,” Luccello said sharply. “It’s not a machine.”

  “What do you know about specialists?” Master Ku asked.

  “Specialists don’t fit into the other categories. That’s what most scholars agree on. They have the craziest powers, like connectors and summoners. But there are useless ones too, like… bubbleblowers.” Skye cringed at the word, remembering the terror he’d felt when he held the last crystal at the academy. He grimaced, shaking it off.

  Master Ku nodded as he finished his tea. “Specialists are indeed the most remarkable. Not for their strength, but for their versatility and uniqueness.”

  Skye leaned forward in excitement. “Pairi’s a specialist, right? Each specialist has rules that govern their abilities. I’ve tried to figure out how his powers work, but I can’t.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We are all specialists in our ways,” Ku said, rising and brushing crumbs from his robes. “Except Luccello, he’s a pure luminary.”

  Skye scratched his head, forgetting his hands were sticky with honey. “How come?”

  “Follow me,” Ku said, striding toward the garden, followed by the birds.

  Skye crammed the last bites of cheese, bread, and cucumber into his mouth and chased after Master Ku. A gap in the saplings’ intertwined branches formed the entrance to the garden.

  When he passed through, the sheer immensity of the scene before him left him paralyzed. It was illogical. From the inside, the elms forming the greenhouse were several times taller than the treehouse. But when he stepped back outside, the same saplings were only twice his height.

  “So strange,” he whispered, rushing forward again.

  The master’s garden was better described as a jungle. Endless rows of flowers, shrubs, and towering trees stretched as far as he could see. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above, dappling everything in golden flakes of light.

  The plants were extraordinary in their variety and otherworldliness. Skye passed a pot of white flowers crackling with electricity, then red-leafed sunflowers that burned like living torches. A cluster of brown mushrooms hummed a soft tune, and he ducked just in time to avoid a flock of lilies drifting by, encased in floating orbs of water.

  A tree with a twisted trunk caught his eye, its crystalline leaves glinting on branches made fully of faint light. Something slapped him on the back as he walked distracted. When he turned, a leafless sapling pushed him off its sprawling roots, then wagged its stubby twigs in what looked like a rude gesture.

  “Sorry!” he muttered, hurrying away.

  A massive banyan tree loomed at the corner, with dangling eyes for fruit. They glared at him with unnerving intensity until he collided with the master’s hard shell.

  “What’s this place?” he asked in wonder.

  “You should lead with an apology,” Luccello admonished with a scowl, dusting off the master’s robe with a light napkin.

  “This is my modest garden,” Master Ku said with a faint smile. “You’re safe here. As long as you follow close.”

  “U-understood,” Skye stammered, edging behind the master to escape the banyan’s gaze. It felt as though the void-spawned tree wanted to kill him with its look.

  Seemed like it could do it too.

  Master Ku picked up a pair of small scissors and began trimming the needle-like leaves of a bonsai tree. It giggled as he worked, seemingly tickled.

  “Magic is the impossible made manifest. It is that which cannot be defined,” Master Ku said as he worked. “We may witness it, facilitate it, control it even. But we cannot understand it. Otherwise, we’d call it science or technology.” From his cane, he withdrew a slender green wand and waved it gently, coaxing a new branch into growth. “Why do you think most channelers are elementalists?”

  “That’s how it’s always been in Troqua,” Skye replied. It was common knowledge.

  “Do you think it’s the same at Luccello’s home?”

  Skye frowned in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’d guess his family has other luminaries, but I couldn’t say about everyone in his city—or forest. Jungle? Marsh? Where were you born, Luccello?”

  “I hatched in a city, thank you very much,” Luccello said bitterly. “And it’s far grander than your little hole in the ground. Most everyone there are luminaries.”

  Skye clapped. “Oh, so the most common denomination varies by place! Is that because of heredity?”

  “That’s one reason,” Ku said, leaning over the bonsai, shaping it into a miniature copy of the banyan. “What do you think of my garden?”

  “It’s fascinating! How did you find all these plants? Is there a market for magical seeds?”

  The master chuckled. “Not quite. These fantastical flora are gathered from all over the Dunya. You’d never find them naturally coexisting in one place. Do you have such plants in Troqua?”

  “No, only crystals,” Skye replied, then his eyes widened. “We don’t have enough astra in Troqua to test different denominations. That’s why most channelers there are elementalists!”

  Master Ku nodded approvingly, and Luccello fluttered to Skye’s shoulder, patting his head. “Good boy,” the white ruff said.

  “You’ve identified the most important orders,” Ku said. “But why do they exist? Why do we divide channelers into orders and denominations?”

  Skye tilted his head in thought. “Because it’s easier to understand? It helps train new channelers and choose the right astra, I guess.”

  “Precisely,” the master said, putting some final touches on the bonsai. “These categories don’t exist in reality. We invent them in our effort to understand magic. To systemize it. It’s an attempt to take the magic out of magic. Now, what’s the difference between mentalists and elementalists?”

  Skye tapped his lip, searching his memory. “Both need fantasia and astra to channel, but elementalists use their whole bodies, while mentalists rely on their brains alone.” His face lit up with realization. “Is that why specialized animators aren’t considered elementalists?”

  “Correct,” Ku said, gesturing for a passing water lily to approach. It hovered over the bonsai, scattering droplets like rain. “Each type of elementalist uses different parts of their bodies to channel. Training these parts requires time and effort, which is why we must focus on learning one element only.”

  Skye nodded in understanding. “Master, what are your powers?” he asked, watching the tiny tree perk up under the shower. “I know you cast spells that turn people into spirits after they die, and you also grow plants like a greenfingers. Are you a dual channeler?”

  “The master has only one power,” Luccello said. “Same as you.”

  “Which is it?” Skye asked, sidestepping to avoid the dripping lily as it drifted away.

  “Guess,” Ku replied, walking further into the garden.

  Skye hurried after him. “Is your cane an asterism that gives greenfingers abilities?”

  “No.”

  “Are you using some fantastical flora that has a mind of its own?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Is there another bird hidden inside the cane?”

  Ku laughed. “It’d be cruel to confine someone in such a tight space, don’t you think?”

  Skye threw his hands. “I give up. I haven’t a clue how your powers work.”

  “How unfortunate that you’ll never know.”

  “You won’t tell me? Aren’t you supposed to teach me?”

  “I am teaching you how to think. Tell me, what have you seen me do, and why?”

  Skye sighed, reflecting on yesterday’s events. “What do you need the spirits for?”

  “An excellent question,” Ku said, pausing by a withered tree. He waved his wand, and the tree began to revitalize, its trunk straightening and leaves unfurling. “Try to answer it.”

  Skye frowned, remembering what happened last night—the vault, the orbs, the spirits… “Wait!” he exclaimed. “You can use the simulacra’s powers!”

  Ku’s lips curved into a smile. “Seems I’ve picked a rather sharp pupil.”

  “That’s why you’re a prism like me! All those orbs… How many spirits do you have? Can you use all their powers at once?”

  “Hah! Don’t expect the master to share all his secrets,” Luccello exclaimed, flying to his master’s shoulder.

  Ku finished rejuvenating the tree, patting its trunk as it bowed in thanks. “Secrets are a channeler’s armor. The more you have, the more strikes you may survive.”

  Skye nodded in agreement. “What about Pairi, Rico, and Ka’ib? How are they specialists?”

  “The truths of their powers are theirs to share, if they wish,” Ku said.

  Skye turned to ask Rico, only to notice for the first time that the cockatoo was missing. Before he could question it, a loud noise erupted from behind.

  “Master! I’ve found them all!” Rico yelled, swooping down in a gust of wind. With his talon, he handed a small pouch to the master, who thanked him.

  “What did I miss?” Rico asked, his chest heaving. “What were you talking about? Can you repeat everything?”

  “We were about to begin,” Master Ku replied, retrieving seeds from the pouch and inspecting them. “This way.”

  Rico hopped alongside Skye. “Have you decided which element you’ll learn?”

  “Not yet,” Skye replied. He’d always assumed the choice would be made for him, never considering he’d need to choose. “It’s so hard to pick.”

  “Would a demonstration help?” Master Ku asked. Luccello waved his wings, summoning giant hands of light to array a group of dirt-filled pots.

  “Yes! Please!”

  “I can give the demonstration!” Rico suggested eagerly.

  “Not while my wings flap!” Luccello cut in. “We don’t want to tear the boy’s arms off or burn his face. Teaching demands grace.”

  Rico slumped, his tail still. “I am graceful.”

  “I thought your power was fleshmastery?” Skye asked, puzzled. “That you can enlarge your body.”

  “It is, but also so much more,” Rico replied, regaining some of his energy. “I’m actually a trained elementalist.”

  “A terrible, lazy elementalist, you mean,” Luccello quipped, deflating Rico’s mood again.

  Master Ku buried a seed in each pot’s soil, patting the surface lightly. “What are the disadvantages of your power?”

  Patting Rico’s head consolingly, Skye took a moment before realizing the question was meant for him. “There aren’t any! I can do anything, as long as I have the right astrum.”

  Luccello huffed in derision. “Didn’t you say there was a channeling academy in your city?”

  Skye shrugged. “There are multiple.”

  “How many years do students spend there?” the bird asked.

  Skye hesitated, dread forming in his stomach. “So… I’ll never learn all the different magics?”

  “That’s right,” Luccello stated flatly. “If you dedicate your entire life to it, never take breaks, and avoid all responsibilities, you might learn four elements. Five if you push yourself to the brink.”

  “What?!” Skye shouted. “But you said I’m a prism!”

  “Yes, but being a prism doesn’t mean you skip learning,” Luccello replied. “Also, we know you’re an omni-elementalist, but there’s no guarantee you have access to every specialist skill.”

  Skye staggered back, feeling the surrounding trees lean above him, about to fall.

  “How many times have I warned you not to celebrate too early?” Redeyes asked, emerging from nowhere.

  “You can learn as many skills as you’d like,” Ku said, stilling Skye’s spiraling thoughts. “Sample each, then master the ones you enjoy. And remember, there’s more to life than channeling.”

  Skye nodded resolutely. That was good enough for him. He wanted to experience all the elements, not become the best at everything.

  “How many denominations of fantasia can you practice, master?” he asked.

  “All but few specialist skills.”

  “Then why are you telling me I can’t do it?”

  The master smiled. “Because I’ve had centuries to train.”

  Skye’s jaw slackened with astonishment. He watched as the master made circular movements with his wand, summoning a green sprout from one of the pots. It grew rapidly into a flowering bush with midnight-blue leaves and celeste orchids.

  “How old are you?” Skye managed.

  “Hmmm,” the master mused, plucking two orchids. “The memory escapes me.” He passed a flower to Skye, its petals dripping with dew. “These are Millia’s Tears, incredibly powerful and exceedingly rare. Don’t merge with it yet. Just observe.”