The Dangers of Overdrawing

Wells awoke to a splitting headache behind his eyes. He was lying on a cot beside a road barely visible in the darkness. A few trees dotted the landscape, and a small fire blazed nearby, casting flickering light on Anais, who sat beside it. Next to him, Aria’s small, still body lay unconscious.

"That's the problem with overdrawing on myran."

The voice belonged to Anais. "What?" Wells asked groggily.

"You took in too much," Anais stated. "Didn't anyone warn you about that?"

Wells tried to think. Cirus had never mentioned overdrawing, only that Aria could help him channel the magic if he struggled. "No," he said finally. "I don't think so."

Anais sighed. "That would explain your ignorance, then."

"Ignorance?" Wells fired back. "Now wait a minute—"

"No, you wait," Anais cut in, his voice sharp in the night. "You nearly got yourself killed, all because you were careless."

"Then what in the hell is overdrawing?" Wells demanded. Anais was silent for a long moment, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and the soft whinny of his horse. "Well?"

"Overdrawing killed my master," Anais said quietly. "It happens when a magician pulls too much myran into their body, more than they can handle. The magic overwhelms the body’s natural functions. When the myran is expelled, those functions don't always restart."

A cold lump formed in Wells's stomach. "You mean I almost killed myself?"

"Almost," Anais confirmed. "And you nearly took Aria with you."

Wells looked down at the motionless sparrowhawk, the one being he treasured most in this world. The thought of being responsible for her death was unbearable. "Why didn't Cirus tell me?" he asked, a hint of anger in his tone.

"I don't know. Perhaps he thought you weren't at risk so early in your training. It’s rare for a wizard at your stage to overdraw."

"Yeah, well, not many wizards accidentally tear open a void between worlds, either!" Wells snapped.

"Only your Uncle Jonas, that I know of," Anais replied calmly. "In that, you are unique. But he never overdrew."

"Obviously," Wells said curtly. "He died of natural causes." He glanced at Aria, who stirred fitfully. "Is there any way to wake her?"

"Not that I know of."

Frustrated by Anais's seeming helplessness, Wells scowled. "Fine. I don't want to move her yet, so I guess we're staying put."

"A wise decision," Anais commented, turning back to the fire that held the darkness at bay. Feeling ashamed of his outburst, Wells slowly approached the flames, now regarding them with a newfound caution.

"What happened after I blacked out?" he asked.

When Anais looked up, Wells saw for the first time the angry red burns on his face and hands. A fresh wave of guilt churned within him. "I moved you and Aria first," Anais said. "That was the priority."

"Thanks," Wells muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"It was nothing."

Like I'll believe that, Wells thought. It was anything but nothing. He forced himself to meet Anais's eyes. "Then what?"

"I contained the fire, but not before getting burned in the process." Anais held up his hands, showing the marks. "See?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Wells began, but Anais cut him off with a wave and a small smile.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I've had far worse. And you probably will, too."

"That's comforting."

"It's the truth," Anais remarked. "Being a wizard is a hazardous career."

"But you're not even a full sorcerer," Wells observed. "How would you know?"

The smile vanished from Anais’s face, replaced by a dark, shuttered expression that startled Wells. "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to offend you—"

Anais cut him off again. "You will easily surpass me one day, Wells," he said, his tone deliberately light. "But we can speak of that another time. You seem less tired than I am. Why don't you take the first watch?"

"I—okay," Wells mumbled, the shame coiling in his gut. Anais walked to the pallet Wells had just vacated and was asleep in minutes, leaving Wells alone with his thoughts. The perfect way to thank the man who just saved my life.

An hour later, as he was tracing a ship-like constellation in the sky, Aria woke with a confused flutter of wings. She flew to the ground and then hopped over to Wells. "What happened?" she demanded.

Wells gave her a brief, embarrassed explanation. When he finished, she leaned forward and gave his hand a stinging peck. "Ow!" he yelled. "What was that for?"

"For being a fool!" she snapped.

"I didn't see you stopping me when I said I wanted to try," he grumbled, wiping away a smear of blood.

"I told you to stop!"

"No, you just looked at me! You know that's not enough."

Aria opened her beak to retort, then closed it. "You still should have known better."

"Look, I've only been here a few weeks," Wells said, his patience fraying. "You've been studying magic for fifty years!"

"Kithara magic is different," she said. "We aren't like—"

Wells sighed, dropping the argument. "I don't want to fight. I have enough on my mind after insulting Anais." He stared into the flames, the image of Anais’s burned hands seared into his memory. "Why do you think he reacted like that?"

"Well, it was certainly tactless of you," Aria replied, settling on his outstretched arm.

"Thanks, you're a great comfort," Wells said drily.

"I'm just saying what you already know," she retorted, flying from his arm to a nearby tree branch. "If you're going to be cranky, I'm going to sleep. Don't wake me until morning."

Wells sulked, tossing a stick into the fire and sending a shower of sparks into the air. He spent most of the night in silence, alone with his thoughts, until the sound of hooves on the road interrupted his vigil. A lone horseman saw the camp and dismounted.

"Hail, friend," the man said. He was dressed in the style of Tor Alian, but with an orange tunic bearing a coat of arms. A simple gold circlet rested on his brow, and as he drew closer, Wells saw he was only a few years older than himself.

"Hello," Wells replied clumsily.

"Might I ask for food and drink?" the man inquired. "I've been on the road all night with a long journey still ahead."

"Oh, sure," Wells said, retrieving a spare wineskin and some cold, paper-wrapped chicken from Situs's satchel. "It's cold, but it's the best I can do."

The man smiled. "Thank you, but I can cook it myself." He held the chicken in his left hand, and it began to sizzle as if roasted over a fire. "Magic can be quite useful."

"You're a wizard?" Wells asked.

The man nodded, taking a bite. "I see you are, too."

"Yeah, but I've only just started my training," Wells admitted.

The man laughed. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen," Wells said. "Nearly sixteen."

"Ah, that explains it," the man replied. "I was nearly finished with my training at fifteen. Who is your master?"

"Cirus Crewe."

The man’s eyebrows shot up. "The famous Cirus Crewe is taking apprentices again? Haelen told me Cirus swore he'd never train another after they had a falling out."

"You know the king?" Wells asked, startled.

"He's my cousin," the man stated. "My name is Roan. My father is Lord Dorien of Halia." He smiled. "My full title is much more complicated."

"Where are you headed?"

"Tor Alian, to speak with Haelen on a pressing matter," Roan said, finishing the chicken and tossing the bones into the fire. "I thank you for your hospitality, friend. I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Wells Barlow."

Roan did a double-take, his face a mask of shock. He sank back down as if his knees had given out. "Wells Barlow?" he repeated, his voice trembling slightly. When Wells nodded, unnerved, Roan continued. "I haven't heard that family name since the time of Jonas Baker. Are you related to him?"

"He was my uncle," Wells replied, and quickly explained how he came to possess the Ring of Hope and ended up in Remira.

"It is a lucky day for this world that Jonas Baker's kinsman has come to us," Roan said. "Shortly before I was born, he single-handedly saved Halia from the grip of a warlock."

"Really?" Wells asked. "Well, I'm glad my uncle could help your city."

Roan smiled and nodded, then glanced at the horizon, now tinged with pink. "It was a pleasure meeting the nephew of one of Remira’s greatest wizards. I hope we meet again."

"Likewise," Wells said, watching as Roan mounted his horse and galloped into the dawn.