Cyrus fell more than sat in the grass, the aches in his body not quite affording him his usual grace. He hated to admit it, but Harellan was, in addition to being quite the mage, a more excellent swordsman than he had any hope of being without years more practice at the very least. It made him angry, to be reduced to less than half of what he was, and be so thoroughly outmatched in what remained. Knowledge, fencing... Harellan seemed to always know the right thing to say, as well, something that Cyrus had never been good at when it mattered.
It might not have bothered him, except that for some reason he could not quite pin down, he didn't trust him, either. He never had. Something just seemed off, about his story or his claims or just him. The thought that this, too, was the work of irrational envy was not pleasant, and he preferred to think it must have some rational basis, or at least a more solid instinctive one. But he could not find it. There were no cracks. As far as anyone could see, Harellan was exactly what he claimed to be. More, obviously, but only as well rather than instead. If he'd lied about anything, Cyrus had not spotted it.
He lay back on the soft ground, discarding his swords to either side but keeping their hilts in reach, and tilted his head so he could observe Stellulam's practice. It was hard to see, what she did, at least until she lifted something improbably heavy or moved a little faster than an ordinary person should have been able to. For now, it just looked like they were warming up; Harellan was conjuring magelights and shifting their colors rapidly through the spectrum, until he expanded one and actually grabbed it in his hand, lobbing it in Estella's direction.
She didn't seem terribly surprised by this, a good indication that he'd done it before, and caught the thing on her elbow, bouncing it as though it were a ball in some sort of game. With every strike, it switched colors—green to blue to purple to red—and when she'd turned it orange, she batted it back at him, expanding it halfway between them so that it was about as large as a melon. Estella wore an easy smile, the kind that indicated just the level of trust Cyrus could not find in himself.
While the first orb flew towards Harellan, Estella conjured another, in her native bluish-violet, and tossed it in the wake of the first.
They went back and forth like this, changing either the size or the color of an increasing number of lights, until they were essentially juggling with each other. Cyrus snorted softly under his breath at the look on his sister's face—clearly Harrellan had struck upon something important here. Perhaps it was the fact that the exercise built from something so easy as to be juvenile into something surprisingly difficult, or perhaps it was because the whole thing had the feel of a game, but... Stellulam was not half as distressed as he'd seen her trying to do considerably more basic things.
The elven man himself seemed to be enjoying it just as much, wearing an almost-boyish smile to match Stellulam's, his limbs moving in efficient concert to keep all the spheres aloft. "Give us the finale?" It was a long-familiar question, clearly, spoken almost in the manner of a running joke. Cyrus's brows knit.
With a multitude of soft pops, all the spheres burst at once, showering the grassy clearing in harmless, multicolored sparks. They disappeared upon landing, winking out abruptly and without trace. Estella expelled a breath, shaking out her arms a bit and rolling her shoulders. "I think I got them all this time."
Harellan nodded sagely. "You did. A few of them were slightly late, but that's better than last time. Now. You might be wondering why I've asked Cyrus to remain today."
"It might have occurred to me to wonder," she replied, half-smiling and casting a glance at Cyrus himself. "Thought he might be better off resting, after that match."
"The truth of the matter is simple. I believe it's high time you started practicing using your magic on people besides yourself." He paused a moment, perhaps to allow that to sink in, and folded his hands together behind his back. "There is of course more to learn about what you can do with regard to yourself, and that will continue, but... parts of what you could learn here might be useful in the near future."
Cyrus understood the implications immediately, or at least he thought he did. Stellulam's magic was the enhancement of natural capacities. No doubt the vast majority of the time, she'd be using it to give already-strong people an edge. But by the same logic, it might help a weakened person function a bit better, as well.
Those same implications were clearly not lost on Estella, either. She compressed her lips with a familiar discomfort, but she did not voice any sort of protests about her readiness or ability to achieve the aim. "Okay," she said instead, all trace of humor gone from her tone. "What do I have to do?"
Harellan smiled with obvious approval, then gestured Cyrus up from his spot. With a short grunt of protest when his body proved recalcitrant, he forced himself back to his feet, picking his way over to his sister's side. Quite used to being the test subject for all sorts of new—or new to the wielder—magic, he wasn't overly worried about it in this case, either. “If you could do something about this stiffness, I wouldn't complain." He blinked, tone laconic, then shrugged.
"That would be a typical side-effect." Harellan approached the both of them, focusing his attention on Estella for a moment. "Since you're familiar with at least some level of healing, this shouldn't be as difficult as it would be otherwise. Just like in that case, you're going to want your magic to act on someone else's physical form. It's not enough to manifest the spell externally—it must be transferred in full." He tilted his chin at Cyrus to indicate him. "And even more than healing, this is a very delicate process. It does not require outright strength or force. Only precision and control. If a bolt of lightning is a command that the world obey you, this is... a request that another person's body try to see things your way."
Estella hummed. "It's just..." she paused, frowning. "You've had me meditating for so long to learn the little individual things about how my body works. But those nuances aren't going to be the same for everyone. I don't think I could ever know anyone else's systems that well." She glanced between them. "Cyrus's heart and lungs are bigger than mine, and his musculature is arranged differently. The same suggestion that would be right for me might not be the right one for him, surely." She crossed her arms over her midsection, shifting her weight to the left. "I could really mess something up if I do this wrong."
"You are absolutely right, of course." Harellan acknowledged this with his typical unruffled calm. "And indeed one application of this magic does that sort of thing on purpose, to one's opponents. I'll be teaching you that, too, eventually." Tilting his head, he made eye contact with Cyrus. "You know enough of healing to have taught a Spirit Healer, do you not?"
Cyrus scowled. He'd much rather not get into that, but he didn't intend to allow Harellan of all people to know how much it bothered him. “Enough to have gotten one started." No doubt Ethne was taking care of much of the rest, though he wouldn't have any way to know. It wasn't as though Asala spoke to him anymore.
"Then why don't you explain?"
He wasn't sure why the elf couldn't just do it, but Cyrus supposed he did have the information. “When healing spells are used in the heat of combat, or directed at multiple people at once, they're very generalized. They can succeed at crude tasks like slowing bleeding or what-have-you, but they are nowhere near as effective as more concentrated, individualized spells, regardless of the amount of power poured into them." He shrugged. “But with the right spells more appropriately focused, in a situation where the healer can understand and assess individual wounds, greater specificity and effectiveness are traded off for the concentration and magic required." He knew she'd see the analogy. Stellulam had never thought enough of her own aptitude for figuring things out.
"So it's an inverse relationship," she said, nodding with the realization. "My suggestions to myself are very specific, but to others they have to be more general, and will be somewhat less effective. Especially if I don't know anything about the person's physical condition or I'm trying to use this on more than one individual." She looked to Harellan for confirmation.
"Precisely." He very nearly beamed at her, pleased with the answer. "Of course, the more you happen to know about someone else's physical quirks, the better your magic will work on them—that's what those diagnostic spells I taught you are for. Resting heart rate, the capacity of their lungs... all of it is useful information for you." Quite a lot to keep track of to be sure, and likely impossible to remember about even a group as small as the Irregulars, but it was something.
"More general observations wouldn't hurt, either. Knowing that your friend Khari, for example, likes to build momentum with her whole body when she swings is helpful, because it's different from how a more planted fighter operates, and the same adjustments will be much more helpful for one than the other." His smile softened. "It's a science as much as an art. So... putting it all together, how about trying to tailor a spell to Cyrus here? You know how he moves and fights, you have your diagnostics to help you with any details you need, and you have the time and energy to concentrate on it. Let's see what you can do."
It was a bit of a stop-and-go process, but Stellulam's natural caution meant that nothing disastrous resulted, at least. It wasn't until about two hours later, however, that anything of particular note happened.
Almost all at once, something clicked. From his hand, which his sister was holding, a sort of strange numbness spread, washing over him like a wave in a warm ocean. It was followed swiftly by a short burst of pin-and-needle prickles along his skin, but when that subsided, so too did the lingering pain he was in. "I think... I think that was it," Estella cracked her eyes open and looked up to meet his. "Does it feel right to you?"
Experimentally, Cyrus flexed his hand, finding that it responded to his mental command almost too quickly, like the gap between thought and action, normally a matter of fractions of a second, had halved. Carefully, he released his hold on Stellulam and stepped away.
He was immediately glad for the extra caution, because his step was longer than he'd intended it to be, and in practice more like a short hop than anything. Both his feet cleared the ground by a few inches more than he'd meant them to, and he felt almost disoriented when he settled again. “I'm not sure if it's supposed to be like this or if it needs some adjustments." More aware of the issue this time, he crossed to where his practice swords lay in the grass and picked one of them up, giving it a slow, experimental swing. It felt... smooth, powerful. Almost like...
It was almost like having his own magic again, something humming just under his skin, making him more than he was. It didn't respond to his will, though—it had already been directed, and however seamlessly she'd managed to integrate hers with him, it was still only a loan. Cyrus closed his eyes, something unnameable welling up into his throat, bittersweet and tinged with an envy he did not want. Should not be feeling, for his own sister.
Instead of dwelling on it, he moved through a few more tests, finding that the additional strength the spell had granted him was considerable. It, in turn, allowed him to move faster, though he had to be careful about it. Still, the adjustment wasn't as difficult as he'd anticipated. “You're definitely going to want to practice this with people you might use it on. It takes some getting used to."
Estella, who'd been anxiously watching him move about, nodded at once. "Of course. But it's not hurting or anything, right?"
Cyrus shook his head. It was the opposite of painful; he had to clamp down on the rush of it, actually, though whether anyone else would experience it in quite the same way, he couldn't possibly say.
She let out a relieved breath. "Okay. Then... I think I'm going to let it go. I'll try to do it gradually, but let me know when you're ready, Cy."
He settled himself, making sure both feet were firm on the ground and solid, then nodded at her. Slowly, the giddy feeling of sheer capability left him, the aches flowing back in in its wake, though he thought they weren't quite as bad as before. When the last bit of it fell away, he staggered, catching himself just before he fell over, a wave of dizziness making it difficult to hold his balance.
A hand on his shoulder steadied him; when his vision resolved, he found himself looking at Harellan's concerned expression. Grimacing, Cyrus stepped out from under his grip, shaking his head to clear the last vestiges of vertigo from it. “That release is going to need some work. You were fine until the end, though."
"You were." Harellan didn't comment upon Cyrus's behavior, instead folding his hand back to grip with his other again and turning his eyes upon Stellulam. "You're really quite extraordinary, Estella."
Her lips parted as if she were about to protest, but in the end she just ducked her head for a moment. "Thank you," she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet the elf's again. "Uncle."
Harellan's brows arched in obvious surprise at the exact same moment Cyrus felt his stomach sink. He fought to keep his face neutral even as the other man's broke into a wide smile.
"You're most welcome, lethallan."
It might not have bothered him, except that for some reason he could not quite pin down, he didn't trust him, either. He never had. Something just seemed off, about his story or his claims or just him. The thought that this, too, was the work of irrational envy was not pleasant, and he preferred to think it must have some rational basis, or at least a more solid instinctive one. But he could not find it. There were no cracks. As far as anyone could see, Harellan was exactly what he claimed to be. More, obviously, but only as well rather than instead. If he'd lied about anything, Cyrus had not spotted it.
He lay back on the soft ground, discarding his swords to either side but keeping their hilts in reach, and tilted his head so he could observe Stellulam's practice. It was hard to see, what she did, at least until she lifted something improbably heavy or moved a little faster than an ordinary person should have been able to. For now, it just looked like they were warming up; Harellan was conjuring magelights and shifting their colors rapidly through the spectrum, until he expanded one and actually grabbed it in his hand, lobbing it in Estella's direction.
She didn't seem terribly surprised by this, a good indication that he'd done it before, and caught the thing on her elbow, bouncing it as though it were a ball in some sort of game. With every strike, it switched colors—green to blue to purple to red—and when she'd turned it orange, she batted it back at him, expanding it halfway between them so that it was about as large as a melon. Estella wore an easy smile, the kind that indicated just the level of trust Cyrus could not find in himself.
While the first orb flew towards Harellan, Estella conjured another, in her native bluish-violet, and tossed it in the wake of the first.
They went back and forth like this, changing either the size or the color of an increasing number of lights, until they were essentially juggling with each other. Cyrus snorted softly under his breath at the look on his sister's face—clearly Harrellan had struck upon something important here. Perhaps it was the fact that the exercise built from something so easy as to be juvenile into something surprisingly difficult, or perhaps it was because the whole thing had the feel of a game, but... Stellulam was not half as distressed as he'd seen her trying to do considerably more basic things.
The elven man himself seemed to be enjoying it just as much, wearing an almost-boyish smile to match Stellulam's, his limbs moving in efficient concert to keep all the spheres aloft. "Give us the finale?" It was a long-familiar question, clearly, spoken almost in the manner of a running joke. Cyrus's brows knit.
With a multitude of soft pops, all the spheres burst at once, showering the grassy clearing in harmless, multicolored sparks. They disappeared upon landing, winking out abruptly and without trace. Estella expelled a breath, shaking out her arms a bit and rolling her shoulders. "I think I got them all this time."
Harellan nodded sagely. "You did. A few of them were slightly late, but that's better than last time. Now. You might be wondering why I've asked Cyrus to remain today."
"It might have occurred to me to wonder," she replied, half-smiling and casting a glance at Cyrus himself. "Thought he might be better off resting, after that match."
"The truth of the matter is simple. I believe it's high time you started practicing using your magic on people besides yourself." He paused a moment, perhaps to allow that to sink in, and folded his hands together behind his back. "There is of course more to learn about what you can do with regard to yourself, and that will continue, but... parts of what you could learn here might be useful in the near future."
Cyrus understood the implications immediately, or at least he thought he did. Stellulam's magic was the enhancement of natural capacities. No doubt the vast majority of the time, she'd be using it to give already-strong people an edge. But by the same logic, it might help a weakened person function a bit better, as well.
Those same implications were clearly not lost on Estella, either. She compressed her lips with a familiar discomfort, but she did not voice any sort of protests about her readiness or ability to achieve the aim. "Okay," she said instead, all trace of humor gone from her tone. "What do I have to do?"
Harellan smiled with obvious approval, then gestured Cyrus up from his spot. With a short grunt of protest when his body proved recalcitrant, he forced himself back to his feet, picking his way over to his sister's side. Quite used to being the test subject for all sorts of new—or new to the wielder—magic, he wasn't overly worried about it in this case, either. “If you could do something about this stiffness, I wouldn't complain." He blinked, tone laconic, then shrugged.
"That would be a typical side-effect." Harellan approached the both of them, focusing his attention on Estella for a moment. "Since you're familiar with at least some level of healing, this shouldn't be as difficult as it would be otherwise. Just like in that case, you're going to want your magic to act on someone else's physical form. It's not enough to manifest the spell externally—it must be transferred in full." He tilted his chin at Cyrus to indicate him. "And even more than healing, this is a very delicate process. It does not require outright strength or force. Only precision and control. If a bolt of lightning is a command that the world obey you, this is... a request that another person's body try to see things your way."
Estella hummed. "It's just..." she paused, frowning. "You've had me meditating for so long to learn the little individual things about how my body works. But those nuances aren't going to be the same for everyone. I don't think I could ever know anyone else's systems that well." She glanced between them. "Cyrus's heart and lungs are bigger than mine, and his musculature is arranged differently. The same suggestion that would be right for me might not be the right one for him, surely." She crossed her arms over her midsection, shifting her weight to the left. "I could really mess something up if I do this wrong."
"You are absolutely right, of course." Harellan acknowledged this with his typical unruffled calm. "And indeed one application of this magic does that sort of thing on purpose, to one's opponents. I'll be teaching you that, too, eventually." Tilting his head, he made eye contact with Cyrus. "You know enough of healing to have taught a Spirit Healer, do you not?"
Cyrus scowled. He'd much rather not get into that, but he didn't intend to allow Harellan of all people to know how much it bothered him. “Enough to have gotten one started." No doubt Ethne was taking care of much of the rest, though he wouldn't have any way to know. It wasn't as though Asala spoke to him anymore.
"Then why don't you explain?"
He wasn't sure why the elf couldn't just do it, but Cyrus supposed he did have the information. “When healing spells are used in the heat of combat, or directed at multiple people at once, they're very generalized. They can succeed at crude tasks like slowing bleeding or what-have-you, but they are nowhere near as effective as more concentrated, individualized spells, regardless of the amount of power poured into them." He shrugged. “But with the right spells more appropriately focused, in a situation where the healer can understand and assess individual wounds, greater specificity and effectiveness are traded off for the concentration and magic required." He knew she'd see the analogy. Stellulam had never thought enough of her own aptitude for figuring things out.
"So it's an inverse relationship," she said, nodding with the realization. "My suggestions to myself are very specific, but to others they have to be more general, and will be somewhat less effective. Especially if I don't know anything about the person's physical condition or I'm trying to use this on more than one individual." She looked to Harellan for confirmation.
"Precisely." He very nearly beamed at her, pleased with the answer. "Of course, the more you happen to know about someone else's physical quirks, the better your magic will work on them—that's what those diagnostic spells I taught you are for. Resting heart rate, the capacity of their lungs... all of it is useful information for you." Quite a lot to keep track of to be sure, and likely impossible to remember about even a group as small as the Irregulars, but it was something.
"More general observations wouldn't hurt, either. Knowing that your friend Khari, for example, likes to build momentum with her whole body when she swings is helpful, because it's different from how a more planted fighter operates, and the same adjustments will be much more helpful for one than the other." His smile softened. "It's a science as much as an art. So... putting it all together, how about trying to tailor a spell to Cyrus here? You know how he moves and fights, you have your diagnostics to help you with any details you need, and you have the time and energy to concentrate on it. Let's see what you can do."
It was a bit of a stop-and-go process, but Stellulam's natural caution meant that nothing disastrous resulted, at least. It wasn't until about two hours later, however, that anything of particular note happened.
Almost all at once, something clicked. From his hand, which his sister was holding, a sort of strange numbness spread, washing over him like a wave in a warm ocean. It was followed swiftly by a short burst of pin-and-needle prickles along his skin, but when that subsided, so too did the lingering pain he was in. "I think... I think that was it," Estella cracked her eyes open and looked up to meet his. "Does it feel right to you?"
Experimentally, Cyrus flexed his hand, finding that it responded to his mental command almost too quickly, like the gap between thought and action, normally a matter of fractions of a second, had halved. Carefully, he released his hold on Stellulam and stepped away.
He was immediately glad for the extra caution, because his step was longer than he'd intended it to be, and in practice more like a short hop than anything. Both his feet cleared the ground by a few inches more than he'd meant them to, and he felt almost disoriented when he settled again. “I'm not sure if it's supposed to be like this or if it needs some adjustments." More aware of the issue this time, he crossed to where his practice swords lay in the grass and picked one of them up, giving it a slow, experimental swing. It felt... smooth, powerful. Almost like...
It was almost like having his own magic again, something humming just under his skin, making him more than he was. It didn't respond to his will, though—it had already been directed, and however seamlessly she'd managed to integrate hers with him, it was still only a loan. Cyrus closed his eyes, something unnameable welling up into his throat, bittersweet and tinged with an envy he did not want. Should not be feeling, for his own sister.
Instead of dwelling on it, he moved through a few more tests, finding that the additional strength the spell had granted him was considerable. It, in turn, allowed him to move faster, though he had to be careful about it. Still, the adjustment wasn't as difficult as he'd anticipated. “You're definitely going to want to practice this with people you might use it on. It takes some getting used to."
Estella, who'd been anxiously watching him move about, nodded at once. "Of course. But it's not hurting or anything, right?"
Cyrus shook his head. It was the opposite of painful; he had to clamp down on the rush of it, actually, though whether anyone else would experience it in quite the same way, he couldn't possibly say.
She let out a relieved breath. "Okay. Then... I think I'm going to let it go. I'll try to do it gradually, but let me know when you're ready, Cy."
He settled himself, making sure both feet were firm on the ground and solid, then nodded at her. Slowly, the giddy feeling of sheer capability left him, the aches flowing back in in its wake, though he thought they weren't quite as bad as before. When the last bit of it fell away, he staggered, catching himself just before he fell over, a wave of dizziness making it difficult to hold his balance.
A hand on his shoulder steadied him; when his vision resolved, he found himself looking at Harellan's concerned expression. Grimacing, Cyrus stepped out from under his grip, shaking his head to clear the last vestiges of vertigo from it. “That release is going to need some work. You were fine until the end, though."
"You were." Harellan didn't comment upon Cyrus's behavior, instead folding his hand back to grip with his other again and turning his eyes upon Stellulam. "You're really quite extraordinary, Estella."
Her lips parted as if she were about to protest, but in the end she just ducked her head for a moment. "Thank you," she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet the elf's again. "Uncle."
Harellan's brows arched in obvious surprise at the exact same moment Cyrus felt his stomach sink. He fought to keep his face neutral even as the other man's broke into a wide smile.
"You're most welcome, lethallan."