Idly, Cigen twirled his writshaft between his fingers, while the pretty Nasdrian teacher continued her long-winded explanation of energy. He hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place: the army had descended upon the Taircan village and taken away all the children below the age of ten. Cigen knew enough of the differences between Nasdria and Tairca to understand why he and the others had been taken: Nasdria possessed greater innate intelligence and reasoning skills, but Tairca possessed greater innate energy and strength that allowed them to utilize the teachings of the Nasdria. So, while the Nasdria could understand the teachings of tineira, only a Taircan could actually utilize it to any useful degree.
“Recall now that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only be converted. You cannot make energy out of thin air to fuel your tineira, therefore you must learn to convert it from elsewhere,” the teacher instructed. Cigen copied the words onto a crumpled sheet of paper, his writshaft dripping ink.
“For example, this candle. It cannot light itself on its own, though there is plenty of energy in the air. Change the air energy into a form usable by the candle, and it will then be able to light.”
Cigen nodded, though without much hope that anything would happen. Sure, he’d been able to do it before, but only under the guidance of another Taircan. The Nasdrian, Altyra y Tezr could explain as much as she liked, but would not be able to actually guide him through the actual process. Sighing, he rolled up his robe-sleeves and held a hand out to the candle as his mother had done.
“Feel the energy of the air with your mind,” she had told him, twisting her wrist as if water was flowing against it. “Feel it shifting to the energy of fire; nudge it along with your mind. You want to light the candle. Lend to it your great will, your araytaryste.”
Focusing hard, Cigen reached deep into his mind, falling into the trance he had been taught earlier until he could see the currents of energy flashing different colors and swirling about his hand like snowflakes on the wind. The predominant color was green, although when Cigen seized one, impressing his will upon it, it began to shift towards orange. Several times he faltered in his will, and it returned to green, yet he managed to keep his hold upon it.
Finally, the ribbon settled into a deep rusty-pumpkin color, and Cigen compressed it into his hand until it became a tiny spark. Then with utmost care, he brought it gently onto the candle-wick, and was rewarded with a small blossom. Slowly, it opened its petals until a tiny yellow flame bloomed and twinkled upon the candlestick.
