“Interesting,” said Barden quietly. It was as if he were speaking to himself rather than James.

  James recognized that Barden had turned inward to his own thoughts, so he sat quietly by the fire waiting for his old master to process all he had told him. And he did tell him everything. He had no reason to withhold any part of Ethan’s story. The odd stories about him as a boy, the happenings at the school, his unique if erratic ability with the sword, the Sandpiper and lastly the ambush at the pass. Even James realized how odd it sounded as he laid it out all at once.

  “What do find the most peculiar?” asked Barden after a moment.

  “Maybe his actions at the pass,” James responded.

  “Bah! Use your gift,” Barden barked. “I could ask anyone their opinion. I want you to tell me what your gift of knowing tells you. You left my training too early and now you suffer daily from a lack of growth in your strongest gift.”

  James, chastened by his master, quieted himself and tried to practice what he had learned so many years ago. He looked again at all the events he knew of Ethan in his mind. But this time he did not focus on any particular event. Instead, he left his mind’s eye unfocussed and waited for his gift to lead him to what was most significant. After a few moments he felt his gift begin to draw his thoughts to a pattern he hadn’t seen before.

  “Anger. Anger and fear!” he exclaimed excitedly as he understood. “Each time Ethan showed his gifting, he was either angry or afraid.”

  “I believe there is more to it than anger and fear,” responded Barden. “You are discounting some of the other stories of your young student.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You assume that some of the stories you heard are just stories. What if they are all true?” Barden paused to let the question linger. He continued, “And what if you have missed some of the more subtle manifestations of his gifting?”

  “I don’t follow,” said James questioningly.

  “You have seen evidence of the gift of arms. There is no doubt about that. Several of the stranger instances look like what I know of the gift of holding.”

  “Surely you’re not serious master. You know how exceedingly rare that gift is!”

  “When I was younger, I knew a man with the same gift, and from what I’ve heard of Ethan, he shows many of the same characteristics,” answered Barden confidently.

  “If he has the gift of holding, he must immediately be brought before the king’s council,” marveled James.

  “Not so quickly, my student. There is more to consider. I agree that many of his actions have sprung from anger and fear, but if the stories are true, I see some of his actions coming from desire. How did he catch fish when no one could? Anger? Fear? Absolutely not, but because he simply wanted to. And maybe more. Maybe he wanted people to see he had value. Maybe he wanted some acceptance from his community.”

  “If the story is true,” James retorted.

  “Of course it is. You see it as well. Don’t waste your words on foolish argument,” Barden admonished. “And tell me more about the goats.”

  “The goats? What do you mean?”

  “What happened to the goats that he was sent to fetch when he was beaten?”

  “Nothing happened. They just came back to the pen.”

  “All of them? And without being chased back or captured? That doesn’t sound very goat-like to me. Did you ever think what the one sent to corral the goats would have wanted? But to see them all back in the pen. And what happened? They all returned to the pen. Another account of his gift being triggered by desire.”

  “When you put it like that,” responded James, “it makes sense. But you must be wrong to assume there was more at work than just coincidence. The gifts of arms and holding would not help the boy fetch goats.”

  “There is much you have still to learn,” asked Barden seriously. “I know you constantly scout for new gifted to bring to the school. And as a proctor there, you train students in the gift of arms. But either you lack in your understanding of the initial manifestations of gifts, or perhaps you’ve simply forgotten.”

  James pondered what his master was trying to teach him. He was not one of the proctors that worked with students in the initial identification of their gifting. If he had been, maybe he could better understand what Barden was trying to tell him.

  “Forgive my ignorance, but you are correct master,” James humbly replied. “I am not certain of what you were trying to show me. Could you please explain?”

  “I will,” Barden consented, “but first, I want you to consider your student a little further to help you understand. Think again what Jarrod told you about the boy’s carpentry. He picked things up quickly and then outperformed Jarrod himself. And his reading? Have you had another student make such dramatic gains in their ability in so short a time? To surpass his peers at the school while working as a carpenter’s apprentice and starting so much further behind them?”

  James could not fault the conclusions his master was drawing, but he struggled to understand what he was hearing.

  James said nothing. He knew what his master was implying about Ethan. He felt his mouth go dry and his mind rebel against admitting what he was considering. Instead, he remained silent, refusing to give voice to the implication of Barden.

  “Name the gifts you see at work,” prodded Barden, ever the instructor.

  James stared at the fire and said nothing.

  “Name them!” demanded Barden in a harsher tone, making James feel like an apprentice again.

  “Arms. Holding,” and here he paused, struggling to say what Barden was leading him towards. His master said nothing, patiently waiting for James to come to terms with his thoughts.

  Finally, and quietly, James continued, “crafting and calling.”

  “At least four unique gifts,” Barden confirmed and then continued, “And maybe one more. Wasn’t Ethan the first to know something was wrong at the pass? Didn’t your own gift of knowing trigger after Ethan brought it to your attention? Five gifts, my student. Five.”

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  “Are you certain master?” James questioned slowly.

  Barden paused gravely, then unable to restrain himself, laughed out loud.

  “Don't be silly James. A talented few will be strong in two of the gifts. And maybe once in a generation will someone be born that can access three of the gifts. Aside from Fargas, no other person in recorded history has ever displayed four or more of the gifts. And now you're about to faint at the prospect that your student has five?” Barden laughed again at his student’s confusion.

  “Allow an old man his amusement James,” he said grinning at his student. “If you had stayed with me and trained a little further, maybe you wouldn't be so befuddled right now. And maybe I wouldn't have spooked you with the idea of Ethan possessing five gifts. Instead, you have given me the perfect opportunity to be your teacher once again.

  “The short answer is this James, a person gifted by the Giver has the potential to manifest any of the nine gifts. However, they have an inherent strength in only one, or in rare cases two or more of the gifts. It is in these areas of strength that the gift will manifest and grow.”

  “I understand this master,” replied James, “but we see Ethan manifesting in five of the gifts.”

  “No,” answered Barden sharply. “You are seeing him struggling to manifest his gift. What you are seeing is only the precursor to his coming reality.”

  James was still confused and beginning to grow frustrated with Barden. He must not have schooled his face well because Barden held his hand up placatingly and spoke soothingly.

  “Patience James. Allow me to illustrate this principle for you. Imagine you had a waterskin filled to capacity so that no more water could fit. Now suppose that you were able to force even more water into the waterskin until it was at its bursting point. Now imagine that you were able to slowly force even more water into that waterskin. What would happen to that waterskin?”

  “The seams would give way and it would burst,” answered James very matter of fact,

  “But imagine you could slowly force the water in drop by drop. So slowly that you could watch the stitches strain at the seam to contain all the water. And before the skin burst you would witness something along the seam. You would see the stitches stretch and find water begin to drip out all along the seam and not in any one place.

  “Now hold that picture in your mind and understand this is where your student is in their gifting. The gift within Ethan is straining to come forth but it has not yet found its channel. Instead, you are witnessing his gift slowly and randomly drip out along all nine of the possible manifestations.”

  “But I’ve never seen anything like this,” protested James.

  “No one has, at least not in this measure. This is actually quite common among students before their gift fully manifests. However, these ‘drippings out’ of their unrealized gift are so weak as to be undetectable except for someone trained to watch for them.

  “Your student is unique. This evidence of his unrealized gift is so strong as to resemble fully manifested gifts. I don't know what will happen when he fully manifests his gift. He may be strong in one, two or even three of the gifts. What I do know is this, when he realizes his gift, he will be far stronger than others around him. If he manifests the gift of arms, you will not be able to compete with him.”

  James looked into the fire and though it should have warmed him, he felt cold. The homey feel of the warm cottage left him and all he felt was unease. He finally asked the question he had been wrestling with for months.

  “How do I teach him?”

  “I'm not sure that you can,” said Barden sadly. “Your gift of knowing showed you something. Each time your student struggles to manifest his gift, it flows from extreme emotional distress or desire. While I don't know what his gift may be yet, it appears it will manifest in the school of the heart. Your two gifts are in the school of the body and of the mind. I don't know if you are qualified to be his master.”

  “What do I do, master?” asked James helplessly. “I can’t abandon him.”

  “I understand what you are doing for the boy and how you are trying to help him. I commend you for it.” Barden leaned forward and gripped James by the arm firmly.

  “But the best thing you can do for the boy, may be to let him go.”

  Ethan walked slowly through the courtyard of the outpost. Though he had received training from two excellent sword masters, he had never stepped foot onto what was so clearly a training ground. Across the courtyard was an arena. The hardpacked dirt ground of the arena was testament to the many soldiers that had trained there. Beyond the arena was what looked like several narrow lanes with targets positioned at the far end. Most likely a target range for archery. And just this side of the arena, off to the right in the corner of the courtyard, was set up several training dummies, likely for practice with the sword, spear and other close-range weapons.

  Set into a sheltered alcove up against the hard rock wall of the courtyard were several racks of training weapons. Ethan approached and ran his hands over the racks of the weapons. He owned a belt knife and now a sword given to him by James, but here before him were many weapons that he had never had the opportunity to use. He could not suppress a longing to take each weapon off the rack one by one and feel the balance of it in his hands. There was something about it that called to him on a deep level.

  He set the spear he had been holding back onto the rack and turned to examine the other side of the courtyard. Off to the left of where he had entered, he saw several stout-looking wooden doors. While he did not know what was on the other side of those doors, he imagined barracks, a mess hall and maybe officers’ quarters. As he imagined life on the other side of those doors, and as he remembered the nature and character of his former master, Jarrod, he believed he could be happy and at home serving as a soldier in the king’s army. There was a brutality in the arena and the weapons, but at the same time there was a clean simplicity and a clarity to it all.

  He heard someone softly chuckle and say, “You and me both are dreaming of better days.”

  It came from the dark corner of the courtyard he had not yet examined, and Ethan turned quickly to see who had spoken to him. He then remembered the words of sergeant Reginald, or ‘just Reg.’ There was a prisoner here! His mind immediately summoned the scarred ambusher’s face in his memory and before he could stop himself, he took two stumbling steps back in fear.

  He wasn't sure if it was the glint of the iron bars of the cell or if it was the face that moved into the light behind them that began to set his beating heart at ease. Prisoner, not dangerous enemy on the loose. And the face looking back at him had no ugly scar. A soft voice disturbed him in his thoughts.

  “What's got you rattled boy? Surely I'm not a threat to you.”

  It wasn't what he said but maybe how he said it that fully put Ethan at ease. There was no mocking in that voice, only mild amusement. The accent was strange. It wasn't one he could place. Granted the only time he had ever traveled away from the village where he was raised was when he had gone to the school and then to Flagon. For the past several months of traveling with James he heard people speak in various villages along the way, but all sounded mostly the same. But here was something new, something he hadn't heard before and he didn't know what it was. The words were clear and sharp, but somehow seemed clipped like the last few letters of each word wanted to fall away. And there was a subtle lilt to the way they were said. He could imagine poets speak in a similar musical way. But he didn't feel any danger from the man, and so he walked closer to the cell.

  “I’ve never heard anyone speak with an accent like yours,” said Ethan simply.

  “If it makes any difference, you sound a bit strange to my ear as well,” the prisoner responded with a smile in his voice.

  “Where are you from?”

  “A village many weeks ride north of here,” the man responded longingly.

  “I’m not familiar with the villages in the northern parts of Esterria,” Ethan answered. “I haven’t travelled too far from the south.”

  “Well, you’d have to travel a sight further north to find my village. I’m Drumanian.”

  It suddenly came together in Ethan’s mind. Spies and assassins. The killing of the Watchers. The war with Drumania. The captive in the cell in front of him. Here before him was an enemy. If he had met this man on the open road, would it have been at the end of the sword, or from an arrow in ambush? But no, he wasn’t an enemy. He only just met this man, but Ethan was certain he was no enemy. If he met him on the road, it would have been with a friendly greeting, or a shared meal at a campfire.

  “You don’t belong here,” Ethan stated surely. The man behind the bars looked puzzled, so Ethan walked forward and said again, “You don’t belong here, as a prisoner. I don’t know why you were arrested, but you shouldn’t be in that cell.”

  As Ethan calmy and securely stepped close to hear the man’s response, he was caught off guard as the man lunged forward to grab Ethan by the front of his cloak.