Valentin sat cross-legged on the classroom floor, trying to think about nothing. Certainly not the glorious spring day outside, or the fact that it was nearly time for dinner, or how he'd almost rather be doing laundry again because at least then he'd be getting something done. The Asha'man sitting likewise on the floor facing him seemed to be possessed of inhuman patience, though, and simply wouldn't hear of it when Valentin told him out wasn't working.
“It'll take time,” Jaren Marle simply said with a smile. “You'll get it eventually.”
“I'm not so sure,” Valentin muttered sourly.
“Well, I am,” the Asha’man replied, and though his voice was kind and gentle, there was an unyielding quality to it that told Valentin he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. “Alright, let’s try this again. Picture the flame…”
* * *
But no amount of imagining the flame in his mind seemed to do anything. Weeks passed, spring turned to summer. Owen had been happily channelling for a while already, and though the other boy never made a big deal of it, Valentin couldn’t help but feel that he was lagging behind.
Asha’man Jaren was sympathetic when he figured out why Valentin was increasingly short on temper during the lessons. “You’re far from the slowest student we’ve had,” he assured Valentin, but the words offered little comfort.
I don’t care, Valentin wanted to shout, I just want to feel like I’m making some progress! But shouting at an Asha’man wasn’ going to help and he managed to take a deep breath and speak calmly instead, “I’ve read about these blocks you say I may have.”
The Asha’man looked up with a curious expression. “Oh?”
“A block means there’s a condition to being able to access the Source,” Valentin went on, reciting from memory. “An emotion or an accessory or a person, something that needs to be present. If that thing is present, a blocked channeller should be able to touch the Power like anyone else.” He paused there, but Jaren simply nodded, waiting for him to continue. “The one confirmed occasion I’ve channelled before involved Trollocs…”
“No.” The answer was immediate, still gentle but very, very firm.
“But--”
Jaren shook his head, golden curls swinging with the movement. “No, Valentin. We’re not taking a Soldier to the Blight just to test your theory of a block.”
“But why not?” Valentin asked, hearing and hating the plaintive note that crept into his voice. “I’ve been to the Blight before it ever occurred to anyone that I could channel! Give me a real sword and I won’t need to channel!”
“I’m sorry, Valentin.” And to his credit, the Asha’man did sound like he meant it. “That’s not how we do things around here. Not because I doubt your ability with the sword,” he went on, entirely too reasonable, “but because we simply don’t place students in danger if we can avoid it.”
Danger? Valentin had been riding with his uncle’s soldiers to patrol the Blightborder for years already. He’d fought in numerous skirmishes, tracked and ambushed and fled from Shadowspawn when circumstances so dictated, all without a whisper of saidin. And now he was being told that the Grey Tower wouldn’t place him in danger to let him unlock his ability. The helpless frustration made him want to scream, or throw something, but he couldn’t, and to his utter mortification he could feel his eyes stinging--
And then there was… something. A light, radiant like the sun but freezing, and suddenly he could see everything with almost painful clarity; the clouds in the sky outside the window, the spider on the wall across the room, the summer-sky-blue in his teacher’s eyes as the look of surprise turned into a satisfied smile.
“Alright,” Jaren said softly, calmly, “you’re now holding saidin. I told you you’d get it eventually. Right now though I’m going to need you to release it, and then we’ll try again, with just a trickle to start with…”
The torrent of saidin trying to pull him under was simultaneously the most terrifying and wonderful thing Valentin had ever felt. He felt alive on a level he’d never even imagined, and it made him want more somehow, as much as he could draw… And then it was gone, like somebody had shuttered the sun itself, and he was left blinking in confusion at a Jaren whose face had an uncharacteristically serious cast.
“That,” the Asha’man said, “could have been dangerous.” He flashed a quick smile, but his voice was unamused. “I had to shield you before anything could go wrong. That’s why control is important.”
“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose,” Valentin replied, but he was a little shaken by the experience. Shaken, and disappointed. It appeared that to access saidin he just had to feel helpless and frustrated nearly to the point of tears. How bloody humiliating was that?
“I know.” Then the smile returned, with all its natural warmth, and there was a spark of humour in the blue eyes as he went on, “But it looks like won’t need Trollocs after all, hey?”
Frankly, Valentin would rather have had the Trollocs.
* * *
More time passed, and no matter what they tried, Valentin couldn’t seem to grasp the Source until he was at the point of wanting to give up. He did learn more control, and they had fairly productive lessons in terms of channelling, but as soon as the sense of accomplishment began to overshadow the frustration of the block, saidin was gone again like dust in the wind.
On the upside, if it could be called that, reaching that point of frustration became easier as any real progress failed to happen. He once joked about it to his teacher, but for some reason Jaren didn’t seem to think it was amusing. After that, the pace of the lessons changed again; instead of letting him continue to take advantage of his frustration with the block, the Asha’man made him wait until he was calm again.
And finally, one day, Valentin had had enough. Maybe it was because he’d spent all morning up to his elbows in greasy dishwater; maybe it was all the time he’d wasted already when he could have been working towards the Sword pin; maybe it was simply his Borderlander temperament getting the better of him finally. When Jaren looked like he was going to tell him to release the Source again, Valentin cut him off before he could speak.
“No,” he said heatedly, “I won’t release the bloody Source!” A part of him realised that arguing against an Asha’man on such a matter was unlikely to end well for him, but something just… snapped and in that moment he didn’t care if he spent the rest of his days doing penance for his outburst. The anger made everything come into focus in a way he’d never felt before, it made him want to draw more saidin to emphasise his words, but some remnant of common sense kicked in and he didn’t… but he didn’t release the Power, either.
“I don’t want to stop here!” he went on. “I don’t want to go back to my chores at the end of the lesson without as much as trying a new weave because you won’t let me channel when I can actually do it! I don’t want to calm down! I don’t want to keep flaming meditating when everyone else is making real progress! You may as soon just send me back to Kandor, because I’m never going to be Asha’man at this rate!”
He stared at the Asha’man defiantly, though his heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel his anger evaporating under Jaren’s steady gaze. And then…
The Asha’man smiled. “Alright. Before you start packing your bags, however, tell me… How are you feeling?”
Valentin blinked. “How do you think I’m feel--” He trailed off mid word when he realised what Jaren actually meant. He felt… alright, he felt a little embarrassed at losing his temper, and still very much annoyed at the situation as a whole if not quite angry anymore, but the helpless, hopeless frustration that had been the only thing enabling him to channel before wasn’t there. And he was still holding saidin. “Huh,” he said eloquently.
“Indeed,” Jaren replied, still smiling. “Let’s keep going for a while longer, just to make sure you’ve got this… And then you can report to the Master of Soldiers. You did just disobey your teacher in a channelling class. That could have been dangerous.”
Of course he was right. But right now Valentin didn’t care all too much; if this meant an extra shift or two in the laundry room, it would have been worth it.
“It'll take time,” Jaren Marle simply said with a smile. “You'll get it eventually.”
“I'm not so sure,” Valentin muttered sourly.
“Well, I am,” the Asha’man replied, and though his voice was kind and gentle, there was an unyielding quality to it that told Valentin he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. “Alright, let’s try this again. Picture the flame…”
* * *
But no amount of imagining the flame in his mind seemed to do anything. Weeks passed, spring turned to summer. Owen had been happily channelling for a while already, and though the other boy never made a big deal of it, Valentin couldn’t help but feel that he was lagging behind.
Asha’man Jaren was sympathetic when he figured out why Valentin was increasingly short on temper during the lessons. “You’re far from the slowest student we’ve had,” he assured Valentin, but the words offered little comfort.
I don’t care, Valentin wanted to shout, I just want to feel like I’m making some progress! But shouting at an Asha’man wasn’ going to help and he managed to take a deep breath and speak calmly instead, “I’ve read about these blocks you say I may have.”
The Asha’man looked up with a curious expression. “Oh?”
“A block means there’s a condition to being able to access the Source,” Valentin went on, reciting from memory. “An emotion or an accessory or a person, something that needs to be present. If that thing is present, a blocked channeller should be able to touch the Power like anyone else.” He paused there, but Jaren simply nodded, waiting for him to continue. “The one confirmed occasion I’ve channelled before involved Trollocs…”
“No.” The answer was immediate, still gentle but very, very firm.
“But--”
Jaren shook his head, golden curls swinging with the movement. “No, Valentin. We’re not taking a Soldier to the Blight just to test your theory of a block.”
“But why not?” Valentin asked, hearing and hating the plaintive note that crept into his voice. “I’ve been to the Blight before it ever occurred to anyone that I could channel! Give me a real sword and I won’t need to channel!”
“I’m sorry, Valentin.” And to his credit, the Asha’man did sound like he meant it. “That’s not how we do things around here. Not because I doubt your ability with the sword,” he went on, entirely too reasonable, “but because we simply don’t place students in danger if we can avoid it.”
Danger? Valentin had been riding with his uncle’s soldiers to patrol the Blightborder for years already. He’d fought in numerous skirmishes, tracked and ambushed and fled from Shadowspawn when circumstances so dictated, all without a whisper of saidin. And now he was being told that the Grey Tower wouldn’t place him in danger to let him unlock his ability. The helpless frustration made him want to scream, or throw something, but he couldn’t, and to his utter mortification he could feel his eyes stinging--
And then there was… something. A light, radiant like the sun but freezing, and suddenly he could see everything with almost painful clarity; the clouds in the sky outside the window, the spider on the wall across the room, the summer-sky-blue in his teacher’s eyes as the look of surprise turned into a satisfied smile.
“Alright,” Jaren said softly, calmly, “you’re now holding saidin. I told you you’d get it eventually. Right now though I’m going to need you to release it, and then we’ll try again, with just a trickle to start with…”
The torrent of saidin trying to pull him under was simultaneously the most terrifying and wonderful thing Valentin had ever felt. He felt alive on a level he’d never even imagined, and it made him want more somehow, as much as he could draw… And then it was gone, like somebody had shuttered the sun itself, and he was left blinking in confusion at a Jaren whose face had an uncharacteristically serious cast.
“That,” the Asha’man said, “could have been dangerous.” He flashed a quick smile, but his voice was unamused. “I had to shield you before anything could go wrong. That’s why control is important.”
“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose,” Valentin replied, but he was a little shaken by the experience. Shaken, and disappointed. It appeared that to access saidin he just had to feel helpless and frustrated nearly to the point of tears. How bloody humiliating was that?
“I know.” Then the smile returned, with all its natural warmth, and there was a spark of humour in the blue eyes as he went on, “But it looks like won’t need Trollocs after all, hey?”
Frankly, Valentin would rather have had the Trollocs.
* * *
More time passed, and no matter what they tried, Valentin couldn’t seem to grasp the Source until he was at the point of wanting to give up. He did learn more control, and they had fairly productive lessons in terms of channelling, but as soon as the sense of accomplishment began to overshadow the frustration of the block, saidin was gone again like dust in the wind.
On the upside, if it could be called that, reaching that point of frustration became easier as any real progress failed to happen. He once joked about it to his teacher, but for some reason Jaren didn’t seem to think it was amusing. After that, the pace of the lessons changed again; instead of letting him continue to take advantage of his frustration with the block, the Asha’man made him wait until he was calm again.
And finally, one day, Valentin had had enough. Maybe it was because he’d spent all morning up to his elbows in greasy dishwater; maybe it was all the time he’d wasted already when he could have been working towards the Sword pin; maybe it was simply his Borderlander temperament getting the better of him finally. When Jaren looked like he was going to tell him to release the Source again, Valentin cut him off before he could speak.
“No,” he said heatedly, “I won’t release the bloody Source!” A part of him realised that arguing against an Asha’man on such a matter was unlikely to end well for him, but something just… snapped and in that moment he didn’t care if he spent the rest of his days doing penance for his outburst. The anger made everything come into focus in a way he’d never felt before, it made him want to draw more saidin to emphasise his words, but some remnant of common sense kicked in and he didn’t… but he didn’t release the Power, either.
“I don’t want to stop here!” he went on. “I don’t want to go back to my chores at the end of the lesson without as much as trying a new weave because you won’t let me channel when I can actually do it! I don’t want to calm down! I don’t want to keep flaming meditating when everyone else is making real progress! You may as soon just send me back to Kandor, because I’m never going to be Asha’man at this rate!”
He stared at the Asha’man defiantly, though his heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel his anger evaporating under Jaren’s steady gaze. And then…
The Asha’man smiled. “Alright. Before you start packing your bags, however, tell me… How are you feeling?”
Valentin blinked. “How do you think I’m feel--” He trailed off mid word when he realised what Jaren actually meant. He felt… alright, he felt a little embarrassed at losing his temper, and still very much annoyed at the situation as a whole if not quite angry anymore, but the helpless, hopeless frustration that had been the only thing enabling him to channel before wasn’t there. And he was still holding saidin. “Huh,” he said eloquently.
“Indeed,” Jaren replied, still smiling. “Let’s keep going for a while longer, just to make sure you’ve got this… And then you can report to the Master of Soldiers. You did just disobey your teacher in a channelling class. That could have been dangerous.”
Of course he was right. But right now Valentin didn’t care all too much; if this meant an extra shift or two in the laundry room, it would have been worth it.