Skies by Kevin L. Nielsen Page B

with supplies and materials to build for decades. Deaths are common on plantations, so they were always in need of new slaves to replace ones they lost. I think Nikanor just sent the slaves he said had died to live up here and then requested new ones. No one even questioned it.”
    Gavin scratched at his beard and frowned as he considered it. Slavery in this form was a new concept for him, but it seemed a little too grand a scale to have simply been sneaking a few out of a field or two.
    “How many of these worked Nikanor’s plantation?”
    “At least a few thousand.”
    “There’s three times that number here,” Gavin protested.
    Samsin raised his hands and shrugged.
    “You seem rather complacent for someone about to die ,” Gavin said.
    “Complacent?”
    “Calm.”
    “It is simply another step along the Path. I will be reborn. Maybe this time I will rise to the next Iteration.”
    Gavin gave a small half-groan. There was simply too much he didn’t fully understand.
    “You came here for a reason, though. What is it?” Samsin’s voice held only mild curiosity, though he raised one eyebrow speculatively.
    Gavin opened his mouth and then closed it, trying to decide. Samsin was right of course. He’d felt compelled to come here even if he didn’t fully understand what had driven him. His mind did that to him sometimes, forcing him to do things before fully formed thoughts could come together.
    “I was out walking tonight,” Gavin said slowly, sifting through the thoughts in his mind and coming to the slow realization of why he was there, “and I was stopped by some of Brisson’s people. They startled me and I reached out for my powers and . . .” Gavin let his voice trail off, realizing how foolish he sounded.
    “And it didn’t work for you,” Samsin prompted, sitting up. He grinned. “I thought that might happen. I felt the massive wells of energy in the Sharani Arena. It was there, hidden deep in the sands.”
    Gavin frowned.
    “You draw the energy into you, even you primitive mystics. You can’t use what isn’t there.”
    “What do you mean, isn’t there?”
    Samsin leapt to his feet and rushed toward the bars. Gavin took a quick step back as Samsin grabbed onto the door’s bars and pressed his face up against them.
    “How did your people survive for so long with so little real knowledge?” Samsin asked, studying Gavin intently. “Energy is the result of movement, the product of motion. Without motion, there is no energy. You can feel it in the storm, sense it on the wind, in the clouds crashing into one another. There is little motion here, outside of the storms.”
    Gavin frowned, a hint of understanding dawning. “But in the desert, the sands were constantly shifting. That’s motion.”
    Samsin’s lips formed a thin line. “That was my theory. It was that, or the immense systems of weather magic in the air. Not that it matters anymore. Still, it has been a long time since I felt that much power.”
    Gavin felt dread spread through him like the tingling chill of frostbite. If his powers didn’t work, if none of the mystic powers worked like they had in the Sharani Desert, how were they going to hold any advantage at all within Brisson’s people? It was the only bargaining tool they had. Without it . . .
    “What do you do about it? You can’t only have powers any time there’s a storm.”
    “I won’t tell the secrets of a Great One to a mystic,” Samsin said, white blonde eyebrows forming a bright cloud over his eyes. “Not even at the threshold of death or the gates to the seven hells.”
    Samsin stepped back from the bars and turned back to his kneeling position, ignoring Gavin completely, even when Gavin tried to say something.
    Eventually, Gavin left. He stumbled out into the night, pulling his cloak fast around his shoulders. He felt more than a little helpless. Everything he’d worked for in the Oasis was now gone and the very identity of his people was threatened.