Not all nature hath given is worthy of trust,
the instincts of body are animalistic urges,
these care not for light, mind, or spirit will,
and err toward a primitive world that was,
yes endure we must to walk worthy paths,
yet a tainted soul is for the voids sure gain,
commit not the nature fickle flesh to spirit.
– The Path of Ascension, Saint Taurien, circa 10 B.E.
Jovan 1st, 645 E.R.
“The Empire Reconciliation began in the year thirty-four of the reign of first Emperor Corinth,” Kiannae read, and then frowned. “Though Corinth is said to have resisted putting such emphasis on the year of his ascension, it was ultimately…”
“We’ve covered this,” Katrisha protested.
Moriel turned a bit tersely, but then hesitated. He marched up to the desk the twins were sitting at, flipped through a few pages, checked the cover, and shook his head.
“My apologies, I seem to have crossed up lesson plans with the young prince,” he said, and walked the book back across the room.
“But we covered that a year ago,” Kiannae said a bit incredulously.
“He’s older,” Katrisha added, and rubbed a sore shoulder from morning training with Horence. She had fallen rather hard on it when Kiannae had swept her leg.
Moriel tapped his finger along the spines of several books, pulled one out, and set it before the girls. “Yes, he is.” There was no particular tone with it, nor an expression that hinted at humor. Kiannae nonetheless started to laugh, but stopped at a stern glance.
“Katrisha, please begin,” Moriel said when he was satisfied they had both calmed themselves.
She opened the book, turned a few pages, and pursed her lips.
“Perceiving Magic,” she began.
The underlying organism appears to have e-volved in abstract of the gift, and acquired it later. Further this is reinforced in the individual by the gradual growth of aura, leading into adolescence and adulthood.
“Evolved?” Kiannae asked curiously.
“Hmm,” Moriel considered the two. “Perhaps we should have begun instead with Cadius’ Comparative Species.” He shook his head. “We’ll get to that later. Laurel thought this one would be good for you when I showed it to him. In short, evolution is the manner in which the creatures of the world – people included – have changed over time by inheritance, mutation, intentions of the world, dire instincts, and mortal intervention. Though the distribution of these effects, and mechanisms are sometimes in debate.”
“How the Sylvans are part cat?” Katrisha asked, and brushed the tip of her ear thoughtfully.
“Or the eastern ones part wolf,” Kiannae corrected.
“That would fit into mortal intervention in all likelihood,” Moriel nodded. “Though it causes all manner of problems. Shaper magic to our knowledge was not refined enough for such a task till at least the middle empire, but the Sylvans were as they are long before the Magi. Perhaps something more akin to the instinctual changes of dire creatures.” He seemed thoughtful a moment.
“I’m not dire,” Kiannae said crossing her arms, and staring up at their tutor.
Moriel perked a brow, and leaned over the table, peering over his glasses in an almost comical manner, even if his expression remained its usual neutral. “Aren’t you? I think I’ve heard some tales that imply a few youth of the court might disagree.”
“I think that was me,” Katrisha said jumping to her sister’s defense, and with very little sheepishness about it.
“As if they can tell you two apart,” Moriel waved dismissively, and stood up straight again. “A dire creature is at the heart little more than gifted are. Yet instincts in an animal seem liable to shape them in ways mortals are – at least typically – not. Still, there are exceptions. Mostly shaper magic such as changed Roshana, and the other dragons. But some with profound gifts not trained as mages do become larger, more muscular. The legends refer to Osier, first king of the nation that still bears his name, to have been more giant than man. A warrior who should have been counted among the shaman, but was refused.”
“That’s how Osyrae got its name?” Kiannae asked curiously, it had never come up before.
“Yes,” Moriel nodded. “Much the same way that the nation – later Empire – of Corinthia came to be named such. Formerly it was Anderhale, named for another line of kings. In Osyrae, and perhaps the whole world, Osier was the first king. That land though had no other name as a united people. I’m sure the vale people referred to them all as Nords at some point, though I am aware of no clear written record of it. Nord of course derived from the old vale speak nor, or North. Much as Nohlend…”
“So was Avrale conquered by someone named Ave then?” Katrisha interrupted dubiously, not having realized Moriel was going to continue after a momentary pause.
“No.” Moriel sighed. “We are off topic,” he said as the interruption allowed him to consider he was rambling. He glanced at the twins, and saw they seemed determined. He marched up to the blackboard, and tapped the chalk thoughtfully.
“Words, Names, Titles, Language itself is much like the organisms of the world. Changing, adapting, mutating over time,” he began. He scrawled four letters quickly on the board, ‘Cwen.’ He underlined this, and turned back towards the girls. “Writing was in a primitive form when the Magi left ancient Osyrae, but after the things they experienced the preservation of knowledge was critical to them.” He turned back, and wrote ‘Maji’ and drew an arrow to ‘Magi.’
“So the spelling changed?” Katrisha asked.
“And the pronunciation,” Moriel said with a nod. “The original form is believed to have sounded more like maz-i. It meant, ‘teacher,’ or perhaps ‘teacher of peace.’ In all the great irony that gives us. It changed further you might know, to refer to those they taught, and became mage.”
“What is, C-wen,” Kiannae sounded out, and then the look on her face almost implied she got it.
“Seems you have a guess,” Moriel said shrewdly.
“Queen?” Kiannae offered.
“In one,” Moriel said encouragingly. “In the original form it meant woman, or possibly more like the honorific Lady. We owe the original connotation to Navi, who declared herself Cwen of Every Vale, though it is most often translated as She of Every Vale, or Lady of Every Vale. We owe then the modern queen to Napir, and the influence of the Storm Queen, who took up the word, liking the implication of female rule. There is some semantic debate if Navi or Ashai the Storm Queen of the day would be the first true queen. The line of the Storm is older, but their role is more Empress than queen, but the word in its modern form comes from the land.”
Moriel shook his head. As in instructor he hated questions he had not predicted, not because he did not know the answer, but because he sometimes struggled not to ramble on with too much more. A natural affliction perhaps from having spent too many years buried in books. With his eyes as they were, his face a bit more buried than most.
“So is king just man in the end?” Katrisha asked dubiously.
“A reasonable guess,” Moriel offered, “but no. It is related to kin, or kon in the original Osyrean. The g was added to the end implying a sort of ownership, or possession, being above kin.” He turned, and wrote two more words on the board. “Notably it sounded more like Kon-ing, than Kong, as one might expect to pronounce it. In some irony kin’s original meaning was ‘to birth,’ or ‘to spring forth.’”
Kiannae laughed. “So both King and Queen come from feminine meanings?”
“In a matter of speaking,” Moriel offered in an indecisive tone. He could sometimes be a hard man to read, with his somewhat pudgy face that always looked oddly jovial, even if his thin lipped expression rarely varied to either humor or displeasure. He did have moments he cracked to an impish smile, but they were rare, even when it did seem he was joking.
“So,” Katrisha started with a pause, “Cwen was the title taken by Navi, Cwen of Every Vale, and like the song Every Vale became Avrale with time?” she guessed with less than certainty.
“Precisely,” Moriel nodded. “Sorry, this happens when one doesn’t set out to follow a lesson plan.” He turned back to the board, and again scrawled out some letters. “Avr Vrael is the best record we have of the ancient words used in the title. Though as Avr meant all, in a context of the land, and all of the land was vales it was somewhat redundant. How exactly it shortened to Avrale over time is less well understood, but it is surmised that the two ‘vr’s merged.”
He considered his two pupils a moment. “I will be glad to prepare lessons on comparative linguistics, and evolution if they are of interest, but let us return to the prepared topic for the day.” He pointed to Kiannae.
She shifted the book, and tried to pick up where her sister left off.
As such the mind and nerves do not develop a direct method of understanding these energies they can later perceive. The result is a form of syn-es-the-sia. Eliciting texture, smell, taste, warm and cold, and perhaps most notably visual or rarely auditory phenomena that are not gathered by the eyes or ears.
“Synesthesia?” Kiannae asked curiously.
“It is much as the text implies, a conflation of one sense with another. If you have ever noticed what seems like light when rubbing your eyes, this is at least related. Injury, disease, and other causes do sometimes impart more widespread crossing of senses. You each could speak to the fact better, but this text implies that your perceptions of gift, aura, and magic are thus.”
Kiannae pursed her lips, and resumed reading aloud.
To this end tuning out the direct stimuli and focusing on those intruding on a sense helps to better observe auras. For example, unfocused vision, or even closing your eyes can be of use. Unfocused vision is the preference as closing one’s eyes can confuse, and remove visual cues that help anchor perceptions in our grasp of depth.
On the whole physical sensations are more reliable because – ironically – the confusion of stimuli is deeper to the point of making it hard to tell what comes from the gift, or from touch. At the root all such perceptions are the influence of auras on our own, and by consequence our peripheral nerves which is their primary source.
“We already know this,” Kiannae protested.
“Do you?” Moriel pressed.
Katrisha frowned. “I think perhaps more we know some of it. I’ve heard of nerves, they let us feel things, but I didn’t know they were the source of our auras.” She held up her hand, trying to look deeper, but she wasn’t sure if she could make out anything new. She grabbed her sister’s to a small sound of protest, and tried again. She just shook her head.
“Why don’t you continue reading, Miss Katrisha,” Moriel suggested.
She shifted the book, and found her place.
This connection is one aspect of the strength of gestures in performing gifted practices. Gesture itself carries kinetic energy, and intention, forming symbolic linkages with the power of the primordial mind. Though with this said, keep in mind that gesture is easily more crutch than boon, and can be deeply limiting if relied upon too heavily.
Magic is ultimately an abstract process, unlike the more primitive applications of conjuration and channeling. With practice one can form spells around themselves without any motion at all. With further practice more primitive offensive spells can be directed with gesture, while the conscious mind focuses on the more arcane areas of defense.
“That does seem more useful,” Kiannae admitted.
“I would surmise,” Moriel said with a thin sort of humor. Having no experience in the matter himself, it had proven an interesting read when trying to better understand the girls he was expected to help teach. Getting the twins to accept he had something worthwhile to teach them, was often enough of a challenge to give him a touch of pride when he got through.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Harfast 32nd, 645 E.R.
Katrisha kissed Wren on the forehead, and then helped him up to Renae’s waiting arms on the horse. “I hope you two will visit again soon, it had been too long since the last time,” Katrisha said, as Renae settled Wren behind her.
“Yes, of course,” Renae said with a smile, “Perhaps you could come visit the Cloister as well, it’s very pretty there this time of year.”
“I fear Laurel is still far to cross with us to let us off castle grounds,” Kiannae said dismissively. In truth she was quite sure the tensions with Arlen would also play some role in insuring that was not an option.
“Rightly so, it sounds as though you two were being very reckless,” Renae said disapprovingly.
“Yes,” Katrisha said sheepishly, “anyway, take care of yourselves.”
“You too,” Wren said as Renae urged the horse to turn.
“I will try and arrange to be here in the spring, but I can never be sure,” Renae said as she started the horse out the castle gate.
“I’ll miss you Wren,” Katrisha yelled as she waved, and turned to her sister who seemed cross. “What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment of silence.
“Nothing,” Kiannae grumbled, and turned to climb the stairs to the upper court.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Katrisha was startled when Kiannae slammed their chamber door in her face before she could enter. She opened the door slowly, and watched as Kiannae finished marching across the room to the window, where she leaned on the seat, and stared out at the valley below.
“Ok,” Katrisha said taking a breath, now a bit cross herself, “what is bothering you already?”
“Nothing,” Kiannae muttered.
“That’s obviously not true, you’ve been stewing on something all day. This isn’t because I finally beat you in a spar this morning, is it?” Katrisha walked over and put her hand on her sister’s shoulder, but the gesture was shrugged off.
Katrisha was not really sure how to take Kiannae’s behavior, they had each seen the other angry countless times, but Katrisha couldn’t think of an instance where her sister had ever been unwilling to talk to her. Katrisha frowned, and started to walk towards the bed, intending to flop down in frustration. If it was really about the spar, she was going to be very cross, after all the times Kiannae had beaten her, and teased her for it.
“Why do you like him so much?” Kiannae demanded just as Katrisha reached the foot of the bed.
“What?” Katrisha said honestly confused, and turned back. It was so far afield of her expectations it took her a moment to even begin to put a who to the implication.
“Wren,” Kiannae said angrily, “why do you love Wren so much?”
“He’s our brother!” Katrisha snapped tersely, and marched back towards Kiannae.
“He’s weird,” Kiannae said uneasily.
“One to talk Ki,” Katrisha said scrunching up her face angrily.
“It’s true,” Kiannae said shrugging off Katrisha’s attempt at levity, and turned to her angrily. “And whenever he’s here, you pay more attention to him than me.”
“Because he’s here so rarely, and you are always here,” Katrisha countered defensively. “He’s your brother too,” she added.
“I’m not like him,” Kiannae said narrowing her eyes, and clenching her fist, “I didn’t kill mother.”
“Don’t say that,” Katrisha snapped back angrily, balling up both fists.
“If it wasn’t for him mother would be alive,” Kiannae insisted flatly.
“That wasn’t Wren’s fault,” Katrisha protested, and started her sister square in the eye, half remembering something, the oddest horrible little thing. She had asked for a little brother, she remembered that suddenly. She had forgotten. She wasn’t sure why she had asked – she hadn’t been sure why at the time. It nagged at her like something important, like a voice in a dream that had planted the idea. Did that make it her fault she half wondered? Had she asked for Wren…why had she?
“It’s still true,” Kiannae said stubbornly.
“I said not to say that,” Katrisha demanded fiercely, stepping up on her sister, “you know how he feels about it.”
“Is he here,” Kiannae gestured around, and sneered. “What does it matter, I can speak the truth when the little killer isn’t here.”
“You don’t even remember mother,” Katrisha growled, “you don’t even listen when Wren talks.”
“What do I care what he has to say?” Kiannae said turning away furious, but Katrisha grabbed her shoulder, and made her turn back to face her.
“I remember mother sometimes when I talk with Wren, when he tries to sing,” Katrisha said in a pained tone, almost crying. Her mother’s smile intruded on her memory, her wrapping her arms around their father, and asking what he thought of the idea. He hadn’t objected. Katrisha’s nails were digging into her own palm. She was so angry, but she wasn’t even entirely sure who with. It was a jumble of sorrow and rage out of proportion with sense.
“That’s because he stole her soul,” Kiannae growled, and wrested fiercely free of Katrisha’s grasp.
“Don’t say that,” Katrisha said tearfully – not sure if she was defending Wren, herself, or both of them. She pushed her sister hard enough to stagger her. There was a clap like thunder, and Katrisha found herself thrown across the room, and dazed. She wasn’t even thinking at that point, her sister had attacked her, had thrown her clear across the room. She didn’t even quite realize she had stopped herself from hitting the wall, or just how hard she had been thrown. Something snapped in her, some foreign instinct took hold, and she struck, struck before she had even stopped herself from hitting the wall…struck almost before she had even been thrown.
There was a moment of frozen horror on both sister’s faces as they realized what had happened, as they both realized what they had done. A shard of razor sharp ice the size of Katrisha’s arm hung inches from Kiannae’s left shoulder, and was thrown forcefully to the floor where it shattered, and sizzled. Both looked unsteadily to the door where Laurel stood, a hand out stretched, an expression stricken with complete horror, shock, disbelief, and rage on his face. His own hand slowly curled into a fist.
“Why!?” was all Laurel seemed to be able to yell, panting from the adrenaline of the moment as it caught up to him. Even the instinct that he had spun on, even the sound that had nearly rattled their chamber door from its hinges. He had reacted before it had happened, and his ears were ringing.
Kiannae nudged a frozen shard with her sandal. Katrisha tried to look at her sister, but couldn’t meet her gaze. She couldn’t fathom what had just occurred, what she had just done. She didn’t even remember doing it completely. It had been a gesture at most, one half caused by the blow itself as the air was forced from her lungs. That was what the book had said, one could learn to do simple offensive spells with a gesture, but she had not learned to do any such thing. Yet as much as she could not understand how she had done it, as much as no thought or intent had time to enter into it, it was hard to feel it was an accident.
Kiannae hesitantly started to walk towards Katrisha, and gave a hurt glance to Laurel as he stepped towards them, prepared to intercede. Kiannae held her hand out to her sister where she was leaned against the wall. At first Katrisha didn’t notice, and continued looking anywhere but at Kiannae.
After a moment Katrisha managed to bring herself to glance at her sister, and at the hand that was offered to her. Hesitantly Katrisha took hold of her sister’s hand, and was helped to her feet. Kiannae slowly stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around her twin, who stood there impassively.
“I can’t believe…” Katrisha said hauntedly.
“I…” Kiannae started meekly, “I felt it too, I could have…”
“You…” Katrisha stepped back, and looked her in the eye incredulously. “I…I nearly…”
“I threw you hard, really…I…I…” Kiannae stammered starting to cry.
“No,” Laurel commanded agitatedly. “No, no! You two do not get to break down into tears before you tell me what in the abyss just happened! Both of you, too my study,” he growled. “Now!” he snapped when the two simply stared at him with injured expressions. He still seemed short of breath.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Laurel stood, rubbing his head tiredly, and looked again at the two identical girls, who stood silently before him, holding the other’s hands tightly. Not the image of two children who had just nearly killed one another in a violent outburst. He looked at them more closely, they weren’t quite identical he noticed, Katrisha was slightly paler than her sister, and it was beginning to make her freckles stand out more. It was subtle, hard to notice, probably no more than Kiannae favoring getting more sun, but there it was, nonetheless. It was the first time he had ever noticed such a distinct physical difference between them.
Laurel sighed after the uncomfortable silence had dragged on for too long. The two girls accounts of their conflict had been equally sheepish, and strikingly similar – each had accepted blame without question for striking out at the other. Kiannae had struck first, neither had challenged this, though Katrisha had vehemently insisted that the force she had been thrown with was not significant. Laurel knew Katrisha was wrong, he had felt the magic, and the shockwave. It had shaken their chamber door nearly free of it’s hinges beside him. Had he not been there at that exact moment…
He closed his eyes, and steadied is rage, at that moment directed as much at himself, as the girls. He had been concerned when he had heard of a splintered staff that morning in the girl’s spar. Horence had insisted it had just been cracked before hand. Laurel had an instinct it wasn’t. Horence had previously reported that Kiannae seemed to be the naturally better fighter, always keeping Katrisha on her guard, but that he found it curious, that the harder Kiannae pushed, the better Katrisha seemed. The staff had splintered at the moment Horence had been about to step in because it was getting out of hand.
Katrisha had taken the force of the blow, and brought the other end of her staff around so fast that even parried the blow followed through, and struck Kiannae hard enough on the shoulder to leave a bruise that she had spent an hour healing. It was possible Katrisha herself had swung too hard, almost likely, but if Laurel did the math, with Horence’s description, the short to high leverage, force enough to have splintered a staff one one end, and break the attacker’s own block on the other…
“I am doubling your time with Horence,” Laurel said almost dispassionately, still in shock. He had stopped Katrisha’s attack milliseconds short of catastrophic consequences. He had managed that only because of the same instincts he knew in his gut had caused it. The terror of the incident had left a mark on him he had not yet allowed himself time to fully process, distracted with far more intellectual ramifications. “What you have told me…” he held a moment, calmed, changed his tone, and rethought his words. “What Horence has told me of your training leaves me with almost no doubt. You have the instincts of battle mages – and as much as it displeases me, I know what must be done.”
“What?” Kiannae asked uneasily.
“What happened between you two today…was not wholly your own faults,” Laurel said in a reserved tone. “Though you will bear the responsibility of learning to control these instincts, as well as it seems, your tempers. And as much it rattles every parental instinct I have come to harbor, as a mage I know that the only way to train you to control this, is to fully train you in combat magic.”
Laurel watched the small, confused, and almost excited glance between the girls. “And to be clear,” he said with agitation, “I will work you so hard, as to leave no question this is a punishment.”
“Yes,” Katrisha said in a small voice. Kiannae simply looked down again.
“As I said,” Laurel sighed, changing his tone again. “This is not entirely your fault. I fear I may have stirred these…’gifts’…through your training with Horence. They would have emerged eventually, but…” he shook his head. “You will also need to resolve your conflict over your brother,” he said focusing squarely on Kiannae. “I believe the escalation you experienced fed on itself presciently, and only the shock of the outcome startled you two out of the cycle. I can only hope by learning to control it, that this kind of emotional feedback will not occur again. Failing that, some form of meditation may be necessary.”
Laurel ran his fingers through his hair. “As to the subject of your conflict, I can not tell you what to feel,” he said still focusing on Kiannae. “Only that I do not hold Wren responsible for your mother’s fate. There is a great deal of blame to go around for what occurred, but no singular person can bear responsibility for the end result. Do not throw away a sibling, who from all my dealings with him is a wonderful, promising boy, over something he had no choice in.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Styver 1st, 645 E.R.
Wren slowed his quick gate, and his sobbing trailed off as he took stock of where he stood. The wood beyond the north wall of the cloister contained a large clearing. Wren had known it was there on some level, the cemetery was not a secret, just rarely spoken of. Death was inevitable, even if great gifts could stave it off for a time. The many gravestones arrayed in ordered rows before Wren stood as a reminder that even that was not forever.
The number was striking, given the history lessons ingrained upon children of the order from a young age. The cloister was only a few hundred years old, and had not stood at the time of the great war. The dead that lay in that hallowed ground had passed in the simple course of time. The eldest of the founding sisters and brothers came first, and then the younger members of the first generation in due course.
The weathering of the stones lessened towards the back, and Wren plopped down near a gravestone, and with a puzzled look reached out his hand to touch it. He traced the name Somavera as hasty footsteps cracked twigs entering the clearing behind him.
“Are you alright?” Celia asked in a consoling tone.
“No,” Wren said plainly. “I’m not right at all. He’s right about that, I’m a monster.”
Celia ran up behind Wren, dropped to her knees, and hugged him tightly. “Stop saying that,” she demanded.
“If I didn’t say it, it would still be true,” Wren choked out.
“It’s not true at all,” Celia said as a chill wind blew across the clearing, and made her shiver.
It was growing darker, the sun long out of view behind the trees, and the mountain range to the west beginning to shadow Highvale from what was left of the evening sun. A few flickers of light began to dot the edge of the woods. Celia scrunched her face with some concern, she’d never seen such a peculiar occurrence. The lights danced ever so slightly, slowly swirling about each other in graceful arcs.
Another set of footsteps could be heard crunching leaves, and slowly entering the clearing behind the pair. Celia turned to see Audry transfixed by the sight.
“They are like fireflies,” Audry said in a curious tone, “but they aren’t, are they?” They were too large, and many much too blue in color.
“What are they then?” Celia asked confused.
“Wisps,” Wren said looking up almost irritably at the display before him.
“That sounds about right,” Audry said with an air of false authority. “I remember now, a kind of elemental, right?”
A group of the wisps grew closer together, swirling about above one of the graves near Audry, and then quite suddenly scattered as a shimmering form appeared, and looked around as though confused. Audry fell over backwards in shock, and Celia clung tightly to Wren who seemed expressionless as he stared at the new arrival.
This unnerving process repeated three more times, lastly right next to Wren and Celia. She grabbed Wren’s hand, and pulled him off balance as she scurried away, but lost her grip. Wren struggled to sit back upright, and simply looked up at the glowing white figure above him. The ghost knelt down, and looked at him curiously.
“I’m Wren,” he said, as though answering some unheard question. “No,” Wren said in a correcting tone, “Renae is not my mother, but I call her such.”
The ghost cocked its head to the side curiously, and looked up as an angry voice called out from the thin strip of wood between the clearing, and cloister. “Audry?” Andrew called out irritably. “Why won’t you listen?” he demanded. “He’s evil I tell you,” he implored as he stepped into the clearing, and found his sister on the ground before him, and ghosts milling aimlessly.
Andrew had never seen a ghost before, and without much hesitation he grabbed Audry’s arm, and pulled her to her feet. He tried to drag her with him from the clearing, but she shook his grip free, and stared at him defiantly. There was a touch of fear in her eyes nonetheless.
“This isn’t right,” Andrew said sternly. “This shouldn’t be happening!”
“What do you know?” Audry growled.
“I read it,” Andrew insisted, “ghosts are rare, very rare.”
“Since when do you read?” Audry cut back, all eyes, living and dead upon the brother and sister arguing.
“I read,” Andrew cut back.
“You certainly don’t read your assignments for class,” Audry sneered.
“Cause that’s boring,” Andrew muttered, “but this…this isn’t right. Let’s get out of here, and away from the little soul eater.”
“Wren is not a soul eater,” Audry snapped, and pushed her brother who almost fell over.
“He’s not just a soul eater, he’s a necromancer,” Andrew yelled, grabbed his sister’s arm forcefully, and tried to pull her from the clearing.
“Wren didn’t do this,” Celia said, uncertainty in her voice, as she turned to Wren who still sat passively, his eyes closed, and tears running down his cheeks again.
Audry struggled again to get free of her brother’s grasp, and did so, falling over, and through an approaching ghost, which swept right up to Andrew, and stared down at him with a disapproving glare.
“To the Abyss with all of you,” Andrew said as he turned, and ran.
“He’s right,” Wren said. “This shouldn’t be happening, I shouldn’t hear them.”
“Hear, what?” Celia asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I do,” Wren said, and looked at Celia, his lips pursed definitely. “They ask, they whisper, I don’t understand all of it, but I hear it. I shouldn’t, no one else does, but I do.”
“How do you know?” Audry asked walking cautiously past one of the ghosts, and sitting down next to Celia and Wren.
“Because I read the same book he did,” Wren said with a shrug, and looked away.
“Just because it’s in a book doesn’t mean it’s true,” Celia offered.
“Do you hear them?” Wren asked rhetorically.
“No,” Celia admitted again.
“It just means you are special,” Audry offered uncertainly, her eyes darting nervously about at the ghosts that were slowly circling the trio.
“That’s a word for it,” Wren said, and closed his eyes again. Celia reached out, and took Wren’s hand comfortingly, and Audry did the same. There was a moment of painfully uncomfortable silence, and then without warning Wren whispered just loud enough to be heard. “Rest,” and the ghosts seemed to wash away in swirling strands of light caught in the gentlest breeze.
The wisps remained for a little while, some slowly swirled off into the wood, others seemed to flicker and fade. “No,” Wren said sorrowfully, stood, and helped his friends to their feet. “He’s right. I did this, though I couldn’t tell you how.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Renae considered her adopted son thoughtfully. Wren was all too aware of the coming question, but did not press to be asked.
“Can you explain to me the things I’ve been hearing?” she finally questioned, seeing the impatient irritation in Wren’s eyes.
“Depends what you have heard,” Wren said grumpily, and crossed his arms.
“Andrew raised a holy ruckus to his mother, in public no less, about you conjuring ghosts in the graveyard.” Renae sighed. “As preposterous as it sounds…I’d not even ask, but, something tells me I should.”
“It’s true,” Wren said, “not that conjuring is the right word.”
“Then what is?” Renae said in a metered, perplexed tone.
“Causing?” Wren said uncertainly, looking out the window. “I didn’t go out there to do anything,” he protested, “just to get away from Andrew.”
“He’s still not leaving you alone?” Renae asked unhappily.
“He’s never left me alone,” Wren said venomously.
“And you are saying what he said is true, that multiple ghosts manifested in the graveyard?” Renae asked uncomfortably.
“Four,” Wren answered.
Renae took a long slow breath. “A ghost has been reported, now and then,” Renae said thoughtfully, “but four…”
“I caused it,” Wren said flatly.
“How could you have caused a ghost to appear?” Renae demanded doubtfully. “Let alone four. Real necromancers, if you can argue there even is such a thing – and not simply charlatans – have only the scarcest of success rates when mustering all their will.”
“I just did,” Wren said angrily, wishing he could deny the truth as easily as Renae seemed to be trying to. “Do you want me to prove it?”
“I just…” Renae started, winced, and walked over to Wren, knelt down and hugged him. “You don’t have to prove anything.” Renae said, somberly. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Wren said, not returning the embrace. “Andrew hating me for the truth, or you not believing it.”
“I believe you,” Renae said reassuringly, but there was still a touch of rational doubt in her voice.
“Iraen was your mother, wasn’t she?” Wren asked pointedly.
“Yes,” Renae said, “she’s buried out there. She was older when she had me, much older than most, and she died young…there was a flaw in her heart that would not heal.”
“She said to tell,” Wren seemed to struggle for a moment, “‘Button,’ that she loves her. That her heart is still with her.”
Renae pulled back and looked stricken for a moment, staring at Wren. It was possible – only possible – Wren had heard her mother’s old pet name for her at some point, but she knew in her heart she had never told him, and it wasn’t the first time. The winter morning with the wisps in the courtyard, when for just a moment she thought she had heard the hum of her mother’s voice, singing her to sleep. He had said it, she had pushed it aside, he couldn’t have known, he shouldn’t have known even then.
“She called me Button,” Renae said weakly, “that I was the Button on her heart, that kept it together. She…she died while I was far away.” Renae began to cry, for so many reasons, not the least of which was the kind gifted boy in her arms, that she so rarely knew what to do with.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Laeur 3rd, 646 E.R.
Wren tapped his foot impatiently as he leaned against the wall next to Celia. He glanced over as Celia’s incessant swirling of her finger in the air began to produced a thin trail of light, which momentarily distracted him from his boredom. “You did it,” he said with a slight laugh.
“Took me long enough,” Celia sighed, and shook her hand attempting to get feeling back from how long she had been trying. Her progress dissolved, and she glanced at Wren. She smiled somewhat in spite of herself.
Wren’s presence was like a hearth on a cold autumn night. He somehow made the world away from him seem a little colder. Yet all at once there was a sense of that nature of fire behind it, an intensity that smoldered – perhaps impatiently – for the world’s plodding way. This was enough to give the wary pause, and he could seem a flame that easily called all the moths of the world toward him. That thought lingered, and bothered Celia, she wasn’t even sure why she had thought it.
“You’ve only been at it a couple days,” Wren said encouragingly, “on your own, Aaron has been training with Sister Calis for weeks. I’ll ask Renae if you can come with us the next time I visit my sisters. They can do so much more, maybe they could teach you.”
“I’d like that,” Celia laughed, “but I don’t know if my mother would let me leave the cloister.” She started again, and almost instantly a trail of light formed. She bit her lip excitedly that it had come quickly that time.
Wren glanced down the corridor again. “Where is Audry?” he asked with a faint hint of concern, “it’s not like her to be so late.”
“Maybe we should go look for her?’ Celia said with a shrug, and let her glowing figure-eight drift away.
“I guess,” Wren said and started walking down the hall.
As they rounded a corner they came upon Andrew. In the past year had undergone a growth spurt to the point of towering over the two. He had long had an intemperate presence, one that shifted from a harsh breeze, to stone. That moment he felt like a rolling boulder coming towards the two. Neither had in their lives seen someone so obviously, and violently angry, but some instinct kicked in, and told them both to back off.
It wasn’t enough. Andrew marched menacingly straight up to Wren, even as he tried to get out of the way. “Stay away from my sister!” he barked as Wren found himself frightened and backed up against a wall.
“Leave him alone!” Celia yelled, but fell short of laying hands on Andrew to pull him back.
“Stay out of this,” Andrew spat, turning towards Celia, who stood her ground, but couldn’t quite bring herself to move towards Wren. “Do you hear me?” he demanded turning back to Wren who was hunkered down on the floor against the wall. “Stay away from my sister.”
“Shut up,” Wren squeaked in a small frightened voice.
“No,” Andrew said, “not till you promise to stay away from my sister you little mongrel.”
“Leave him alone,” Celia repeated demandingly, and moved to put herself between the two. Andrew pushed her back, and she fell.
“Answer me you little shit,” Andrew demanded, “what are you going to do?” Wren shrunk further, as Andrew leaned down over him, “hello, do you hear me you little freak? Stay away!”
“Shut up,” Wren whimpered in a tiny voice.
“No,” Andrew said, “not until you promise.”
“Shut up,” Wren squeaked again, just a hair louder.
Andrew grabbed ahold of his robe, and shook him. “No,” he said viciously, “promise me you will stay away!”
“SHUT UP!” Wren suddenly boomed in a horrifying voice not at all like his own. The sound of it seemed to reverberate in the rafters, and rattle the bones. It frightened Celia to her core who had grabbed ahold of Andrew to try and pull him off Wren, and her fingers slipped weekly off his arm. Andrew fell backwards barely catching himself. He scrambled in a strange helpless fashion for a moment. His eyes were wide, and his face as white as a sheet. He frantically clutched at his throat, he opened his mouth as though trying to speak, trying to yell, and suddenly without a further word pushed himself up against the far wall, and ran away.
Celia watched as Andrew stumbled, and flailed down the hallway in his haste, and then turned back to Wren who was curled up in a tiny ball, sobbing. “Are,” Celia coughed slightly as though her throat was dry. “Are you alright?” she asked cautiously moving towards her friend. Wren simply continued to cry, and didn’t answer. “Wren?” Celia said questioningly, her concern quickly starting to override her uneasiness. She coughed again, and rubbed her throat.
“I…I…” Wren sputtered between sobs, and then gave up.
Celia wrapped her arms around him consolingly, and gently stroked his hair. “It’ll be alright,” she said softly. “It’s ok, he’s gone.”
“I…” Wren tried again, “he…he was right about me,” Wren whimpered.
“What do you mean?” Celia asked in confusion, but Wren seemed to just descend further back into sobbing, and began to noticeably tremble.
Several minutes passed, and Wren slowly began to calm. When he finally met Celia’s gaze his expression was one of horror, sadness, and utter heartbreak.
“What happened?” Celia asked in as gentle a tone as she could manage.
“I don’t know,” Wren said with a haunted voice. “I did something…I don’t know what I did, but I felt myself do it. I think I might have hurt him.” He looked away helplessly, unable to look his friend in the eye after admitting his fear.
“He was attacking you,” Celia said softly, “it’s ok. He was well enough to run away. It’s ok.”
“I don’t know what I did,” Wren said again with and unnerving tremor in his voice. “It’s not…I…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought as the memory of South Rook gripped him. How everyone had stopped for a moment, and even afterword seemed dazed, how he had ran to his room, and hid not knowing what he had done, or how.
“It’s ok, whatever it was he deserved it,” Celia said trying to calm Wren down.
“Maybe I deserve it,” Wren said in a small voice.
“No,” Celia said firmly, “you are sweet, and wonderful, and he is an ass. He’s always hated you, for no reason.”
Celia turned as quick footsteps echoed down the hall. Audry was running towards them, holding her arm tightly. “Is he alright?” she asked obviously scared.
“He isn’t hurt,” Celia said, “but he’s been crying for a while now.”
“What did my bastard brother do to him?” Audry said in a tone almost as angry as Andrew’s.
“He was yelling, and shaking him,” Celia said, “and then…” she hesitated not sure how to describe Wren’s part. “He ran like he was terrified. Is your arm alright?” she asked trying to change the subject as her own suspicions sunk in. It wasn’t possible, and yet it fit.
“He was keeping me in my room,” Audry growled, “wouldn’t let me leave. Kept yelling at me, trying to make me promise to stay away from Wren. I tried to push past him, and he pushed me down, and I hurt my arm.” Audry rubbed her arm a bit. “I’ve been working to heal it.”
Audry leaned down and looked Wren in the eye. “Are you alright?” she asked anger and concern mixed in her expression.
“I think I hurt him,” Wren whimpered.
Audry’s expression suddenly shifted to dumbstruck. “You…are crying ‘cause you think you hurt, him?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Wren said in a small voice, “partly. I’m scared,” he added.
“He ran off,” Audry said reassuringly, “and if he comes back we’ll make him leave.”
“I’m scared of me,” Wren corrected her.
“You…” Audry started bewildered, not sure what to say.
“He had him cornered,” Celia offered, “his voice changed…it was so loud it hurt, and I kind of felt it when he lashed out. I…” She rubbed her throat, which felt a bit like she needed to clear it, but the coughs had done nothing. She remembered Andrew grabbing his. “He earned whatever he got.” She added, keeping her suspicion to herself. It was passing, whatever it was.
Audry shook her head. “You darling, impossibly wonderful little thing,” she said touching Wren’s tear streaked cheek. “You get cornered, frightened half out of your wits, and now you are more worried about what you did to the monster who was bullying you, than what he did to you?”
“He’s not a monster,” Wren said defiantly, “he was scared, angry…I…”
Audry pulled Wren to her, and hugged him. “Quiet,” she said firmly, “it’s no excuse, you never did anything to him, nothing. He’s my blood and I won’t defend him, not for a moment, don’t you. Don’t you dare waste another thought on him. You are wonderful, and that’s all you need to know.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Laeur 22nd, 646 E.R.
Rennae rubbed her face tiredly as Andria walked into their room. “Are you alright?” Andria asked with some concern.
“Shandra has been harassing me repeatedly about her son,” Rennae said looking at Andria with a cross expression. “He won’t talk, won’t leave his room, and has been crying a lot it seems.”
“I’ve heard,” Andria sighed, “no one knows what’s wrong with him.”
“She’s started saying odd things about Wren, but nothing outright,” Rennae said looking out the window. “Nightmares, and obsessions. Of course she mentioned none of this when I had talked to her repeatedly about the boy harassing Wren.”
“You don’t actually think he has something to do with it do you?” Andria asked doubtfully.
“I…” Rennae sighed. “I don’t know, I don’t think so, but I’ve heard he’s been bordering on bullying with some kids. Getting worse not better, particularly towards Wren, and Wren has been…different lately.”
“And so…what?” Andria asked not sure where the connection was.
“You know as well as I do the potential power of that boy,” Rennae said laying her forehead on her hand. “I mean…maybe if he cornered him somewhere, pushed him to the edge, maybe he could have done something…I don’t know. I don’t think I could bring myself to ask him either. He’s seemed so distant lately, and I… I don’t know what to think. There were also reports of a terrible yell heard in part of the cloister the other day. Something, unnatural according to those who heard it.”
“You aren’t thinking of the madness in South Rook, are you?” Andria pressed.
“Wren was there,” Renae answered.
“That doesn’t mean Wren had anything to do with it.”
“No it doesn’t, but no one has an explanation. No one has heard of anything like it.”
“It bears watching I guess,” Andria said with a frown. “Even if it’s true, as you say, if he was pushed to the edge I don’t think we need to worry about a repeat…but if some one else comes to that conclusion. How can we control this if people start talking?”
“I don’t know,” Rennae said darkly, “and that’s why I’m worried.”
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