Never. I’ll never learn.
She had everything a sixteen-year-old girl could want. Wealthy parents, an enrollment at the Royal School, friends, and connections.
But Ralende Haele would never have her father’s love. As long as she couldn’t match up to what he expected of her, she knew she would never be more than a speck of dirt in his eye.
Amid the classroom’s hush, Miss Arcelia Rielo stopped in front of Ralende's desk, eyes staring into hers with blue intensity. “Miss Haele,” she said, voice almost toneless. “It’s your turn.”
Ralende’s mind went blank. She had been fearfully anticipating this moment since her teacher had started going down the rows, asking her students to perform simple light spells. But she wasn’t ready despite this. Her heart was racing like a mad drummer, heat just starting to creep into her face. No…no, I don’t want to embarrass myself…
Ralende glanced about, head suddenly flashing with a dizzy spell. Everyone had their eyes trained on her—brown, black, blue—all sparkling unfeelingly. She sneaked a glance at her friends at the other corner of the classroom—Iledra and Quetany were staring at her expectantly as well. Xalinya was doodling.
Her eyebrows creased with desperation. And she called them friends! She turned her gaze to face her teacher once more, the sapphire eyes boring holes into Ralende’s with stinging acidity.
Fine, go ahead and laugh at me, she thought, shaking while she dragged her chair back and stood. Her knees almost gave way.
Ralende flipped quickly through her notebook while her classmates continued to stare, dead silent. As the title “Light Spells and Charms”, carefully scripted in her handwriting, caught her eye, she stopped and began to study the steps.
One hand went up, palm facing the ceiling. Focus magic above your hand, her notes clearly read. An empty mind is crucial.
Then the energy began to swell in her mind, as it always did. She caught a grip on the energy, directed it visually at the empty space over her palm, and focused it. A spark!
For a moment, Ralende actually thought she had finally made it. Fireworks were the simplest light spell there was. Perhaps, finally, after years of struggling to manage it, she had done her first successful spell.
Then, as always, the swell of light energy faltered and went dark, as if snatched away by some invisible beast. The small light sparkling over her open hand sputtered and blinked. Vanished.
Miss Rielo had been gazing on with hopeful anticipation till then, her eyebrows creased with fervent belief. The expression suddenly broke, and she sighed. “Ralende, try harder next time,” she said, almost sounding deflated.
Ralende frowned with frustration and sat down hard. Ralende, try harder! Ralende, you can do it! But the fact was, she couldn’t. There was something in her mind, in her soul, that prevented her from doing it properly. She couldn’t help it!
It had been so close, she recalled. She had almost tasted success, a victory she had been fighting for almost a decade to attain. But each time she tried, she became more and more certain that she would ever win it.
Never. I’ll never learn.
Around the classroom, the chattering buzz had risen to a loud commotion. As Ralende rested her head on her arms, she caught bits of what they were saying. Insults. Speculations. Plain irritating comments.
“And to think of who her father is! He must be pretty disappointed to have a daughter like her. I mean, he is so talented, how could his daughter be—that?”
She glared pointedly at the girl who had made that comment. Lycendo Haele. Lycendo Haele, the legendary Sevancist.
Burying her face in her arms, Ralende was suddenly overcome by a powerful wave of disappointment. That drew the first tears.
My father is Lord Haele. Who am I? No one. He’s right to hate me. Each sentence made more painful sadness well up in her heart, flowing out continuously as tears that fell upon her table. She couldn’t be Lycendo Haele’s daughter. She was a disgrace to him.
Ralende had actually half expected one of her friends to say something in her favour. But why should she? They wouldn’t, as always. Friends? They were only false friends. It was something she had known for as long as they had called themselves her friends. She saw it plainly on their faces—they only wanted her friendship for connections. Her father was—and this thought brought the painful guilt again—a famous Sevancist, practitioner of shadow magic. Her mother was the queen’s cousin. She was from the most highborn family in Kina-atana.
Even here, among the elite of the town, Ralende’s family status was revered by all her classmates. And her ineptitude at magic had probably just tarnished that reputation, she thought, as the tears began to dry on her face and she sat up.
Someone two rows from her was performing her light spell now. The instant Ralende sat up, she glanced back and shot her a cruel smile.
Her fireworks spell went off perfectly, soaring from her palm with a trail of sparks, before bursting over her head. Ralende clenched her fists, struggling not to react violently. Why? She wondered, cursing the gods and goddesses. Why do you leave me with nothing? Why, when you have gifted my parents with so much?
The lesson went on unbearably. Ralende watched as the rest of her classmates experimented—some managing badly, some creating various light spells with immaculate skill. But all of them did it. Not one of them failed as badly as she had.
By the end, tears were streaming from her eyes again. Ralende Haele, she thought. The daughter of Lord Lycendo Haele. The worst magician in class! She sniffled and narrowed her eyes so she wouldn’t cry anymore.
Miss Rielo dismissed the class, and instantly, the scraping of chairs on the ground around her began, echoes of each other. Ralende closed her eyes, arms folded on her table. The wood was warm and rough, familiar already, though the year had just started. She cried so often on this table—just like she had all her life. Crying—it felt like the only thing that could unlock that dark room of pain and sorrow somewhere in her heart.
She yelped when a hand came down hard on her shoulder. The pressure increased slightly, and her shoulder tensed up.
“Don’t worry. You’ll always be beautiful, no matter how bad you are at magic,” an oily voice greeted her ears.
Oh no, the thought flooded her despairing mind. If there was anyone she didn’t want to see now, it was Waithe Tayron.
Shivers went through her right shoulder and neck as she tried to shrug his hand off. “Get lost, Waithe,” she growled, pulling herself away.
“Aw, you’re so adorable when you’re angry,” Waithe went on, ignoring her. His face leaned close to hers, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Why don’t you like me?”
Not hard to see why, she thought, turning annoyedly away to pack her books away. Since she had joined the school, she had been a constant target of Waithe’s, who seemed bent on getting her to be his lover, though it was obvious that she’d never do something so dense.
“Get out of my sight,” Ralende muttered, stepping away with her textbooks in her arms.
“As you wish, my lady,” Waithe responded with a bow, while the rest around her giggled and guffawed, and she angrily, tiredly departed from the classroom.
History, Literature, Mathematics, Alchemy. Ralende’s eyes ran over the textbook spines repeatedly, and she pondered over her performance in each. History, Mathematics and Alchemy were fine to her; Literature was her strength. But Magic, oh, Magic! She had never passed a single practical test before and depended on theory to gain her passes.
The road was cobblestone-paved all the way, flat and worn from extensive use. The main road was always crowded with carriages and delivery carts, as it was now. The sound of clattering wheels and ringing bells surrounded her in the orange evening while she trudged back wearily, arms starting to ache from the weight of her five textbooks. She could smell the sweet aroma of spring blooms filling the streets, petals of white and pinks spiralling as they tumbled from the lush trees beside the two-storey shophouses on the other side of the road.
The house finally came into view—mansion, actually. The garden was wide and immaculately green, a pathway of stepping stones leading up to a finely carved hardwood door. Ralende stepped through the gates, which lay open, and settled herself aside on one of the garden benches. The sound of a waterfall played around her in the evening stillness, a cheerful murmuring that was her only company at the moment.
Only now did Ralende dare to smile, looking on at neatly-trimmed rose bushes at the end of a soft green expanse. But the day’s disappointment still weighed down on her shoulders, hanging about her like an air that wouldn’t leave. She smiled and sighed, shifting the books off her lap. She leaned herself against the back of the cool metal bench, stretching her arms with a yawn.
She heard footsteps down the walkway and turned. “Good evening, Dad,” she called, hoping she could refrain from discussing the day’s events.
“Bad day, hm?” he responded, walking over with an ever-present air of dignity. But his voice betrayed warmth, and that gave Ralende just a little comfort.
He sat down beside her, a slightly tall man with his hair—dark brown, almost dark enough to appear black, like her own—and serious grey eyes that still made him look distant. It was his ability to take in the energy of his surroundings and those around him that kept him looking so young, he had once told her.
The moment she looked up at her father’s eyes, Ralende could see everything he felt—worry, love, pity, and disappointment—a strange, yet common cocktail of emotions in his gaze, projected so strongly that she thought she might cry from the intensity.
“There was a practical lesson together?” he speculated, to which she nodded. “Still no success?” She nodded again and couldn’t help but add a sigh when she thought again of the spark of magic vanishing, just as she had thought she had managed it at last.
He didn’t offer any gestures of sympathy; he didn’t frown either. But Ralende saw, and felt, the disappointment swell behind his gaze. Her own eyes fell to the blue fabric of her skirt. She didn’t want to be a letdown. To him, to the family name. She really didn’t. But she was helpless against her lack of skill. She so much wanted to live up to their expectations, she really did…
“Ralende, I know you’ve heard this enough,” her father said. “But no one can’t do magic. Even non-magical people can do the simplest spells with the right steps. You must try harder. That is all there is standing against you.”
But it’s not that simple…something is really, actively stopping me from managing it… The words surfaced to her throat, but she failed to voice them. She had said it too many times already—and never once had it turned up any positive responses.
“I…I’ll see if I can,” she finally murmured, hoping that he couldn’t read her emotions as well as she could his. “I’ll try.”
“I hope you can pass your practical examination this year,” he said. Ralende could hear everything in his voice. He didn’t like having a daughter who couldn’t perform the simplest spells. It was an embarrassment. A real disgrace.
Suddenly, it began to hurt. Was that all she was to her father? Did she mean any more to him than a person to bolster his repute? She hated it. She hated being treated like a tool.
“Dad!” she shouted, losing her cool once again. “Dad, do you only want a daughter who will make you sound even greater than you already are? Is that what I’m all about? It’s always about me passing that stupid practical, always about learning to do magic properly! Are you embarrassed to have a useless daughter like me?” Ralende stopped abruptly to catch her breath. More and more painful—it was an ache that grew in her throat, in her eyes, in her heart.
“Ralende—” He reached for her arm, but she flung it away, tears now starting to pour down her cheeks. Ralende shut her eyes, picked up her books, and ran into the house, disbelieving and angry, disappointed and confused.
Before she had registered her movements, or the doorman Deneus’ cheerful greeting, Ralende found herself at her mother’s study. By then, her tears were all dried, and she was weary. “Mum,” she called out, knocking. By then. Behind her, one of the servants was lighting the candles.
At that point, the door swung open smoothly, and Ralende was face-to-face with her mother, and with her sky blue eyes, just like Ralende’s own. She saw comforting stillness in them, but worry soon came to her features.
“You’ve been crying,” she said, letting her daughter in. Ralende dumped her books on her mother’s table and sighed, trying not to cry as she thought over her harrowing conversation with her father earlier on.
“Dad,” she responded. That seemed to tell her mother everything.
“Now don't let him get to you, dear,” her mother replied, eyes sparkling with a light that brought Ralende so much comfort. Did her own eyes sparkle like that? She smiled at the thought. “You know so well how Lycendo’s always had high expectations of everything.”
Ralende felt her mother's arm go around her shoulders as she spoke to her from behind. “But sometimes, a little motivation is a good thing.”
“But Mum... I can't do anything about it. Why won't dad believe it?”
Her eyes shone with beautiful wisdom as she stepped forward to tidy her desk, releasing her hold around Ralende’s shoulders. “it's not that he doesn't believe it,” she said thoughtfully while she's stepped up the papers, and Ralende watched. “He just doesn't want to believe it. You know—he's been so successful all his life, because he could do all that dark magic at such a young age. It seems he's forgotten that not everyone's like that. he can't handle the knowledge that you can't do any magic.”
Her words brought some comfort, and Ralende sat down on the couch, folding her arms. “Mum...is there something wrong with me? I'm...the only person I've ever known who can't do anything—not even a fireworks spell…”
“A fireworks spell? Is that so?”
There was shock in her mother's voice, and it stung. But the shock was understandable—she was a Lycanist, a master of light magic.
Sevancist and Lycanist. Owners of two of the three greater gifts, the third being that of the Arcenist. Why hadn't their union produced a child with gifts as great as theirs? Why was she the way she was? It wasn't right. There was something wrong with her.
“There's something wrong with me, isn't there?”
“Well, it's unexpected—but…there's a possibility that you are one of those children born of magical parents without any powers…”
“Born of two of the greatest magicians in Kina-atana!” Ralende exclaimed, half smiling from the irony. “I bet you two expected a child with great powers, not—this.” She gestured towards herself and found herself about to cry again.
“Ralende!” her mother exclaimed reprimandingly, throwing the books she was carrying aside and sitting down next to her on the study couch. “I love you just how you are now! You don't have to be the best magician in the class. You don't have to be as great and powerful as Lycendo is. Have some respect for yourself!”
There was such overwhelming optimistic sincerity in those words that she felt her fears vanish, and at the same time, tears of gratitude rose in her eyes. “Thank you, Mum,” she responded, bowing her head and smiling. Her mother gave a small laugh. That was her, Cerralyn Haele. If there was anyone who could comfort a person in tears, it would be her.
“Hm—now, on a lighter note–don’t you think it's about time we got a horse?”
Ralende almost laughed at how arbitrary her choice of topic had been. “You said you are too lazy to find a good seller,” she replied.
“Hm…perhaps today is the day I will actually do it,” Ralende's mother said good-humouredly. She lifted Ralende's textbooks and placed them in the girl's arms. With a last squeeze of her shoulder, she let Ralende depart.
Ralende placed her textbooks on her table and slumped down onto her soft bed, among the tangled covers. Her ceiling was ornately decorated at the edges. She ran her eyes over the familiar designs once again. The spring days were coming to an end, and the weather was turning slowly warmer, in welcome of the golden summer. She could already feel the change coming in the air.
Roland decided to shower that day. As she unbuckled the belt under her blouse she untied the spell of concealment from the weapon, sealed by a bright red thread.
Then her shortsword, sheathed, was brought to light again. She's swept her hand over the decorated sheath fondly, brushing the strange ancient symbols on its side. This weapon was the one thing that assured her that she wasn't useless. This weapon gave her the only skill she had, her only protection against magicians. It was with her all the time, tucked into her bag or strapped to her waist.
How long had it been since she had started learning? Seven years—such a long time, so many years she had never noticed passing. How much better had she grown? She was self-taught, and she had learnt every move she knew from her father's library. Would she ever match up to the masters? That question had an obvious answer, and she dismissed it.
Feeling warm and sweaty all of a sudden, Ralende quickly pulled her shoes off, undressed, and entered her shower, which was connected to her bedroom. The taps let out crystalline showers of water warmed by magic, a luxury she knew only the richest families could afford.
Ah, summer, she thought to herself. The time when the fruits are ripe, the time when there is so much to do! Summer was always a busy time.
And, as Ralende recalled, this would be the summer when the nomads would return to Kina-atana once more, after twelve years, with their carts of shining gemstones and scarves fluttering in the wind and troupes of singers waiting to sing new melodies to those who would listen.
She still recalled the last time they had come—she had barely been four then, but the colourful carts of merchandise and their songs had stayed imprinted in her memory, along with the scent of spicy incense that came with them. She relished the idea of seeing them again; they would be arriving soon after summer began. Yes, their ways were different from those of Kina-atana, and because of that, her best friends would certainly not want to go. But why should she care about that? SHe would pay their stores a visit all the same.
And somehow, Ralende could feel that wild, dizzying excitement around her—of the winds of life changing direction; of a great, terrible, wonderful change about to happen
“Oh, did you hear that those nomads are coming again?”
Ralende stood there listening to Quetany and Xalinya as they conversed during their lunch break, a few days later. All they did was complain about the “destitute creatures” who would be visiting their town in a week’s time. It was unbearable—but because she didn’t want to stir trouble, she continued to listen quietly.
“They’re disgusting,” Xalinya said, green eyes flashing. “My mother says they don’t take baths!”
“Ugh, I wonder how they got into such horrible lifestyles,” Quetany responded with equal disgust. They looked like sisters—blonde hair and sharp features. Even their personalities were alike. They had wanted to make her their best friend, and she had been too weak to resist. At least it kept her from feeling left out and ostracised in class.
“But they’re not really that bad, right?” Ralende asked. The two turned to stare at her with open mouths.
“You’re joking,” Xalinya said.
Quetany stroked her chin thoughtfully. “There could be exceptions, for all we know,” she commented to herself. “Hey, I heard the jewellery they sell there is cheap but high-quality.” She laughed. “Poor things; they don’t know the real value of what they’re selling.”
Truth to tell, Ralende couldn’t stand this dreary sort of conversation. She could sense their intentions to interest her, and for that, she didn’t feel like hurting them by showing her distaste. But she disagreed with everything they said. And she kept it to herself that she planned to visit the shops anyway, and find an object to increase her magic’s strength.
Ralende entered the classroom once again, surveying the few others inside. SHe saw Beydren, the redhead with glasses in the front row, lower his gaze quickly. Yevan, who sat near the middle of the class, was still gazing at her as she took her seat. Somehow, this came across as very amusing. Ignoring them, she sorted out her books and sighed, mind ringing with the prospect of a visit to the nomads’ settlement.
The weekend dawned brightly, and by the time she had awakened, Ralende could hear the servants at work in the kitchen downstairs. Slipping off the bed, she felt the cold marble beneath her feet, and sleepily walked towards the bathroom.
It was Asira Day, the first day of the weekend. Ralende read it off the water calendar beside the stone bathtub. The glass was cloudy, and she stepped over to give it a wipe with her towel. The water level had come to rest at the image of a wing, Sira’s symbol.
Sword practice today, she remembered, just as she did each time she laid eyes on the wing. Ralende turned to gaze up at the rectangular windows, the early sunlight streaming through motes of dust in soft beams. Those were the first rays of summer, warm and golden like honey, bringing exuberant promise.
Clean and dressed, Ralende concealed her sword and strapped the belt and sheath around her waist, beneath her white blouse. The belt was cool on her skin, but the weight of the sword no longer bothered her, for she carried it every day.
Just in case, she always thought to herself. I don’t know when I’ll need it.
Breakfast was the usual—bread with butter, the crusts crispy, but not hard, and a glass of fresh orange juice. A little too fresh, she decided, staring at the fibres floating about in the pool of orange in her glass. But she wasn’t one to complain of such things.
Ralende’s mother was waiting in her father’s library by the time she got there. She had the sword mastery book in her lap as she sat on the small couch, smiling. “Here,” she said, presenting the book to her daughter. “Keep up your hard work at this, hm? I’ve seen you at it—so intense, I thought I’d burn myself watching!”
Ralende rolled her eyes, flipping rapidly through the pages to where she had last read, two-thirds into the book. At this point, she had noted, the steps and instructions had become complex and hard to understand, as compared to how the text had been at the start.
“...a move that utilises the shift of centre of gravity and inertia…” The words took time to register in her mind. After five readings of the paragraph, she decided that she understood, and stepping out of the library, made her way down to the garden.
This was something that Ralende loved to do. At all other times, she appeared to the world as a gentle , somewhat obedient sixteen-year-old, entrapped by the bonds of her family’s expectations and restrictions. It was when she held her sword, Ocania, that she broke away from those things and made the world her own.
Again, as Ralende unsheathed the weapon and threw the veil aside, she confronted the knowledge that she would never come to a level of great competence. She smiled and it tore away. It doesn’t matter. It’s something that I can do properly, at least.
The metal was gleaming, the symbols along the blade indecipherable, glinting and dark at the same time. Words, she hoped, she would discover the meaning of someday. It wasn’t wide like the blades of the knights in Castle Ametha-orin. It was slightly curved at the end, styled like the swords of the east. It was a shape she loved and knew like her own hand, for it had been with her since she had been seven, fighting for her and dancing for her.
Oceania, the sword made for use in the War of Sevadia, Alade, and Meredan. It was now hers, and it was her strength.
Ralende pondered while she practised her new moves, almost too fast for her to maintain control. A feint, a lunge. A feint, a lunge again. One more time. She slipped on her third attempt, falling against a prickly bush on which butterflies had been resting. They flitted away like miniature airborne dancers in lace skirts trimmed with black.
Ralende stood again, brushing leaves from her dark brown hair, swinging the sword once around her. She had once heard from her father that it worked better with magic. But she wouldn’t need to know that, would she?
Stupid magic-obsessed father, she thought darkly. The sharp point met with the wall in a perfect lunge, chipping some rock off. Smiling slightly for having grasped the move, Ralende tried it twice, on a wooden board her parents had provided. It was punctured with sword holes and pale slash marks, but looked sturdy and strong as ever, when she cut deep into it once more. Twice more.
Ralende nodded to herself. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she sheathed Ocania and picked up the spell string to hide it once more. How hot it had grown, she suddenly realised, entering the cool shadow of the front porch. Summer was upon them at last.
Recalling the stacks of homework the Literature teacher had assigned, she ran back to her room and quickly unbuckled her belt again, laying it down on her bedside table. Lying on her stomach, giving the hilt of Ocania one more brush, she began to ponder the Literature text they had been assigned to study.
The uneventful week slipped by quickly, and by Anairi day that week, Kina-atana was fully into the burning summer. The students in Ralende’s class were all wiping their foreheads furiously as they listened to the last lesson of the week. Ralende herself was fanning her face with her notebook, putting it down on the table every few seconds to take notes.
Their teacher had probably noticed their lack of attention, so they were allowed to leave early. Thankful, Ralende began to pack up her books along with the rest. She departed almost too hurriedly, wanting nothing more than a drink and a bath at home. She ran all the way up the streets of cobblestones, between the houses and carriages, not caring about how much it made her sweat.
Finally, she arrived at the gates under the bright sun, taking a moment to rest against the warm stone of the wall at the doorway before entering.
Deneus, their kindly doorman with grey strands in his hair, greeted her as usual. He gave her a cheery smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Sun’s getting hot now, isn’t it?” he commented. Ralende nodded fervently in reply. “It’s like that every year. But the nomads will be coming anyway. Ah…it’s been so long since they last visited and your mother brought all those trinkets home. You remember, hm?”
Ralende looked up, briefly recalling. “Yes, I still remember wearing a bracelet she bought…but it was a long time ago.” Greeting him, she finally raced up the spiral staircase dizzily.
Ralende suddenly came face to face with her mother on the top step. She wrapped her arms about her daughter before she passed. “Why the hurry? She asked cheerfully.
“I need to take a bath,” she replied. “Very badly!” Ralende wiped her forehead with her right hand to prove her point, sweeping her hair back.
“Yes, alright—but just for your information, the nomads came this morning,” her mother said with the enthusiasm of a child. “Their goods are beautiful as always! You should go look around. They sell other interesting things, too.”
She decided right then that she would like a new trinket or two, perhaps something charmed for good luck.
“Alright, Mum,” she replied. She hurried to her room to finally take her bath, making mental plans on the way.
When the day wasn’t so unbearably hot, Ralende strapped Ocania on again and picked up her bag of coins, departing for the settling place of the nomads, where they would live for the next three quarters of the year.
The slanted rays lit the streets in gold as she took the many branches towards the central plaza near the marketplace where they were. Ralende got directions from a few passers-by in carriages, and finally she found herself facing the once-empty plaza, the cobblestone ground crowded with carts carrying merchandise in every colour—chains, necklaces, bangles, scarves, snacks from their native lands—all sorts of eye-catching objects filling the different carts.
But the most interesting thing, to Ralende, was observing the people. The buzz of their conversation around the twelve carts was loud and merry, and many were standing by their own carts, observing the buildings of Kina-atana with wide eyes. Their clothes were of a different style to that of the visitors of Kina-atana—cloaks and flowing dresses of primarily red and brown, accompanied by beautifully woven sashes and headbands.
Ralende could have stood there gaping at the nomads for another hour, had she not remembered her purpose in coming here. She went forward somewhat nervously, groping for her coin bag.
There was so much to look at! As she passed the stalls, many of the nomads greeted Ralende cheerfully, with accents that made her think of vivid plains and blood red sunsets. That ever-present scent of spices jolted her memory and resurfaced those colourful images of a time just like today. She passed shops with simple clothing accessories and hair accessories, bought a paperbag of biscuits, and ate while she searched for a shop with magical objects, among which she might possibly find wearable charms.
“Excuse me, miss? Would you like a hand-carved picture?” A loud, rough voice drew her attention. She turned and gasped as her vision was filled with stone carvings, stacked and hung all over a bearded man’s shop cart. They were so intricate and detailed, each and every one! The flowers, especially, caught her eye.
Ralende’s eyes met those of the shopkeeper, brown eyes that most nomads had. His face was wrinkly, and a greying brown beard hung from his chin, straight as if combed. He tightened his headband. “Anything, miss?”
She was about to refuse, but then she thought, he has phenomenal talent. Why not? So she nodded and reached for the image of a rose that had first caught her eye. He smiled instantly, mouth curving among the hairs of his beard.
Five hundred coins, the price plaque read. About the price of her notebook. Quetany had been right—they sold their goods too cheaply. Perhaps that was why they needed to move all the time—to find new customers.
“Sir,” she said while he counted the payment. He looked up.
“Yes, miss?” he inquired readily. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Do you know where I can find a stall for magical objects?”
The carver gestured towards a distant cart at the other side of the plaza, beside one of the twelve pillars of devotion. She could make out two people beside it. The shopkeeper tapped Ralende’s shoulder and placed her unwrapped carving in her hands. “Thank you, miss,” he said with a bow.
“I should thank you,” Ralende replied. “Your work is amazing!” While he grinned at the compliment, she departed, too eager to wait.
Ralende dodged between numerous carts, smelling all sorts of spices and food. Some shopkeepers were having their dinner already, and they waved cheerfully as she passed.
By the time she arrived at the far cart, one of the two shopkeepers had left. The other was bent over a sparkling ring with a large black stone set into it. He gave the object yet another furious polish, and Ralende watched with meaningless fascination.
Then she cleared her throat. “Um…excuse me? I heard you sell magical objects here?”
Her sudden inquiry made the shopkeeper drop the ring and rise. “Oh—I’m sorry! I’m sorry…wait—I should be apologising to Ma, not you—” The youth composed himself and smiled. “Yes, we do. Things you probably wouldn’t be able to find in your town.”
There was something about the shopkeeper that made him hard to look away from. Once their eyes had met, she could not stop watching his face intently. His eyes were brown, familiar almost, alight with excitement and nerves. His skin was darker than hers, and his unruly waves of brown hair fell into his eyes, cascading over a silver circlet with a blue gem.
He waved a hand at Ralende with a questioning sound, and she finally blinked and stood straight. “Sorry—yes, do you happen to have any protection charms in your shop?”
His smile widened, warm as the sun. “Oh, definitely,” he replied, sorting through the rack of hanging bracelets and other small objects. His hand knocked over a stack of cards, which fluttered down at Ralende’s feet. He slapped his forehead. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Laughing to herself, she knelt down and picked the cards off the ground, arranging them in her hand. There were illustrations on each, she realised as she turned each one face-up. A bowl in the sea, what looked like a giant sunflower seed, a bloodied dagger—Ralende paused as each card came into hand, and she observed the pictures.
The shopkeeper had come to the front of the cart to help her. Curious, she turned to him. “What are these for?” she asked.
He turned back to her, sweeping the remaining cards off the stone. “Divining the future,” he replied.
Her mouth formed an “o”. “How do they work?”
The shopkeeper smiled again. “Do you want me to show you?” he asked eagerly, hastening to the keeper’s side of the cart and laying the deck among the bangles.
Ralende nodded vigorously. Cards of Hore, she suddenly recalled their name. Her Mum always said most readers of the Cards were fakes. But there was no harm in a little diversion, either way. Night hadn’t fallen yet, though the sky was slowly fading to pink. She turned back to the table, where he had cleared a space for his cards.
“What's your name, if I may ask?” she ventured as he straightened the deck.
His eyes flicked to her, and he beamed. “Sefir. Or Sef in short. You?”
“Ralende.”
“Ralende. That's a pretty name. Go ahead and ask me a question.”
She spent almost a minute deliberating on what question to ask, before settling on the hardest one she could have selected. Her mother always said you could tell a real Espier because their divinations were specific—and correct.
So she said, “What does this year hold in store for me?”
Sef nodded and shuffled the cards, so deftly it almost looked as if he were playing with the air itself. Then he plucked a card from the middle of the stack, whispered something, and turned it over.
“First card, the number card,” he said, “tells you how many cards will form the divination. So we'll need six.” he said, showing Ralende the ornate “6” at the corner of the card—a stone arch. The boy shuffled it back into the deck and whispered over it again. He took six cards off the top of the deck and laid them down in a row, one by one.
Ralende watched as he turned over the six black-and-gold images in the sunlight—a black jar, a hooded cloak tattered at the edges, a skull. A star entwined by vines, a crying girl, an octagonal gem streaked with patterns. She gazed down at the six shimmering images, trying to see what they conveyed, what message they could possibly carry.
“From now, it’s all about knowing the different levels of meaning each symbol carries and decoding the story from the sequence,” the nomad boy went on, eyes never leaving her face. “Why don’t you guess what it means?”
“Uh…I’ll try,” she replied, staring again at the six cards. The jar…it was a symbol of darkness, wasn’t it? Then the cloak—that, she couldn’t make any sense of. Where the face should have been, though, there was a shadow. That made her shiver.
The next one—a skull? Poison, perhaps? Ralende swallowed hard. Her future wasn’t looking good. Then there was a star surrounded by vines—what was that? She was equally clueless about the gemstone. But the crying girl had to be a rain spirit, she deduced from her wings.
Ralende looked up from the cards “My year will be…dark, full of danger,” she guessed. “And it will…rain a lot.”
The shopkeeper laughed. “Good try—you got the darkness and danger right.” He sounded so much like he really knew how to read them. Interested stoked, she begged him to go on. “But the heart, the fourth card—”
“That’s a heart?”
“Don’t ask me why the creator made it so; I find it strange too. But it signifies love and precious bonds.” Ralende's eyes widened. “And the crying nymph does represent rain, but don’t forget that rain also symbolises mourning, especially in combination with the rest of the cards. So I think what they're telling you is: you will soon find yourself embroiled in a deathly plot, but through the danger, you will forge a precious new bond. You may lose someone precious too—perhaps that same person.”
At these words, Ralende's stomach clenched tightly. Suddenly, she almost hoped Sef were a fake.
“How…how about the last card?”
“Oh, the gem? The lapis lazuli. In the end, you will discover something about yourself that you never knew, some hidden quality, and that will be the boon you earn from these troubles.”
Ralende folded her arms tightly, thinking. Would it all come true? The death, the mourning, the danger? The new bond? It all made her nervous.
“Have your divinations come true before?” Ralende asked. Sef looked up from the ring he had been polishing in the sunset.
“Always,” he replied. “Oh, but don’t worry—I’m sorry it doesn’t sound like good news. But it’ll come to pass, and it would have happened, whether you had known or not.”
She nodded, wondering if those words had helped at all. Ralende examined his face yet again and found her eyes lingering on his circlet. It was ornate and hand-crafted, and the thin layer of tarnish told her it was old but maintained.
She heard a call from their right. A woman was marching towards them, carrying two bags of food. As she came closer, Ralende watched her as well. Her eyes, were bright, just like those of the youth in front of her. She was too pretty, and yet…
“Made a friend already, Sef?” she asked, voice rich and gentle. She smiled at Ralende, placing the pack of food in Sef's hands. Then she sat on the base of the pillar of devotion. “You ought to know this before my son charms you to death—he’s got my powers of enchantment, and I don’t think he’s all that good at controlling them just yet.”
So that explained it! It was no wonder that Ralende couldn’t stop looking at either of them. Her parents had warned her to leave an Enchanter’s company as soon as possible. But it was obvious that they were kind people, so it didn’t matter to her that they had the power to mesmerise her into doing their bidding. Besides, awareness of their abilities immediately made it easier to resist them.
“Weren’t you here to—uh—buy a protection charm?” Sef suddenly piped up. He didn’t wait for a response, disappearing under the cart’s tabletop. Some metal clattered and rang. In moments, the young shopkeeper appeared, a bright golden necklace in hand, smiling warmly. “Here, it’s one of the best.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred.”
While she reached for payment, Sef’s mother rolled her eyes at her money bag. As she palmed the coins over, Ralende glanced again at the circlet on the boy’s forehead with its single gem, and she let her curiosity win.
“Where’d you get that circlet from?” she asked. “It’s pretty.”
Both went still. Sef was first to break the silence. “I was cursed when I was four,” he replied softly. “There’s something inside me that drains my energy slowly. It would’ve killed me eventually, if not for this.” He pointed at it. “It’s keeping me alive.”
“Oh.” Ralende dared not say anything else.
“It’s not a big deal! But that’s why I wear it all the time. It’s moulded to my head—I can’t remove it.”
The sky turned violet, and they could see the stars. She was already aching with sadness, though both seemed unfazed by the telling of the story. Quickly, she covered it up with a smile, clasping the necklace around her neck. As her fingers ran over the quartz threaded into it, she felt warmth rush through her hands, into her body.
“Very pretty,” said Sef with a smile.
Surely he meant the necklace, but she smiled self-consciously anyway. “Thank you,” she said, bowing to both mother and son. “This has been a real help. I’m glad I came.”
Sef grinned and nodded back. “Come back anytime, Ralende! I’d love to chat again!”
Ralende nodded and turned, waving them goodbye. Night had fallen, and the street lamps were lit. Every cart in the plaza was brightened by points of magical light, shining on the edges of the wooden roofs, as if stars had gathered upon the land. By their light, she found her way to the streets, and after that the path was clear, the taste of fascination still strong in her thoughts.
She knew that the change had begun, as she crossed the windswept streets among the clattering carriage wheels. It had begun the moment she had asked her question and the cards had been laid down.
“Please pay them a visit!”
Ralende was with her three friends, pleading with them to see the wonders of the stalls at the plaza.
“But those nomads are gross,” Xalinya said, eyebrows raised. “They don't bathe. They don't even use lavatories.”
Ralende knew that these were just overblown myths, but these rumours were prolific. “Gross?” She dug in her pocket. “Would you call this gross?” She produced the carving of the rose she had bought and showed it to them.
In an instant, all were dumbfoundedly gaping at the object, studying it with wide eyes. “Did a nomad do that?” Iledra gasped.
Ralende smiled. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, it is amazing,” Xalinya, the tallest of the three, conceded. “But they’re poor, Ralende. They’re too lowly for us.”
The coldness in Xalinya’s green eyes burned Ralende. Her heart clenched tightly, and anger filled her. “Lowly? Too lowly?” she shouted. “They live off of our business, Xalinya—that’s why they’re here!”
“Fine, fine, Ralende,” Quetany put in. “We’ll go, alright?” As her shoulders sagged, the embarrassment caught up to her, and she covered her eyes.
Iledra glanced out the doorway at a corridor. “Besides, I heard that the jewellery they sell is beautiful, and cheap!”
Five minutes later, Ralende arrived in the plaza with her entourage of three girls. The carts were still there, arranged now in three rows of four, enough space between each for two people to walk through side by side.
“Well, go on ahead,” Ralende said, gesturing towards the carts as they passed between two tents and entered the wide plaza. While they walked, she searched for the shop with Sef and his mother, and spied them close by. As she walked towards their cart, her friends decided to follow her.
Ralende arrived at the front of the cart. At that point, Sef looked up to see who had come. As he caught sight of her, he broke into a wide grin and waved. “Hey, Ralende!” he called, rising to his feet. She returned the greeting and glanced back, noticing that he was looking at her friends.
“Oh, don’t mind them,” she said. “They’re my friends, they’re here to buy things.”
Iledra quickly stepped forward and studied Sef. “What a pretty specimen,” she said.
Sef leaned back with a small smile. “I’m an Enchanter,” he replied quickly.
“Enchanter?” Ralende’s friend paused and scrutinised him again. “No, Enchanter or not, you’ve got a nice face. For a nomad.”
Sef raised one eyebrow. “Want to buy anything?” he asked, gesturing at the products on the tabletop. Quetany squealed when she saw the gemstones. Iledra picked up an amethyst choker of black cloth. “A charm of joy,” he explained. “You can ask my mother if it really works, once she’s done with her necklaces.”
Iledra seemed uninterested in verification. She paid the six hundred gold and put it on, feeling at it happily. Quetany bought a chain and three pendants, and Sef took her coins gladly.
“Thank you for your business,” he said as he poured the coins into a metal tin with a loud jangle. Smiling broadly, the two followed Xalinya to the other stores, leaving them to watch the trio depart. Sef turned to Ralende. “Your friends? Really?”
“Theyre the only people who will keep me company in school,” she replied with a sigh.
Sef folded his arms. “I don’t mind their generosity,” he said. “You’re not much like them. You seem to know when something will be hurtful, even said as a compliment.”
Ralende knew he was referring to Xalinya’s compliments.
“So…any reason you haven’t followed them off?” he asked, sitting back down on his stool. She saw a gem, half-cut, sparkling in a holder on the tabletop. Ralende shook her head and began to look through the things on his table.
“I just came to show them the way,” she replied, playing with a necklace absently. “But since I’m here, I want to talk to you.”
“Oh…um, what about?”
“I don’t know. I just met you yesterday, but I think I’d like to be your friend. So, how did you and the rest get here from your previous town?”
He looked surprised, but replied anyway. “Horses. These carts are horse-drawn. We have some horses to pull them, and some to ride.”
“Where are they?”
“We built a huge corral outside the town gates, and some of our horse minders set up there to take care of them.”
She nodded, walking around to the back of the cart-stall and leaning on a roof support. He turned, crossing his legs atop the stool.
“Don’t you feel hot wearing all of that?” Ralende asked then, eyeing the brown scarf draped around the front of his neck and over his shoulders, covering a long-sleeved tunic with a decorated sleeveless outer jacket.
Sef shrugged. “Ma says that us nomads originally came from hotter lands in the south, and our clothes were originally made for that weather. But no, I don’t feel hot. It’s quite cool, actually.”
Even in the summer? But she noted that he truly seemed not to mind the heat at all.
“Oh yes, by the way, I’ve met your mother…but where’s your father? If you don’t mind telling me.”
“He left us to go live at the port as a shipyard worker,” Sef replied. “Has always been there, doesn't like all our travelling.” Ralende suddenly detected disappointment in his eyes, and she decided not to pursue the question. She suddenly thought of her own father and realised how much closer he was. Something she had never considered before.
Ralende was out of questions to ask. They were silent for a while, Sef awkwardly playing with his gemstone. Moments later, he touched the large blue stone with one finger and closed his eyes. Ralende leaned forward to watch.
A spark of green leapt across the gem, and the cuts instantly appeared, chunks of stone falling off.
Ralende held her breath. “Wow, I didn’t know you could do stone magic,” with a little more envy than she intended. “I always wished I could.”
“Do stone magic?” he asked.
Ralende shook her head. “Do magic.”
He took a moment to comprehend. Then, slightly disbelieving, he asked, “You really can’t?”
Ralende shook her head. “Not one bit,” she replied. “And to think that both my parents have the Great Gifts! I can’t believe what happened to me. I can’t even do a light charm.” Resting her head against the roof support, Ralende heaved yet another sigh. “What about you?”
“Um…I can do Tothan and Espy magic.” Sef lifted the stone, unevenly step-cut. “But I’m honestly not very good at it.”
His eyes shone with an earnestness she found herself smiling at. “It’s fine,” she said. “There are some things I have that I take for granted. I don’t always see them, though…I just keep whining about the things I don’t have…” She glanced down at the stone in his hand. “Those cuts don't look that bad, actually. I once read that it’s a high-level skill to cut gemstones.”
“I’ll have to work on it,” Sef replied.
Ralende’s stomach gave a loud growl. “I should probably go have lunch,” she said. He nodded, and she rose to her feet once more, waving him goodbye.
“I’ll see you again soon!” the young shopkeeper called out as she stepped away. He swept hair out of his eyes, bright in the afternoon rays. Ralende grinned back and began on the road home.
At the doorway to the house, Ralende had the feeling that something was amiss. It seemed too quiet—no birds, no insects buzzing—or was it only her imagination? Cautiously, she proceeded up the front steps to the door, her footsteps sounding too loud somehow.
The door swung open smoothly. Inside, she faced the long, wide corridor of the entrance hall, the marble shining brightly beneath the chandelier, the spiral staircase close by.
A hand clamped down on her shoulders. “Ralende!” a hoarse voice howled. Ralende screamed and yanked herself away, whirling around with her heartbeat booming madly in her ears.
Her jaw dropped when she found two men laughing away merrily—Deneus and her father. “Dad!” she shouted.
“That voice of yours was always amazing,” her father said in a congratulatory tone to his partner-in-crime. “That was perfectly done!”
The doorman grinned back and patted Ralende on the shoulder. She gave a short laugh, though she was still shaking from the shock. “Do it to Mum next time,” she cried, before bursting into laughter again. She waved to them and departed for her bedroom. She was used to it anyway—they had been playing all sorts of pranks on her since they had discovered the use of the pillars on either side of the front door, ten years ago. It was one of those things that annoyed her, and yet never failed to make her smile.
It was, after all, the only time she ever saw her father laugh.
The fifth day of their school week was made a holiday in honour of the birthday of the king. Ralende had stepped onto the streets to be greeted by fluttering gold banners and a thousand flower garlands that had appeared overnight on every streetlamp.
The first thought that had occurred to the girl had been to visit the market again, as she had done earlier this week. But instead, she headed for the merchant’s square, where most of the excitement of the day would be.
The usual scene of festive chaos came into view very soon. The crowds extended halfway up every street leading to the merchant’s square. Some had even set up temporary stalls to make more room for the crowds to browse their wares. But the air was still abuzz with the sound of voices, filled with a vivid array of smells: fruit, spices, flowers from hanging garlands, sweat, and cooking meat, all mixed in a strange perfume.
Ralende pushed her way into the crowd, hoping that she would be able to buy some of the unique delicacies only available on the king’s birthday—most of which were his favourite foods. Colourful fruits on sticks were selling quickly, and she saw every third person holding one of those, some with five in one hand, and a bundle of sticks in the other.
She neared a food stall and bought some of their potato chips. Having not had her lunch, Ralende was starving, and she finished the whole bag of crisps in a minute or so, before licking her fingers and wiping them on her handkerchief.
Her parents had already left by the time she had woken up. Both had been invited to the king’s party at Castle Ametha-orin, and they had had to depart last night in order to be there on time this morning. That left Ralende with practically the entire day to herself.
Ralende spent the morning wandering about the marketplace, trying the various foods that were up on sale, if “wandering” it could even be called, with the huge crowds jostling her about. She queued up yet again at yet another food stand as lunch drew in, the hot noon sun reducing the size of the crowd a little.
As she walked away from the stand with a bun filled with meat, Ralende turned at the sound of her name being called. It took her moments to recognise that voice, and when she did, her heart sank like a stone.
“Oh, Ralende! Having a nice time?” Waithe’s mouth curved.
Why, of all the people in her class, did she have to meet Waith here? Glancing about, Ralende searched for a way to slip off without his notice. But Waithe seemed to be ploughing through the crowd that had once seemed so unforgiving, and before she had a chance to evade him, he was there.
Waithe snatched her left hand with his right and leaned into her. Ralende wanted to run more than anything in the world, but his grip grew even tighter, face growing smug. “Where to now?” he asked, glancing about.
“Can you mind your own business, please?” she asked, twisting her hand violently about. It slipped from his grip for a few moments, but that was all it took for her to push two people out of her way with her shoulders and race off into an ocean of people, heart thumping with terror. On and away she raced, mind telling her only to run as far from the marketplace as possible, the weight of invisible Ocania bouncing against her thigh.
Ralende was dizzy as she came to a stop on one of the streets. “Ralende!” she heard the same call of her name, and more fear swept through her. Not far enough! Dizzily she ran, sprinted, desperate to be rid of him, running out of the crowds and into the cool of the wind, away from the merchant’s square.
She took a few turns on the streets in the hopes of making her trail harder to follow. The grey, white walls and the rainbow-coloured gardens, sped by like streaks of paint as she fled.
Ralende’s heart leapt when the plaza came into view, along with its carts, half of which were unmanned. She sped on towards them, lifting her red skirt from her feet, eyes searching wildly through the market denizens for somewhere to hide.
“Ralende?” She heard the call as she rounded a pillar and found herself face-to-face with the cart she had visited earlier that week, both tenders briefly distracted from eating fruits on sticks. Ralende cried out with relief and raced over as fast as she could, slipping behind the counter and ducking behind it.
Both Sef and his mother glanced down at her. “Is something wrong?” Sef asked.
“Protect me, please,” she answered, cowering lower.
The woman laughed. “My little Sefir won’t be any good defending you from anyone, Ralende,” she said, but Ralende stayed rooted where she was, finally rising from her crouch.
The mother brushed her thick brown hair back and tied it with a brown band, a few waves falling down over her eyes—eyes that were graceful, long-lashed and upturned. Her face was light brown like acacia, empathetic and full of emotion. She said something to Sef in a language Ralende did not understand, tossing her sticks into a wooden bin beside the cart, and he nodded back.
Then in Sevadian she added, “You can stay, provided you won’t make noise or disturb us from our work.”
“Of course, ma’am!”
She smiled. “Just call me Velani.”
Ralende nodded, shuddering at the idea of going back to the marketplace and risking another meeting with Waithe. The pair returned to the counter and sat down, Sef picking up a set of medals to polish, and his mother shaping wires into intricate symbols.
“So…what were you running from, Ralende?” asked the boy.
She sighed. “One of my classmates. He was harassing me.” Her hand tingled uncomfortably from the thought of his fingers around hers. “I hope he thinks I’m still at the square…there’s no way I’m going back.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Other than that, how was the square, though?”
“It was very crowded when I got there.”
Sef nodded, polishing a silver medal. Ralende sat on the pillar’s edge and watched as the pair worked, the sun beating down on her back, but not enough to deter her from staying. Even in her thin blouse, she sweated in the heat.
Why didn’t the nomads ever settle somewhere? The more she thought about it, the more it puzzled her. Why did they prefer to travel from city to city, leading lives that could turn for the worse at any instant?
Already, she could feel a pang of bitter disappointment that they would have to go soon. It seemed that in the week or so that they had been here, she had made better friends than she had with anyone else in the city. Perhaps it was the fact that she lived in a wealthy neighbourhood, and studied in a school of rich and powerful youths. They were all shallow of heart, obsessed with excelling, and seeking only what material wealth could bring. She had been surrounded by them all her life—and for some reason, she had never cared for all those same things.
To say the least, Ralende had never had a more boring afternoon, but she was thankful for it this time. She sat there daydreaming for hours, still too terrified to walk home, for the road back passed by the merchant’s square. As the afternoon wore on, she napped a few times, resting her back against the pillar of Hara, the goddess of fire. She walked around the circle of twelve pillars of devotion a few times, sketching Metha, goddess of the sea, in her pocket notebook.
In the late afternoon, Sef found Ralende drawing Metha’s dress. “We were wondering where you’d gone,” he said with a tap on her shoulder. “Are you heading off soon?” She considered the question a while, before realising it was common for people to stay at the festival site until past nightfall, and she shook her head without smiling.
“Is this classmate really that scary?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
“Yes. And you don't want to find out, trust me.” Ralende shut her notebook and stowed her pencil, rising to her feet.
As they began on their way back to the cart, Ralende caught sight of a circle of magical lights being lit in the centre of the plaza, two dancers standing in the middle with their shimmering ribbons and matching costumes, bells jangling at their waists and ankles.
“Oh, it’s the twins,” Sef exclaimed. “They usually go out to busk, but they’ll perform for us sometimes.” A third individual entered the circle, a thin wooden harp in hand. He chuckled. “Don’t let them know, but I have a bit of trouble telling them apart.”
The musician began playing. Even from afar, Ralende could see how skilfully the performers leapt and spun, in a symmetrical dance. How their ribbons fluttered like flames while they twirled and fluttered them about, how their motions were so light they might have been floating over the ground!
Their dance ended with a flourish, and the applause was loud across the plaza and the twelve lit carts. Even Ralende had to applaud them.
“They’re amazing,” Sef sighed, still staring at the bright ring of lights. Then he glanced at her. “Do you have to go yet?”
“I…guess so.” Ralende glanced up at the sky, which was already turning red. Great, I really overdid it. She looked down the street out of the plaza, praying Waithe had left already. “Could you…walk me home?”
Sef turned to her in surprise, then nodded. “Ma is probably having dinner now, she won’t miss me. Where do you live?”
“Near the guildhalls.”
His eyes brightened with recognition. “Come on, I know a quieter way there.”
Instead of the main road, Sef led Ralende past the last carts, down a quiet street she had never seen before. The stalls here were mostly jewellery shops, and most were closed for the holiday. But in the dimming sunset, they caught sight of a shop with one display lamp still lit.
They paused just beyond the door. Through the display window, Ralende could make out a cloaked figure’s silhouette just inside, conversing with a shorter, stockier man. They were behaving oddly—their talk was free of gesturing, and she could hear that they were speaking under their breaths, though the glass was thin enough for her to hear.
Sef glanced at Ralende. His eyes said that he wanted to eavesdrop, for he detected something abnormal about this as well. Carefully, they slipped closer in the twilight, Ralende taking care not to make her footsteps as gentle as she could. She could feel Ocania against her left leg, and she placed her hand on its hilt. The shadows were their veil, the stars blinking over them.
Then the door creaked open, and they strained to listen. “...problem is, we don’t know where they are! They could be anywhere in Sevadia—even beyond it, who knows? They were separated and hidden for a reason!”
“And I will find them and reunite them, no matter the cost! You cannot deter me with this talk of difficulty. You do not understand my need for its power!” This voice was hoarse and furious. Ralende shivered.
“As you wish, sir. I will tell you as much as I can, when I do find more knowledge on it.” His voice shook as he spoke.
There was a rustle of cloaks, and then rapid footsteps. Ralende glanced at Sef, but he was already retreating into the narrow alley between this shop and the next. A muttered complaint, a creak of a door, and a click. Ralende waited a minute more, breath held.
Finally, both pairs of footsteps thundered away in the other direction, and Ralende straightened her aching neck and stretched it.
“That sounded…important,” she whispered. She had had a feeling, for a long time, that something was afoot in this town, and this conversation had finally confirmed it.
“I hope it’s nothing bad,” Sef replied, stepping out onto the street and looking both ways. Ralende followed as they fled in the opposite direction from the footsteps.
The detour from the plaza led them down a street parallel to the merchant’s square, which passed by a few stalls, where Ralende bought them both dinner of meat and vegetable skewers.
They ate and talked while they walked onward, the lights of the festival lighting the streets as the sun descended below the roofs.
Just as they were leaving the last throngs around the merchant streets, Ralende heard a call of her name. Instantly, she felt fear coursing through her veins, but it was too late to run, for Waithe had stepped into view.
“Ralende, dear!” he called, grinning as he ran towards her. She felt very muscle in her body scream for her to run—but all she did was stand there, frozen and staring. The boy looped an arm around her shoulder and began to rub her arm. “You look so gorgeous under these lights.”
Sef whirled around. “Hey! What are you doing?” he cried. Before she could understand what was happening, he had snatched Waithe’s arm and yanked it away.
“Who are you?” her classmate shouted. “Go back to your dirty little friends! Leave my little Ralende—”
He never finished, because Sef had shoved him back, and his expression shifted between rage and fear. At the same time, anger sent courage coursing through Ralende’s body. She tugged on Sef’s wrist, and they began to run well before Waithe had regained his bearings.
They sprinted away through the streets. Sef did not say another word for several minutes, and she could see the hurt behind his bright gaze.
“He’s the worst,” she said between panting.
“You were right about him,” he replied. “He is scary.”
Their sprint soon slowed to a walk when they saw that Waithe was not following them. They passed a few halls on the road home, strolling along the fence until Ralende brought them to a stop at the gate of the mansion.
When Ralende turned to the gates, Sef halted and stared.
“You live here?” he breathed, stepping back to admire the architecture, lit from below, and she nodded as she rang the bell that hung beside the door. She had only just begun to realise how lucky she was, and that she spent far too much time ignoring all her good fortune. But that was simply how all humans were, wasn’t it? They would always find something to be sorrowful about.
“Why don’t you come inside?” she asked then. “I think my mother will be home, and she will be happy to know you helped me.”
“She’s—rich, isn’t she?” he asked. “Is she as nice as you are?”
“She’s a lot nicer than me,” Ralende replied. “But she’s quite particular about manners.”
Deneus’ lamp wound its way down the road to the gate, and soon he had unlocked it with a spell, poking his head out. “You’ve brought a guest?” he asked. “A boy! Wait until Cerralyn hears about this.”
“Sef helped me get away from danger,” she replied. Grinning, the doorman let them inside. She slipped through, then gestured for a stunned Sef to come inside.
There was not much to stare at in the dark, but he managed to stare anyway, at Deneus, at the stones beneath their feet, and at the glow of windows up ahead. Even the tiling of the patio seemed to interest him.
“This place is amazing,” he said breathlessly, looking about while Deneus pushed open the foot door, which slid open soundlessly.
At the top of the foyer stairs stood Ralende’s mother, midway through untying her hair from its riding bun. The instant she laid eyes on the new arrivals, her mouth fell open, and she hastened down the stairs. “Welcome!” she said to Sef, meeting Ralende’s eyes with an odd smile. “Did he come all the way from the plaza?”
“Oh, yes, this is Sef,” Ralende put in hastily. “Sef, this is my mother.”
“Ah, you are the diviner, or so I hear?” When Ralende had told her, her mother had seemed intrigued.
He glanced up in surprise, nodding.
“We just got back from the markets,” Ralende went on. “He walked me home because it—it wasn’t safe.”
“Good evening, ma’am!” Sef’s words came out in an awkward tumble. By the way her mother was staring at his face, Ralende guessed that she may have become caught in his Enchanter’s magic. When she did not reply, he quickly added ,”This place is amazing! I’ve never seen so much gold anywhere before. Even the lights are gold!”
“Well, Mum is the queen’s cousin,” Ralende said.
“Queen’s cousin?” His eyes widened as he whirled to face Ralende. “So—you’re the princess’ second cousin? And this whole time I was talking to you—selling things to you—”
“No, I don’t want you thinking of me as that!” she replied. “I’d rather be your friend than ‘princess’ second cousin’ or anything.”
“It’s getting mighty late,” Cerralyn cut in, “and Ralende has her bedtime soon, but I hope Kina-atana has been treating you well so far.”
“I like it a lot better than the last town we visited,” he replied with a nod.
“You seem very pleasant,” she replied. “And I do thank you for helping my daughter get home tonight. Have a good evening.”
Seeming to understand he had been dismissed, Sef bowed, whispered a word of farewell, and turned to leave, Deneus leading him out the door.
Once he was out of the foyer, Ralende’s mother turned to her, eyebrows raised. “An Enchanter?”
Ralende straightened. “Yes—from his mother’s side,” she replied.
“You should have known better,” she answered sternly. “It’s dangerous to spend too much time with such people. They’ll make you—”
These words were all it took to ignite a blaze of fury in Ralende’s chest. She clenched her fists and marched angrily towards the stairs. “It makes no difference, does it? He’s an honest person! Look, he can’t help if he was born with those powers! Why label him like that?”
“Don’t you lose your temper again,” her mother replied. “Have some sense and keep safe! Someday you might find yourself being taken advantage of!”
Ralende needed to let out her frustration. Why did she have to be prejudiced as well? “Well, what if they’re different?”
“What if they aren’t? I don’t want you to be tricked into doing something you’ll regret!”
Ralende was tired. Growling, she ran the remaining way up the stairs. Behind her, she heard a heavy sigh, and guilt filled her heart. But her own anger overrode it.
Then a strong hand halted her by the shoulder, and she found herself looking up at her father’s grey eyes, filled with concern. “Did Cerralyn say something to you?” he asked.
“She won’t trust my friend just because he’s an Enchanter!” Ralende yelled, sobbing.
“You know she cares for you,” he replied, “but I know she goes overboard sometimes. I think you know how to handle yourself.”
She nodded, turning towards the staircase. “Thank you,” she said.
“Remember, Ralende,” he called. She turned to find him smiling. “If ever you were in danger, anywhere, anytime, think of me and shout my name. And I will hear you, and I will come.”
These words sounded like a meaningless platitude, but Lycendo Haele was a Sevancist, and he could almost certainly be called in that way. She had once read about the power of calling, but she’d never found out how it worked. “Thank you,” she said.
Somehow, Ralende had forgotten about her exchange with her mother when she returned to her bedroom. But her mother's cruel words came back, along with her silent rage, as she got ready for bed.
Stupid stereotypes, she thought while she tried to remember the right reagents for iron-to-gold transformation. Why think something of someone before you even know them?
Ralende’s mother was out early that Abalea day to do some shopping. That left her with nothing to do for the rest of the day. The air was full of summer—the gentle smell of ripening fruit from the trees in their garden, mingled with soporific bee drones and birdsong.
Somehow, Ralende was drawn towards the inner parts of the house, the areas she never spent more than a few minutes inside. She strolled through the dim, deep corridors, enveloped in their silent atmosphere—past empty rooms whose purpose she didn’t know, rooms where scattered ashes lay stark grey against the shiny black floors around a candlestand. It was summer, and yet it was so cold where she stood, barefoot, on marble.
What did her father hide in these rooms? Perhaps this was where he kept the secrets of his immense power. He spent much of his time here—who knew what he did, what dark arts he practised in this darkness, away from the light?
Afraid that he might catch her, Ralende turned and ran back towards the head of the corridor, her footsteps echoing all around her. There was an open door there, she realised. It was the library door.
Curious, she slowed to a stop and glanced past the large hardwood door, into the room. Lines of shelves greeted her vision as always, but today, the library seemed strangely forbidding. Ignoring the odd feeling it exuded, Ralende entered, walking past the shelves without any sense of purpose.
The story of this library had always been a sweet one to Ralende. It had been a gift from her mother to her father, twenty years or so ago. Her mother always related the tale with love.
Sitting down among the shelves, Ralende lapsed into imagining her parents before she had been born, before they had even married. She could almost imagine her mother acting like the teen Ralende still was, studying the same five subjects, only two decades before the day, in a classroom of an older design.
Life had been perfect for the cousin of the then-crown princess. Cerralyn Isira and Lycendo Haele had been lauded as the best magicians in their class, and they had been both rivals—but also friends. In their last year of school, their graduating year, she had started to fall in love with him.
Over time, it had only become more and more apparent that the feelings were mutual. They had often attempted to make advances towards each other, but had never quite worked up the courage to be straightforward.
Then, one day, by chance it seemed, they had been attacked on the way home by burglars, seemingly hoping to make a quick fortune off of their jewellery and clothes. For men on the street, they had wielded a bizarrely powerful magic, and the initial blast would have injured Cerralyn direly, had Lycendo not drawn in and absorbed the energy.
The young Sevancist had managed to dissipate every attack for a while, but they never gave the pair a chance to go on the offensive—the burglars more than outnumbered them twice after all, continuously throwing fire and lightning.
Then a shot of lightning had hit true, and Lycendo had stumbled against a wall, beside Cerralyn. She had begged him to take her energy to replenish his own. But he had refused, and seconds later, another blast had almost completely extirpated him.
Finally, the Lycanist had found her own courage, gathering up all the energy she had, throwing it at their attackers in a beam of raw power.
The five had fallen unconscious, and she had collapsed to the ground beside the half-dead Lycendo. He had turned to her and thanked her.
Ralende’s mother always described the next part of the scene excitedly. “It’s getting unsafe these days,” she had said to Lycendo. “I’m afraid that someday, something will really happen that I won’t be able to come back from. I wouldn’t have survived today, if you hadn’t been beside me—”
“Then let me always be beside you,” Lycendo had replied. “I’ll stand by you as long as you want me there, Cerralyn.”
Cerralyn always ended the scene there, saying that they became lovers, and then got married three years later. And she had given her husband the entire contents of this library on the day of their marriage.
Ralende looked up at the ceiling, a black ceiling from which chandeliers hung glimmering in their own light. Sometimes, thinking of her father’s love for her mother angered her, and in that moment, the anger returned.
Why can’t you be that kind to me, too? She wondered, walking back through the shelves with heavy footsteps, the library around her vanishing with her growing frustration. I know you are capable of feeling more than you do, especially towards me. So why? Is it because I can’t meet your expectations? Does that make me nothing?
It was the only thing he talked about in her presence, Ralende had realised. Was that all she meant to him?
She turned, noticing that there was a soft light coming from between the shelves, where the study desk stood beside an armchair. Hurrying over, she glanced about to see if her father or her mother was reading, but she saw nothing except a burning candle and an open book on the desk.
Ralende stepped closer and glanced down at the open page. Her eyes widened when she saw the illustration of a pendant beside a large block of text.
Arenian’s Medallion, read the hand-inscribed title, almost illegibly cursive. A magic-lender, one of the most powerful known to Sevadia to the present day. It was made in by a Meredanian jeweller during the War of the Three Kingdoms, and it led to a long line of victories under General Arenian, its bearer. But at the twilight of the war, and of a losing Meredan, the medallion was stolen by a Sevadian. And to make sure that it was never found, they split it into three parts and hid them: the chain, the medal, and the core.
Three parts… Her thoughts flashed back to the conversation in the empty shop.
Separated, each part holds some residual power, but its full potential is only achieved when it is in its full form, pieced together.
It had to be the object the two men had been discussing outside the shop that night. It all fit together too well! Her heart was racing.
Ralende turned back to the book and flipped through the pages under the candlelight. There were paragraphs about other objects—crowns, bracelets, sceptres. Finally, she looked at the book cover, certain she knew what it was about. Magic-Lending Objects: A Compendium.
And Ralende knew who had been reading it, and why. Her father wanted to find something to fix her with.
“Ralende!” The faint calls of her name grew louder as her father’s footsteps came down through the corridors. She shut the book quickly and turned towards the place where the door stood beyond the shelves, its top just visible.
Her father’s footsteps grew louder, until they were inside the library. Ralende quickly snatched a book from the shelves and sat down, pretending to read.
With a loud sigh, he shut the door, pacing towards where she sat. Ralende’s heart thumped faster. Then he appeared before her and halted.
“Ralende—I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
She looked up from Guide to Local Poisonous Plants at her father, trying not to look like she knew anything. She thought about the magic-lenders again and seethed, but she kept her fury hidden as she stood. “What is it, Dad?”
Her father lifted his hand, on which lay a bracelet, its beads of opal gleaming with pastel iridescence. “I want you to put this on,” he said sternly, holding it out to Ralende. At once, she knew what it was—and recoiled. He had gotten one for her. She saw the triumph hidden behind his gaze.
“What is it for?” she asked, barely keeping the edge of anger from her voice.
“Just wear it. It’ll do you good.”
“Do me what good?” She narrowed her eyes. “Improve my magic energy artificially? Finally make me more than a disgrace to you?”
“I spent a hundred thousand gold on this! Why can’t you see this is for your own good? You’re wearing it, and you are not allowed to dispute that!”
He snatched her hand—and because of the simple wrongness of the situation, she fought him off. “Dad!” she screamed. “So you want so badly to make me meet your expectations? Why don’t you disown me? If you hate who I am so much, why put up with me?” She grabbed the cursed thing and flung it at the ground, pushing him away with shaking hands.
His eyes were cold. “I don’t see how you turned out this way! Rude, stubborn, whiny! If you want, Ralende, then you can leave! Get out of my sight!” The hurt was fathomless in his eyes, the cold anger that filled Ralende’s heart just as deep.
She began to cry as her mind ran over those words again. Sobbing violently, she clenched her teeth. “I thought you really did love me, when you said what you did yesterday. But now I know the truth!”
“I just want—”
Ralende didn’t wait for a response. Her head hurt. Her mind was full of the shouts of her parents—it felt like everything was crashing down, like the world was trying to enclose her in her own dark room.
What a perfect love story her parents had. Then she had come along and ruined it.
As she sped down the stairs, Ralende let the tears fall. She ignored the servants, Deneus, her parents’ gardeners as she ran, escaping through the front door.
The anger and sorrow hung over her for all of the next day, through all of her classes. In school, she had to see Waithe’s sneering face. At home, there was the looming presence of her father. Instead, she walked where her feet had started to take her by habit—to the markets.
She began to tear up halfway. I don’t care if you don’t trust him, Mum. I don’t care what you all think! Just let me live my life!
The plaza came quickly into view, and the instant she entered, she made straight for the gem-laden cart with two shopkeepers.
“Oh my, Ralende,” Velani gasped while she stood there, glumly browsing her wares with puffy red eyes. “Why have you been crying?”
Sef soon came back from the cart behind the stall carrying crates. “Ral? Are you alright?”
“I don’t want to go home,” she muttered as he put down the crates behind their counter and came to her side. Somehow, the sight of his worried eyes made the tears fall again.
Velani clicked her tongue. “Don’t want to go back to your fancy mansion? Some kids really need to learn to appreciate—”
“Ma! Don’t start now! Can’t you see she’s upset about something?” Sef snapped, then turned back to Ralende. “Anything we can help you with?”
“They’re horrible. They don’t care about how I feel. They keep trying to force me to do things. Telling me what’s good for me.”
“Would you like to tell us why you think so?” Velani’s voice was close to her ear.
Ralende thought briefly and shook her head, stepping back with a sigh. “I think I just need…time away.”
“Want to go somewhere else?” Sef offered, and she nodded. Velani sighed, shrugging.
Ralende let him lead the way, following after him. He seemed in a hurry to leave his mother, and she could only just keep up. Once they were out of the plaza and on a more crowded street, she sprinted to catch up.
“I wish my Ma wouldn’t be so nosy. Giving opinions when you didn’t ask. You don’t need more of that.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ve got the perfect spot for calming down and sorting through your worries. I’ll show it to you.”
Briefly, Ralende wondered how Sef could know so much about Kina-atana already. He broke into a jog as they reached the east edge of the town ten or so minutes later, the cloth over his shoulders fluttering with his haste. Ralende lifted her skirt and raced after, wondering what this place could possibly be. Already, her earlier gloom was only a notion at the back of her mind, slowly dwindling as they left the road and ran across the grass, towards a line of lush trees and the sound of a full river.
“Here—have you been here before?” Sef came to a stop at the steep edge of a river, and he spread his arms to the breeze. Ralende just stood there and stared, wondering how it was that she had never seen this part of the town before. Yes, she had passed the road many times before on foot, and yet she had never looked beyond the trees, or sought out the source of that distantly rustling water.
“I haven’t. When did you find it?”
He smiled at the greenery on the other side of the river, meeting the sky in a soft line of green. But it was the river—so clear and so cool—that made the scene. “I saw it on my way into Kina-atana,” he replied. “I was wondering all the time about this river I saw on the road outside the city—so finally, I followed it to this place.”
The summer was hot. Carefully, Ralende walked to the rocky bank, a small ledge at the edge of the river, and took off her shoes, soaking her feet in the cold water. After a while, Sef came down and sat cross-legged beside her, staring down at his reflection.
“Feeling better yet? About your parents, I mean,” he asked. “And all those things that happened with your classmate, too.”
Ralende nodded, and Sef smiled back, gaze still turned towards the water rushing by. Xalinya was right about one thing: he did have a pleasing smile, the dark tan of his skin framed by messy, darker hair. She found herself wondering if she did simply keep coming back to the stall because of their Enchanter’s magic. But if that was true, she didn’t mind, because they had been nothing but helpful so far.
Sef dug deep into his pocket and pulled out his deck of cards. “This is a good spot for a divination,” he said, shuffling them. Ralende lifted her feet from the water and shook them dry, listening to the flutter of cards while she put her shoes back on.
“Tell me what’s going to happen in the next month.”
The nomad boy slipped the top card off the deck and looked at it. Moments later, he returned it to the deck and shuffled again, drawing the top three cards. He laid them down on the rock between them. Horned snake, bloodied dagger, goblet. At once, Ralende began to sense that this was not good news.
“Plotting…violence…wealth?” she murmured.
Sef continued staring at the cards for a minute, and Ralende began to make her own speculations. Something very bad was on its way—but a golden goblet? Did it refer to the rich people of the town?
“Sef? Could it be about my family?” she asked anxiously.
He glanced between her face and the cards, and after some deliberation, shook his head. “It’s about an object of great value, I am almost certain,” he replied. At those words, Ralende felt herself relax, though she continued to think.
Precious object… Her father’s magic-lender came to mind. And then…
“Oh! I should have told you earlier,” Ralende exclaimed, straightening. “The Medallion, Sef, I think that man was looking for the parts of Arenian’s Medallion.”
“Arenian’s Medallion? As in, the ancient magic artefact? How do you know?”
“Remember what the two men were discussing on the street that night? They mentioned hunting for the parts and reuniting them at any cost. Then I read Dad’s book about magic-lenders, and it made too much sense! They’re looking for the parts!”
“Are you sure it isn’t something else that has to be pieced together?”
“What are the chances?” Ralende’s heart raced. “It grants unimaginable power, enough to help an army win a war. Doesn’t it make sense that someone might be seeking it at all costs?” As she spoke, the sense of it seemed to dawn on him, too.
Suddenly, her face fell. The way they had spoken had held no good intent. Plotting, violence, a precious object! What else could it be?
“This isn’t good,” she murmured, and Sef nodded back, worry filling his eyes. “He’s—if the Medallion falls into the hands of the wrong person…”
Sef glanced down at the cards again, slowly taking in the gravity of the situation. “Well—so, do we…do something about it?”
The question sent Ralende’s mind reeling—what might he do? Would there be deaths? They were, at this point, probably the only people who knew about whatever plot was brewing. It filled her mouth with the taste of fear, made her suddenly wish she could have carried on living her old, ignorant life.
But now she was in it, she could do nothing to change the fact that she knew something terrible was about to take place.
But what could they do? How would they, as two teens, change the course of events?
“We should tell someone,” Ralende quickly said. “Your mother, my parents, the mayor—someone who can actually do something.”
“Yes, but who would believe us? We only have evidence from—what, a conversation we eavesdropped on? A book you read? A divination with cards? We don’t even know the name of the man!” He paused, and Ralende realised he was right. “I have an idea. Let’s go find the parts of the medallion, wherever they are, and piece them together before he can.”
“But—that’s definitely against the law, and I really don’t want to break the law of—”
“We don’t have to do it against the law. We could just buy them.”
“Buy? Assuming they’re even for sale, where would we even find the gold—oh, alright!” He met her eyes, seeming to remember the lavishness of her home.
“Still…how will we figure out where they are? Can your cards tell us things like that?”
“I think so. Let's try for the chain first.” Taking the cards from his pocket, he shuffled them while whispering the same chant he always did, in his own language. Then he drew the top card and laid it on the rock between them, revealing a bell with a “3” in the corner. After picking it up, asking a question, and shuffling the deck again, he slipped the top three cards off.
Ralende watched as he turned them over one by one. Gold again—the same goblet as in his previous divination. Then came a sickle, its moon-shaped blade decorated with waves, and an image of a woman with a long dress and flowing veils over her face. And finally Sef laid down a circle with radiating lines—a star.
“That’s a fog spirit,” he explained. “Our chain is in a jewellery shop that’s hidden away, and…I think its name has an astral theme.” Impressed that he could decipher something like that so quickly from the cards, Ralende observed the three images again, trying to see how he had come up with the reading.
“So…how will we go about this?” she finally asked. “How would we know which chain or medal is the right one?”
“I can help with that,” Sef replied, picking the cards back off the rock and stacking them. “Our chain is about two hundred years old—no other chain from that era is going to be that old and still in good condition. Some credit its maker with inventing its style of metalwork a century before it became popular.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I’ve been apprenticed to my mother for twelve years,” he replied, beaming with pride. “And we have travelled far and wide, studying the jeweller’s arts! As for the core…I don’t know what that could be. Maybe whatever the medal contained. Either way, I can tell how long ago a metal object was forged if I can examine it.”
“Oh—obviously I have chosen the perfect collaborator,” Ralende answered.
The wind was starting to eddy around them, playing with her dark hair. It was refreshing, and yet it did nothing to ease her worries. Looking around at the scenery around them, she breathed deeply, longing to relax in its beauty once more.
“So let’s meet about this—next week on Asira day maybe?”
Sef nodded. The wind was flicking hair into his eyes again, and he combed it back with his fingers. “Meet me here, alright? You remember the way here?”
Ralende nodded. She stood up in the gentle wind and stretched her legs. “Thanks for showing me this place,” she said, smiling.
“I’m happy it brought you joy, too,” he replied.
All the way back, Ralende tried to recall her dourness, but somehow she could no longer work herself up about it. The prospect of stopping what could potentially be a disaster was bouncing around in her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Every now and then, the anxiety would suddenly make her heart race as she walked between carriages and their clattering wheels. But thinking of the river always seemed to put her at peace for a while.
“Ralende!” The squeal would have been unrecognisable had Ralende’s mother not suddenly burst through the gate with her arms spread wide. Moments later, Ralende was engulfed in silk as she found herself in her mother’s embrace. “Oh, Ralende! You won’t believe what happened today!”
Even as she stepped away, stunned, Cerralyn ran across the grass, towards a tree close to the right side of the house, and in a moment, returned with a majestic brown creature in a rein. Ralende’s eyes widened. “Mum—how—”
She beamed. “Well, I met a man at the market today, and when I asked about it, he said it was for sale. And he sold it to me, just like that.”
Ralende stared at the horse—the fine beast had a bright, if slightly messy, coat of chestnut fur, its black mane thick and glossy. It flicked its tail and snorted as she observed it.
“And that means,” her mother continued, “I can ride wherever I like, on a whim!”
Ralende smiled at her mother’s enthusiasm. She knew that Cerralyn had been wanting such a beast for a long time. Ralende said a cheery hello to Deneus, then raced up the stairs.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Ralende’s mother commented at dinner, turning to her daughter beside her at the table. She swallowed, willing herself not to chew too fast from nerves.
The truth was, the thoughts on their search for the parts of the medallion were still constantly on her mind. How will we know? Can Sef really tell just by looking? There are so many possible places to look, how can he narrow it down?
Swallowing her fourth mouthful in the minute, she gripped her utensils tight and shook her head, something she found very hard to do under her father’s humourless grey gaze.
“Well—is it something to do with yesterday?” she guessed further. “Don’t worry, your father’s already told me about it.”
Ralende looked down without a response, hoping that her silence was taken as affirmation.
It worked. “It’s fine to feel that way,” she said, leaning towards her daughter. “I know it’s against some people’s beliefs to artificially increase one’s power. Perhaps you are one of those who feel that way.” She glanced at her husband, who stared indignantly back. Those sky blue eyes, usually so playful, were now full of restrained anger; Ralende could almost see the reprimand they held. And somehow, looking into her father’s eyes hurt a little—perhaps that was how he felt about this.
“It’s alright,” Ralende cut in. “I shouldn’t have thrown something so expensive aside. But—must I really wear something to try and make magic happen? It doesn’t work. I’ve tried.”
Without waiting for a response, Ralende stood and departed for the staircase. Stopping halfway, she turned back to see her parents still staring at each other, a servant, Felrane, collecting her plate. Feeling very guilty all of a sudden, Ralende turned and raced away to her bedroom, up the glossy candlelit stairs.
The next morning, Ralende came down the stairs to hear her parents in a discussion about her newfound friend.
“How strange that she’s warmed up to those nomads,” Cerralyn said. “One of them even came home with her—a boy—and she tells me he told her her future!”
“Ah, an Espier.”
“And an Enchanter, too,” Cerralyn replied. “I worry he has tricked her with a hoax.”
“We could put his powers to the test.”
Ralende could feel herself smoking with anger. “Then I’ll call him over!” she shouted, marching down the stairs. Both heads turned.
“That is fine by me,” her mother replied. “Don’t tell him why we are asking him over. So he can’t prepare a more elaborate hoax.”
She wanted to defend herself—to say she was not simply being daft—but obviously, her mother wouldn’t listen to a word of it. So Ralende simply nodded and departed huffily.
Ralende’s practical the next day was just as eventful as every other practical—Miss Rielo made her attempt a Coldness spell in front of the class, embarrassing herself completely yet again. Everything—whether it was releasing raw energy as in Light spells, or banishing it, as in Coldness spells—simply slipped out of her grasp, ending her spell abruptly.
She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists as she sat down after her failure of a demonstration. I hate it, I can’t stand the way she keeps trying to make a fool of me!
Leaning her head on her wooden tabletop yet again, she made herself think of anything else—of meeting Sef to tell him to come over today to see her parents without telling him why, practising with Ocania an afternoon ago, the plan to buy the parts of Arenian’s Medallion—even that didn’t distract her now from the overwhelming disappointment of yet another public humiliation.
As the lesson drew towards its end and Miss Rielo scribbled more things on the chalkboard, Ralende took notes. But these notes were close to useless to her. Magic will work best when allowed to gather for a longer period of time. In battle, aim at the enemy’s weakest point. Such useful things to teach a person who couldn’t even gather energy successfully!
While the rest departed for their next lesson, Miss Rielo suddenly appeared at Ralende’s side as she was putting her textbook away. “Sit, please,” she said with a gentle voice that filled her with so much frustration that it took all her self control not to take it out in a bout of yelling. She sat.
Miss Rielo sat on the neighbouring chair. “I have identified two reasons for your inability to perform magic,” she explained. “The first is that you possess two conflicting types of magic, and you have not yet learnt to channel both separately, meaning they are blocking each other.” Ralende opened her mouth to retort, but Miss Rielo, with her piercing sapphire eyes, told her with her gaze to keep silent, and she did so. “The second is that you have had the message deeply ingrained into you since young, that you cannot do any magic—even though you can. Such an emotional barrier can actually hinder your ability—”
“What ability?” Ralende laughed bitterly. “The first time I tried to do a spell, nothing happened.”
“You see now, I think that’s the more likely case for you, because most people with two types of magic would already have learned to channel something by the age of ten. So…are you sure you aren’t just telling yourself that you can’t? Have you been believing this since you were young?”
She folded her arms with a frown. “I don’t believe so; I know so.” It sounded exceedingly rude, but her bitter anger and frustration were too great for her to care. How many times she had tried to please her father, she recalled. How many times she had failed. How often he had unsuccessfully tried to hide his disappointment, and how that had pierced her deeper than any outright show of the same would have.
Suddenly tearful and aching inside, Ralende stood. “I can’t, alright? I can’t! Why can’t you give me a break?” She hugged her books tightly and ran away towards the washrooms, leaving Miss Rielo wide-eyed.
Stop staring! she thought as she ran past gaping passers-by, headed straight towards comforting solitude. You won’t know how I feel, being less than everyone else! The world was whirling away past her, filled with hate and darkness and wide staring eyes.
Leaning over the sink, Ralende cried and didn’t try to stop. She turned the tap to full and drenched her face and the front of her blouse, wept as she washed repeatedly and brushed her wet hair out of her face. The shock of cold water was enough to stop her crying, and only then did she realise how stupid she probably looked. Gazing up into the mirror where drops of water were slowly running down it like tears, she saw how red her eyes were, her hair held back by water. Her blouse and skirt were wet.
Might as well stay here a little longer, she thought, not wishing to appear before her classmates in this state.
Stepping out of the washroom, Ralende found herself facing Beydren. He froze and combed his red hair back, pushing up his round glasses. “Uh—we were wondering where you went,” he quickly explained, clasping his hands together. “Are you alright—were you…”
“I’m fine,” she replied. Beydren nodded and turned in the direction of the classrooms, waiting for Ralende to go first. She did so, and after a few seconds, he self-consciously joined her at her side.
He was a kind person, and it was obvious to her that he was infatuated with her—but the question was, could she like him back? There was no shortage of classmates who were clearly interested in her, and it amused her, but standing beside Beydren, it only made her strangely uneasy.
At least he doesn’t act like a total creep, she noted, glancing at him. He turned to smile back, an endearing smile though she did not reciprocate the emotion it contained.
The classroom began to buzz as Ralende stepped back in, or so it seemed—a few eyes were turned to her, and her best friends came to the two immediately.
“Nothing serious?” Quetany asked. Xalinya was still doodling as she stood there, and Iledra looked like she was forcing concern. Beydren inconspicuously excused himself and slipped away, leaving the four in their own conversation.
Ralende shook her head. They went over to their desks at the near corner and she opened her textbook, which had gotten slightly wet.
“Ralende, free this afternoon?” Iledra was tilting on her chair. “We want to go buy ourselves some new clothes at the shops. D’you want to come?”
“Uh—” Ralende recalled the appointment at home, between Sef and her parents, and she shook her head.
“Hey, you haven’t been free for weeks!” Xalinya responded with a frown. “Why? Don’t tell me you’ve been spending it all with the nomads!” Ralende looked back, stunned. “Do you like their company more than ours?”
Iledra, too, looked annoyed, but Quetany stepped in. “Just leave her alone,” she said. “It’s not a big matter.”
Xalinya folded her arms. “I don’t want to be around someone who mixes with them. What if she picks up their diseases?”
After the long, draining cry after Miss Rielo’s lecture, Ralende didn’t have the strength to have another outburst. She said nothing and walked away.
After that, the day was fast to end. Ralende raced home, still wondering what her parents intended to do with Sef.
All through lunch, Cerralyn was quiet, and some solemnity hung over the entire room. Without the distraction of conversation, Ralende finished her lunch quickly, and then a bright, loud knock resounded from down the hall.
She waited for Deneus to bring their guest, but her mother did not wait so long, rising from her seat and leaving her unfinished meal behind.
As Ralende followed her mother through the halls and down the stairs, she began to sense the first traces of a strange unease that had nothing to do with Sef’s arrival. It was a strange silence. Why hadn’t they exchanged a word throughout the meal? Why did the halls feel so empty?
Cerralyn opened the door to let their guest in. Sef had made an attempt at tidying his hair, and he wore a nicer shoulder sash than he usually did, woven with dark floral patterns. “Hello—you asked me to visit?” he said as he stepped inside. Ralende nodded as he walked past, and she caught a whiff of flowers and spices and from his fresh clothes. “I’m honoured, but what for?”
They climbed the stairs, Sef walking in step with Ralende. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” she replied.
Where was the sound of the working maids? Why wasn’t her mother greeting him? As they left for the dining room, the sense of foreboding crept into her senses.
As they sat down at the table, Ralende saw that her mother wore a mute expression, as if trying not to reveal anything to Sef that he could use to spin a lie. But there was an inexplicable disturbance in those sky-blue eyes.
“Good afternoon,” she finally said, and Sef bowed his head. “I am guessing you must be a little confused about why I have invited you here.”
“Yes, quite, ma’am,” he replied.
She looked satisfied, then from inside her sleeve pocket, she produced a deck of cards, pushing the stack out of the box and laying them on the tabletop. “Please, then, divine something for me. Give me some advice, perhaps?”
Sef stared on for a few seconds, and nerves shot through Ralende’s body. But then he gave a small “oh” and picked up the deck.
Ralende glanced at her mother, who was watching expectantly.
“Advice?” he repeated, to which Cerralyn nodded. He began to shuffle the cards, as he always did, but the cards didn’t line up quite as neatly as they did when he used his own deck. Perhaps he wasn’t used to how they felt in his hands—slippery and unused.
He drew the first card—a seashell bearing a “5”. Then, one by one, he laid out the cards of the divination—a broom, a cloak, a rain spirit, a palace, a harp.
Even now, Ralende could already sense that this was a sorrowful hand, and she had a feeling she understood parts of it. The Palace was not an ordinary royal palace, but the abode of the gods and goddesses. Rain signified tears, and the cloak signified death…
“You’re mourning someone—a servant or someone once under your employ,” Sef said. “Praying may offer you some comfort—that is what the cards suggest.”
Only at that instant did it suddenly become clear—the cause of the silence and the strangeness, the sorrow in Cerralyn’s eyes and the reason she had opened the door herself. The strange, nagging foreboding that had fallen upon them, like a cold veil.
Deneus had been missing the whole time—and Ralende hadn’t noticed.
Cerralyn bowed her head. “Yes, I understand. I do believe what you say.”
Ralende rose abruptly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she cried, eyes narrowed. “How could something like this happen?”
She shook her head as Ralende’s tears threatened to rise. “I don’t understand, either,” her mother replied. “They found him down on the street, completely cold and drained. Just a scrape on the neck and a knife cut on his arm—a Sevancist’s draining cut. And the murderer stole his locket chain.”
Ralende stiffened. A chain. He had taken a chain.
“It was an old chain, wasn’t it?” she murmured.
“He got it from his grandfather,” she replied, making Ralende’s mind whirl. “Why all this over a piece of jewellery?”
To Ralende's horror, her mother finally broke down into tears. “He was with us so long,” she sobbed. Ralende leaned across the table and patted her hand soothingly. “I’m sorry, Deneus…I’m so sorry…”
Ralende said nothing. She had known Deneus, but not as a friend. But there was one thing she could help with. She glanced at Sef, expression grave. They knew why the murderer had done it. They knew what he was in search of. But who would believe it? The more they discovered, the more unbelievable their tale became. They were alone in this plot, with no help from anyone powerful, no assistance at all.
“Take care of yourself, Mum,” she said.
Rising from her seat, she headed towards the stairs and gestured for Sef to follow.
“A chain,” she whispered urgently as they walked down the stairs. “I thought that was at a jewellery store. Are you very sure the cards were right?”
“They’ve never been wrong before,” he replied. “That Sevancist probably doesn’t know where the chain is either. He’s simply gathering up all the old chains he can find!”
To this, Ralende nodded. “At least we know that he isn’t any faster than us—but if he keeps killing people for their chains…” The girl shook her head, trying not to imagine how it might feel to die at the hands of a Sevancist, having all of one's life energy seep out of a tiny wound and into his hands. She had been drained once, and that was enough…
“But—if he doesn’t find what he wants, he’ll keep killing— How do we end it, Ral?”
At that instant, she wished she could give him some confidence that they were not helpless. Then she realised that she could. She grasped the hilt of her sword and drew it out of its veil of concealment in a swift, practised motion. “I’ll defend us,” she said with a smile as he leapt back.
Ralende slashed it through the air. His eyes grew wide. “Y-you had that with you this whole time?” he gasped, and she grinned at his surprise.
“I have it all the time,” she replied. “I’m not meant to carry weapons in school, but I need a way to defend myself without magic.”
As she lowered the sword, he glimpsed the symbols on the glinting blade.
“Wait!” he exclaimed, holding her hand down and bending closer. He lifted her hand higher, reaching out to touch the metal. The look of intrigue on his face slowly turned to interest.
“This is Ocania—it was forged by someone on my father’s side,” Ralende answered. “He also put an indecipherable message on the blade—”
“Oh, I think I can help,” Sef said. Still grasping her wrist, he lifted the blade to the light, observing the characters closely. “Old Sevadian, the language before Alade conquered it. My mother taught me some of it, and I think I can read a little bit…” Sef paused again and squinted while Ralende looked on in anticipation.
He finally stood up and let go. “It says something like, ‘I gain my fire when I slay your heart's yearning.” He shuddered. “That sounds…unpleasant.”
Ralende was perplexed as well, and startled at the meaning of the symbols that she had looked upon so long. “I never want to find out how that works,” she muttered, sheathing Ocania once more.
As Sef departed, she realised guiltily that she hardly felt sorrowful—why? Hadn’t Deneus been a large part of her life?
But the only thing she felt unhappy about, at least now, was that he had been wrongfully murdered, all for some cruel man’s quest for power. Sighing, she ran up the stairs with yet another weight upon her already leaden heart.
It had never occurred to Ralende how many servants there were in their household, but on that early morning in midsummer, she took one look at the crowd gathered at the dark iron gates of the Rest, and she finally saw it for herself.
The fences were tall, crowned in metal spikes that gave the place a forbidding air. Beyond the gates stood hundreds of gravestones in an unruly congregation, and beyond the fences, the woods gathered. The headstones closest to the gates were the tallest and the most intricate, topped by statues depicting expressionless humans, weapons, or belltowers—a symbol of everlasting light. They filled her with sorrow, knowing that entombed here were the ghosts of the people who had once walked the very same grounds, breathing, kicking the fallen leaves as she did now.
The cool shade of the woods, just a short way from the western border of Kina-atana, enveloped the funeral procession, where servants, family and friends were gathered in pale white, the colour of the snow and of the palaces. The priest and acolytes led the procession into the graveyard—a long, silent affair punctuated only by the sounds of prayers and weeping.
The silence made Ralende feel awkward while speaking, so she too kept as silent as she could, her head bowed.
As the procession passed between the headstones, the only audible sounds were the quiet coos of the birds and the flutter of falling leaves around them. It was cool for a late summer morning; Ralende looked around at the stones, pale and surly, wondering what made it so much colder than the streets outside.
They stopped at the main altar within the Rest, a round dais in the centre of the graveyard, where the funeral service began. The mourners stood around the leaf-covered pathway in silent prayer and meditation. But on all their faces, the sorrow was mingled with the same hope for Deneus’ release into one of the three palaces, for his time in the afterlife to be pleasant.
“Remember, dear children, that this will not be forever—you will not always be apart from your friend. Even now, he stands at the gates of one of the palaces, waiting to step inside…”
Perhaps the gods will be the ones to greet him at the door, Ralende thought. She saw that everyone was praying, eyes shut. There were servant from the halls, weeping quietly. There were the cooks, whom Ralende had seen Deneus thank for their work, now praying for his afterlife.
Finally, the time came for everyone’s last sight of him. They lined up, a few kissing the coffin lid tearfully, a few laying their hands upon the wood as they thought upon the dear, faithful doorman who had been a part of everyone’s lives, no matter how small.
Ralende walked up to the coffin, heart in her mouth. She felt cold, but perhaps it was only because of the loss that struck her as she watched the others mourning. Glancing into the coffin, she felt her heart tear—his neck was bare, the chain that had brought him to his horrible demise no longer there. He lay facing the gently singing treetops, eyes shut, his pallour almost unreal.
“Thank you,” she said. “I wish I could have done something.” But he was already gone, farther than any distance she could cross…
Then coldness gripped her hands as they lay upon the wood. The images of the kind, smiling Deneus suddenly fluttered away—and she saw his eyes open. She bit back a yelp as he sat up through the lid of the coffin and began to gasp, hands reaching to encircle her own…
“Ralende! Ralende, you see me! You hear me!” he cried out in agony. “Ralende, I cannot leave!”
None of the other mourners had stirred, and suddenly Ralende realised that his words were for her ears only. All around her, the guests remained standing serenely, some still crying into handkerchiefs. She blinked rapidly, wondering if what she saw was real.
“Deneus,” she whispered. His soul was here. He wasn’t at peace.
“He must be found!” Deneus cried out, and his rage burned so hot that she thought she might collapse from the pain. “I cannot rest, I cannot leave!”
The coldness was whirling through her body, numbing, like the grip of death itself.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” Ralende replied. She looked into the sad, ghostly face before her, hands out. “I’ll do my best to right the wrong.”
He sighed, releasing her hands and fading slowly out of sight. Ralende suddenly realised she had been standing there too long, and the people in line behind her were staring. Ashamed, she lowered her arms and stepped back, walking to rejoin the congregation.
Ralende then noticed that there were tears on her face, tears that were turning colder on her cheeks, tears she couldn’t remember ever crying.
She returned to her mother’s side, wiping them away. But she knew what she had seen: he had come to her, and he had asked for vengeance. He was unrested; his funeral was of no purpose.
At long last, several prayers later, the funeral drew to its close. Flowers were to be presented to the dead before the burial. Ralende saw her parents lay down a lush bouquet on his coffin, among the rest of the flowers, her mother still in tears even now.
Cerralyn had always been like that—familial and emotional. Ralende had taken after her in the second aspect, she noted grimly.
The final song was sung by the acolytes while the celebrant priest, a devotee of the Palace of the Sky, blessed the coffin. But now, the emptiness of the gestures was plain to Ralende. He was still here. He could not depart.
Still she stood with head bowed, until the melody dwindled, and the guests began to take their leave. Ralende’s mother was one of the ones who lingered, and she waited with her, until she finally rose and joined her husband and daughter.
Ralende could feel the coldness of the entire graveyard all of a sudden—it was noon, and yet she was shivering. She glanced about at the pale tombstones, surrounded by fallen leaves, on either side of the path. Her hair was standing. All around, she could suddenly hear an echoing whisper, almost like someone calling softly to her from the end of a tunnel…
Shaking her head, Ralende walked on forward in disbelief. But all the way, it continued to chase her—the sense of some cold presence behind, calling out from far away.
“Ralende,” said Cerralyn as they were walking homeward under the heat of the afternoon sun.
Ralende turned. There was an unidentifiable sadness in her mother’s eyes—perhaps shame, apology, or pleading. It was an alien sentiment in a familiar gaze.
“I’m sorry for not trusting your friend—and you,” she finally said. “I can see he was no fraud, and that you’ve made a good friend. It’s only a pity…he’s going to leave at the end of the year.”
It startled her how much more this thought hurt now than the last time she had thought of the same thing. She had just made the first true friend in her life, the first to have ever cared about more than her relations and status. And he had no choice but to leave at the end of the year, when the frigid snows of winter were just beginning to thaw and fade into spring. What then? She would be alone once more, alone to face the next eleven years living in the cold indifference of Kina-atana.
She would stand at the riverbank alone, watching a bloody sunset upon the rushing water, wondering whether anything would be the same when they finally returned in twelve years’ time.
Ralende felt an arm around her shoulders, and she turned. Her mother walked on without turning, sky-blue eyes set on the road, tears drying on her cheeks. But Mum has lost a friend forever, Ralende thought. And her mother was still alive. Ralende would have to live on, too—would have to let fate take its course.
“It’ll turn out fine in the end, I’m sure of it,” Cerralyn said with a wisdom that always comforted her, without fail. “It might be a long wait, but we will see them again. They always return.” Her eyes smiled, and Ralende nodded back.
Someday.
In a small town like Kina-atana, news spread faster than wildfire. Once a household knew, all their friends would know within an hour, and someone was bound to take it to the marketplace—then everyone would know.
Five murders. Five murders in two days—the news had come to Ralende first through the laundry woman in the morning, then through her classmates, and finally through Velani at the plaza.
Five murders, all in the same style—a small cut, a completely cold body, and a missing chain. The theory of a Sevancist murderer had become widespread, and already, many were speculating.
“But why a chain?” her friends were in heated discussion during their break. “And why from old men? He should just break into the jewellery shops—they’re all on the same street—”
Iledra clamped her hand on Xalinya’s mouth. “Not too loud, you might give him ideas!”
“As if he can hear them,” Quetany replied.
“You’d never know. Those Sevancists have all sorts of wild, unimaginable powers—just ask Ralende!”
“What?” She looked up. “They don’t have eavesdropping powers! My dad can only hear things the other person wants him to hear.”
“Maybe this Sevancist has learned some secret art that no one has before,” Iledra said. “Let’s just stay safe.”
All the while, Ralende made sure to reveal nothing about what she knew. But it had started to grow into a constant worry. Four more deaths, all for a chain—and who knew how many more would follow? She was frightened, for she didn’t know who would go next. At any moment, he might take the lives of those closest to her…
I promised to end it, she thought. But what can I do? What can I, a magicless sixteen-year-old, do? The answer was, nothing, and now, four ghosts had joined Deneus.
Yet again, Ralende wanted to tell someone—anyone who might be able to gather the necessary forces to defeat this man. But her words had no power. To all of them, she would sound like a lunatic trying to invent a far-fetched explanation for this happening. Like Sef had said, they hardly had any proof at all. Saying what she knew would only pull her deeper into the pit of ostracism that she was already halfway into. And in the end, no one would believe a word she said.
What should I do? Who can I tell? Who will believe me?
Miss Rielo was at the doorway observing the somewhat noisy classroom with the usual disapproval. Ralende left her friends quickly, the need to speak to a figure of authority growing too strong.
“Miss Rielo—Miss Rielo,” she called, stopping before the perplexed teacher. “I have something to tell you. It’s very important.” After taking her aside, the teacher folded her arms and nodded for her to go on. “I—I know why all these murders are happening. I know—it’s a Sevancist who wants to find the three parts of Arenian’s Medallion—which is why he is killing people for their chains! And he won’t stop at anything to get them—”
Miss Rielo held up a hand. “Ralende,” she said. Ralende straightened. “Who told you all this?”
At this point, Ralende felt her face heating up. She had been dreading the question, but she gave her answer anyway. “A—A friend did a divination for me, and it said that there was something happening with a precious object—and, and we overheard this conversation about an object with parts on a jewellery store, and I read my father’s book, which—” Without having to recall what she had just said, she knew that she sounded like she was babbling.
Ralende stopped abruptly and groaned with frustration. The reasons, the proof, were undeniable! Why did it sound so weak when she said it?
“—Just believe me, Miss Rielo! Please…it’s really the truth…”
Miss Rielo patted Ralende’s shoulder, and there was a trace of patronisation in her sapphire gaze. “We’ll see what we can do,” she replied, and at once, Ralende knew that the teacher did think she had been babbling. All she could manage was a weak nod, before she returned to her seat, crushed.
Resting her chin on her hands, propped up on the tabletop, Ralende tried not to think of all the weight that was resting on her shoulders. How should she face it with no one but Sef on her side? How could they defeat a Sevancist who could kill with a mere slit of the skin? It was too much to handle alone…
“Ralende! You look troubled.” A familiar voice entered her hearing. Ralende turned to her right and saw Beydren standing beside her desk.
She wilfully cast all her worry away. “Uh—um, no, it’s nothing,” she replied, still slightly stunned at being pulled from her thoughts so suddenly.
She smiled, and the bespectacled redhead nodded and glanced quickly away. Around her, Ralende could hear annoying giggles from her classmates as they watched.
“Um…thanks for your concern,” she replied awkwardly. Beydren stood and smiled, stepping back.
Ralende suddenly realised, in that moment, that he was another person who actually cared for her. She had never noticed, but the concern in his gaze finally made her see it. The briefest warmth eased the cold of the loneliness away.
She glanced about. From in front, Waithe shot Beydren a poisonous glare, before marching over, arms folded. “Oh, so you’re going to reject me, and then stare at the redhead instead? Do you have any sense?”
Ralende felt her mouth open. “No, you’ve got it wrong—” But she could not bring herself to speak the words in her mind in front of Beydren, not so soon after he had offered her comfort.
Miss Rielo stepped back to the front of the classroom then, her claps breaking up the impromptu gatherings across the room. Ralende turned to face the front and took out her textbook, frowning to herself.
As Ralende was writing her essay at her desk the next afternoon, her heart began to race at the recollection of what was to happen that day. She was going to go buy the chain. She felt herself growing dizzy with nerves. How would she get a jeweller to take her seriously when she put forward her request to buy a chain that was even older than her parents? Only the knowledge of Sef’s reliability at divination gave her any confidence at all.
Earlier that day, her friends had asked her yet again to go shopping with them. But remembering her appointment at the jewellers’ street, she had guiltily refused yet again. Just thinking of the looks of scorn on their faces made her stomach flip over. What would they think now? Would they decide to reject her? Would she lose her only friends in a hostile classroom?
For now, Ralende let thoughts of her impending trip preoccupy her mind, and that was more than enough. She had never felt so nervous about anything before—but why, when it was simply buying a chain?
Please…let this work… It was the simplest thing they could do now. Defeating the Sevancist would be a different problem.
As the evening birds began to call, Ralende put her completed homework aside and gazed out upon the orange clouds, excitement stirring deep inside her again, shortening her breaths. Hands cold, she grabbed Ocania and strapped it on, tucking her coin bag under her shirt on the other side of her belt. With fingers made clumsy by nerves, the veil of concealment took some fumbling to tie properly.
As Ralende stepped out into the hallway, she could smell it in the air around her—the anticipation, making the air tight.
“Ralende?” She paid her mother little heed as she called from the garden bench. “Where to at this time?”
“Um…I’m going to meet Sef,” she said—it wasn’t entirely a lie.
Cerralyn’s face softened into a smile. “Enjoy your evening,” she said. “But don’t get too carried away.”
Slipping out the gate with Ocania hanging against her left leg, Ralende took off into the evening, towards the agreed-upon meeting place at the riverside.
The river came into view, bright with golden reflections. Sef was already there, as she had guessed, and he was skimming stones over the water. Ralende watched the small, flat stones skip through the gold, before sinking close to the other bank.
She finally called out to him, and he turned, standing, with his eyes full of the same nerves that she felt. “I visited the place this morning,” he said quickly. “I think I found the chain! There was only one of the right age in there. But I was only guessing from its make—I couldn’t touch it. I hope you’ve got the money.”
She patted the case on her right hip and nodded. Coins were used in ordinary transactions, but something this pricey would require merchant notes. She had never felt this absurdly afraid of buying something before. As they started their trip to the jewellers’ street under the evening sun, her hands grew even colder.
Their journey was almost completely silent. As it proceeded, she could only think about how she would ask for the item, how she would dispel the look of disbelief that she knew would come…
“Alright, we’re here,” Sef said, awakening Ralende to her surroundings once more. Her heart instantly began to pound as she gazed up into the brilliant glass display, behind which dozens of chains in cases glittered as if full of stars, the rings with their various gems sparkling and drawing her eye. The Setting Star, the front sign read. She’d never seen it before.
The interior of the shop was not perfectly silent, polite chatter ongoing in corners of the room. As they stepped inside, Ralende swallowed. “Alright, show me which one,” she whispered back, glancing from one chain to another. Sef walked past several glass cases, before pointing at the display holding a wooden mannequin neck on which glimmered a golden chain.
Stepping closer, Ralende read the price plaque in the glass: eight hundred thousand gold. She heaved a sigh of relief that she had brought enough, but her heart was still booming. Now, all she had to do was…
Suddenly, a pair of men appeared beside her, chattering eagerly. One of them was staff, for they produced a key and unlocked the display, teasing the door open.
From inside the cabinet, they picked up the very chain Ralende and Sef had been eyeing with gloved hands.
Ralende stared, heart sinking rapidly, as the staff member coiled the chain gently into an open box and presented the closed box to his customer. Then her stare wandered over to the customer. Today, he wore a formal maroon robe, but his sharp nose and thin face were unmistakeable. He took the case with a curl of his lips, then pocketed it, whispering something to the shopkeeper.
“You can't give that to him!” she shouted.
His head turned. Black eyes met Ralende's gaze, so piercingly cold that she thought she might shiver to death. His gaze shifted calculating to sneering—
Ralende felt Sef’s hand catch hold of her own, and all at once, they were fleeing out the door, through a road of blurring lights, everything soaring past as they ran for their lives, Sef’s hand pulling Ralende along. She didn’t scream; she held back the cry that was about to tear from her lungs as her feet took her blindly onward, the lights burning around her, branding her vision with lines.
Suddenly, Sef yanked Ralende off their original path. Stumbling in the darkness, she ignored the pain that shot through her ankles and gazed up the alleyway into which they had dived. Her breaths were fast and hard, her throat on fire.
“In here,” Sef whispered hastily, slipping into the gap he had spotted in the wall, hidden by the shadows of the eaves overhead. Footsteps chased, and in a surge of desperation, she shoved herself into the gap and crouched, moments before the thud of boots came hurtling towards the alley’s mouth…
His pace slowed, and she knew he must suspect they were here. She stood crammed into the gap with Sef, her shoulder pressing into his ribs.
Was her breathing too loud? Would it give them away? What would he do to them if he found them?
They stayed dead silent for a minute as his footsteps came closer, then finally paced away.
An agonising minute later, his footfalls finally vanished from earshot. Ralende dared breathe again, but for safety, she decided to stay hidden, and it seemed Sef had the same idea. Her knees trembled, and she slumped back, leaning against her companion. “Are you alright?” he whispered. Her head swam with terror.
“He saw me,” she whispered. “He knows my face now.”
“And he got the chain.”
Her head sank. They had failed in every way possible. “And now he knows we’ve been looking for the parts of the Medallion, too. It's going to make him even stronger.” And what would he do with that power? Sevancists had many ways of finding other information about someone once they had one detail—a name, or a face. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to steal it this morning,” Sef murmured.
Ralende shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault.”
They fell silent again. No one else came for five more minutes.
“Never mind about the chain,” she sighed. “Let’s just work on finding the second part of the Medallion so he can’t recreate it.”
“What, and make ourselves targets?”
“We can always throw it off the edge of a cliff, make it so he can't find it. My mother has a horse now, she could help us take it far away.” Slowly, Ralende inched her way out of the gap, her body feeling stiff from staying still.
“That could work.” Sef followed after, and as they reentered the sunlight, she saw the disappointment plainly on his face. “We’ll just do another divination for another day—”
Then the air hummed. The sounds of the world, the distant chatter from the marketplace, the calls of the birds, and the gentle clatter of cartwheels vanished. And in her mind, Ralende heard a raspy voice:
“You have made your last mistake, fool! I shall find you, and when you least expect, I shall destroy you.“
Just as quickly as it had begun, the humming faded. The sounds of the late evening returned one by one as if nothing had happened. But Ralende was trembling, legs weakened by a numbing wave of panic. The evening had grown so cold…so cold…
“Did you…didn't you hear that?” she stammered, but Sef only stared at her with worry, and she knew that that message had been meant for her alone.
Ralende tried taking a step forward, but she stumbled. With a cry, Sef caught her by the shoulders as the tears began welling up in her eyes.
“He—he threatened me…in my head…”
His worry turned to panic, and he grasped her tighter. “Oh—Ralende, don’t worry, don’t worry, it'll be fine…” Giving in, she fell against him and began to weep into his shoulder, wetting the brown weave of his scarf while he wrapped an arm around her.
“Does he know where we are?”
She shook her head, sobbing sharply. “No, no. Sevancists can call without knowing where the listener is. Perhaps he doesn’t know yet.”
“I really hope not,” Sef replied. “It’s alright. He's left.” She nodded against his shoulder, winding her own arms around his back and wondering how they had gotten tangled up in so much so fast.
They began walking back to the marketplace in the twilight, neither daring to stray far from the other. By the time they arrived back at the stall, Ralende’s tears had dried, and Velani beamed when they returned, none the wiser of what had transpired.
There was an unnerving quiet for the next week or so, the sort that seemed heavy with expectation. Five murders, and suddenly nothing at all. The initial shock was dying down, but the unease was growing like a silent infection.
Ralende found herself at the gates to the Rest again, early that Ametha day. The mist had yet to disperse, cloaking the white headstones as the first traces of dawn melted the dew away. It was so terribly quiet, so much like the place itself was dead, and Ralende found herself shivering as the mists parted slowly before her cautious footsteps.
Past the gravestone of Perreos Arcast she walked, the Sevadian war hero’s stone taller than she was, his name carved deep, parts slowly starting to crack. Even those won’t stand forever. When will it all vanish? How long will these men and women be remembered?
Ralende went on past a few more gravestones, on the path towards Deneus’ grave across uneven ground she couldn’t see under the mist.
Deneus Avelio. She blinked when the name came into sight among a dozen others, the carved letters still unworn by the elements. The stone was pale like his ghost’s face had been, and she couldn’t help but to recall the moment he had reappeared before her, above the coffin.
“Uh…Deneus,” Ralende started, voice dry like the rustling leaves. “Deneus, I am scared. I want to help you escape this plane. I could have stopped him getting the chain…but I was too late. And now, he knows… Oh, I hope there is another chance…”
The mist began to stir at the foot of the grave like a rousing animal, gusts of wind buffeting her ankles. Ralende stepped back in startlement, watching with terror and anticipation.
Then the mist over the circle of graves began to roil and spiral, as if something might suddenly burst from beneath it…
From the murky rose five figures, their features solidified and flickering. Deneus stood before her once more, and she could almost have thought him real if not for his blue pallour. Four other faces joined him—two old women, a middle-aged lady, and another old man. The ghostly gazes were empty and cold, their irises no longer visible in their eyes.
“Ralende… Ralende… Thank you,” one voice said, all of them repeating different words to each other, like a whispering chorus. “He must pay. He is a murderer… His rightful punishment will come…”
Their sadness swelled around her. There was more than just anger there in their voices and expressions, though they wavered between mistlike and invisible. She heard pain and fear, perhaps for what might be soon to come.
As she looked up, Ralende felt the coldness deepen, her skin tingling from the creeping gusts of wind that swept across her. Their faces were circling around her, their voices like the wind itself, hollow and toneless.
“There is a great disturbance,” one sighed into her ear, leaning against her shoulder. “This man is tilting the balance with his power… Save our town… Save us all…”
Ralende bowed her head sadly, wondering if she could promise to do something so nearly impossible. But their immaterial bodies spiralling around her in the thickening fog, and she could not refuse.
“I will do my best,” she said, lips growing numb. Her fingers couldn’t feel, and her skin was tingling. She felt their hope rouse around her. “I will find a way to help.”
There was a collective sigh all around her, and slowly, the ghosts retreated into the mist, melting into formless whiteness once more. Ralende was shivering. She felt cold teardrops trickling down her face.
When she turned around, the entire graveyard was silent and misty again, drifts of vapour curling around the headstones and tree trunks like vine tendrils. Ralende walked on, watching as the stones passed her, slower now. The shadows were gentle between the streams of light falling through the foliage, setting patches of mist and marble aglow.
Slipping through the gates, she pulled them shut once more and returned to the city, leaving the Rest and its citizens behind.
When Ralende stepped inside the classroom, she found she had walked right in on her friends whispering among themselves.
“I bet she’s going to be busy with her new nomad friends again. She’s probably caught all their diseases already,” muttered Xalinya.
“I saw her at the market again, with that Enchanter boy,” said Quetany. “I think he’s ensnared her with a love charm.”
“Or maybe being around them just makes her feel better about not doing any magic—” But then Iledra pointed hastily at the door, and they all straightened from their furtive chat.
By then, Ralende had walked on past them. She sat down heavily—they had always been like this, and she had always known, but she had done her best not to begrudge the friendships she would otherwise never have had. She could feel the flames licking at her heart, and she longed to lash out at them. But their stares, piercing across the classroom, were already robbing her of certainty, filling her with dread.
She folded her arms on the table, trying not to meet their gazes. She was on the brink of breaking down yet again, sure that she would cry if one more person provoked her. And she didn’t want to, because that would mean they had won…
Then Ralende felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, and she turned to find Beydren standing beside her, eyes wide behind his glasses. “May I sit here?” He asked, pointing at the empty desk beside her.
Nodding, she felt relief flood into her body, and then guilt, for she this was the first time she had ever said yes to him.
He took the seat beside her for the rest of the day, and they exchanged quips and comments now and then. Her friends had always mocked him, and she had bought into their insults. But for that day, his presence was her only bulwark against the overwhelming awareness of how poorly her friends truly esteemed her.
Still, Ralende could hardly focus on her lessons after that, and the fear crescendoed in her body when no one else spoke to her all day. It’ll all turn out better soon, she chanted to herself. It always does anyway. It will turn out better…
Beydren offered to walk Ralende home that day. And because she felt so lonely, she agreed. They walked through the town and northeast towards the guildhalls, past where the streets became emptier. All the way, she felt conscious of the boy beside her, his quiet presence like a glow in the corner of her eye.
He cleared his throat then. When Ralende glanced at him, he leapt with surprise, as if changing his mind. She looked back down the road, at the sky above the shop-houses. Had she been wrong to ignore him all this while?
Again, Beydren lifted his head to face her. They were three houses away from her home. “Ralende—you know, I’m sorry about what’s going on in class.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing for you to apologise for.” She was struck by how lifeless her voice sounded. “They're the ones choosing to be like this.”
“I just hope it doesn’t give you the wrong impression of yourself,” he replied. “You’re so much better than they act like you are. You’re diligent, courageous, and clever. And pretty, too. I mean—um…” His voice faltered, making her turn. Again his eyes darted from one thing to another—the sky, the houses, his fingers—but he never once looked at her.
She waited expectantly. They had stopped walking. Pushing up his golden glasses, Beydren glanced at her and then turned away.
“Hey, Beydren, it’s alright,” she said with a little smile as they resumed walking. “I don’t mind the way you feel about me, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
He froze again, face colouring. “I—sorry—I never meant—” He inhaled. “You’re right. I know I hardly know you. But still…I’ve never seen someone so resilient in the face of so much hostility.”
“I’m flattered,” she replied. “At least one person thinks so. Thank you.” She extended a hand towards him, wondering if it was liking or a sense of charity that prompted her to wrap her fingers around his.
That was all that they said for the rest of the trip. Feeling awkward, Ralende fell silent and looked at the ground in front of her feet, noticing all the dead leaves between the stones, and for a while, the two of them were the only things that moved.
When they reached the gate, she unlatched it and pushed it open—but Felrane, now their temporary doorwoman, came hurrying down the path. Beydren smiled at her as she stepped through the gate.
How did she feel about him exactly? Right now, Ralende couldn’t quite say. She did not return his feelings, but could she ever?
“Get home safe,” she said, hearing Felrane’s footsteps approaching. He smiled as gently as he always did, and nodded, waving to her before turning to walk away.
Ralende found Beydren to be her consistent companion in class from that day, and it made her heart fill with relief amid her classmates’ frowns. Lessons wore on slowly today. No one even talked, the summer heat too dreary. Beydren was timid after yesterday, and the only person who opened conversation with her all day was Waithe, whom she ignored as usual.
Then, as they moved into the third hour, things began to seem wrong.
It all began with the sound of a faraway scream, one that made the class fall silent. Ralende felt dread fill her chest like cold water. But what made it worse was that no other sounds followed.
For half a minute after the shrill scream, not a single sound crossed the school compound.
Most of her classmates seemed to calm down soon after. Some continued to glance warily about, and Ralende could no longer stop staring at the open door at the front of the classroom, beyond which the corridor was empty and dim.
Nothing more untoward happened for ten minutes. Then from nearby, there came the slam of a door against a wall, almost as loud as the explosion of a fire spell. The moment of silence after that seemed to pull the air tauter all around Ralende, making her hair stand. Another ominous silence, like a wave that spread through the building. Nothing else. Even the birds had stopped singing.
Beydren, seeming to notice Ralende’s unrest, patted her wrist. “It’s nothing,” he whispered, even as she stared out the doorway. She nodded in thanks, but she was still shaking.
Now, no one was speaking. Even Miss Rielo had gone silent, as the third door slammed open—and this time, the shouting and dragging of chairs rose into audibility, in the classroom on the other side of the front wall.
Then, the shouting turned to screaming.
The screams made Ralende’s blood curdle, her palms turning cold and numb as everyone stared at the wall between their classroom and the next, wild-eyed, quietly panicking. Students began to scramble out of their chairs, even as Miss Rielo ineffectually gestured for them to settle back down and fall silent.
A tremor shook Ralende. The roaring and screaming of agony resounding from next door was loud enough to make her ears hurt. By now, students were scrambling towards the doors—but it was too late.
The door flew open, and he was standing there, his hard gaze sweeping the classroom. He was tall and cloaked in black, like God of Death himself. But she knew the face, the sharp, thin features.
Ralende felt her body weaken with panic, half-lucid as her classroom burst into chaos before him, classmates shouting to each other. Even as they began to pour towards the doors, she leapt from her seat and jostled through the crowd, eyes searching for a hiding place, till she found it—a short, empty cupboard at the back of the classroom, perhaps hidden from his view by the torrents of bodies.
“I will find you!” his voice shrieked in her ears, but Ralende flung the door open and scrambled into the bottom shelf. Masked by her classmates’ screams, she pulled the doors shut with sweaty hands, the darkness engulfing her.
Let him not hear. Let him not hear. His voice was still ringing through her thoughts, and she began to hear screams and thuds outside. Please, please… She wrapped her arms tight around her body, watching through the narrow crack of light between the doors as an eye flashed by, a hand—then the thud of a motionless body hitting the wardrobe doors.
She shrank back, willing herself not to breathe so hard, though her breathing was all she heard.
“Where are you!?” he bellowed through her thoughts. She shrank in farther into the shadows. Through the gap she could see him, gaze raking crossing her hiding place. He must have seen me, she thought. He must have, he must have.
But somehow, he didn’t come.
From inside his cloak, he pulled several throwing blades, then flicked them one by one into the bodies that still crawled and flailed, trying to flee, and before anyone could stumble out the open door, yet another barrage of blades punched into legs, arms, ribcages and necks.
Then the magician clenched a fist…and every bleeding body screeched and coughed a spray of blood, collapsing into piles as streams of light poured out of their wounds and shot into his mouth.
A draining. She heard her classmates’ voices dwindling around her, their fingers clutching ineffectually at where their very souls were being siphoned out through their wounds. She saw Iledra, Quetany and Xalinya, faces all contorted and fading to blue.
Ralende’s eyes snapped shut. She could no longer watch. She only heard the repeating sounds of blades digging into flesh and choked throats gasping for air. It was surreal, like a dream, but every sensation was too clear and too real, making the world spin, even behind her eyelids.
Then, quiet. There was only the solitary black figure in the centre of a bright, silent classroom, blood painted on the walls and on his face. His eyes began crossing the classroom once more, and as Ralende’s heart boomed louder, she closed her eyes, because eye contact would give her away.
At last, she heard the Sevancist’s footsteps depart for the door, deadened by the bodies, and he slammed it shut.
The sound of a burst of energy followed, and as she opened her eyes, she saw the doorknob melting, dripping towards the ground.
When a Sevancist drained a victim, the energy could not be held for long—they were specialists in the removal of power, less so in its manipulation. The doorknob dripped, now, with the heat of twenty dead classmates, locking her fast inside.
Shaking, Ralende hugged her legs and felt tears run down her face. There was no way to leave this classroom the same person as she had been when she had entered. And they weren’t there anymore, to help her or hurt her—Xalinya, or Quetany, or Iledra.
Ralende finally dared to crawl outside half an hour later, holding her breath. Their eyes stared up at her, empty with their very last shock, and she wanted to scream and run, or weep till they all came back. But they would not come back, and she could not run. This was her world, now.
She kept her gaze high so she did not have to look at the corpses of her friends. She shambled down the aisles, stepping over limbs. She had to place herself where the rescuers could find her.
She only just managed to drag herself to the locked doorway before collapsing to the floor with a trembling sob. She waited there for ages, afraid to leave in case the man was there.
Was it her imagination, or were the lights dimming, the air growing heavy and dry?
Slowly, gently, like cold vapour falling upward, Ralende saw apparitions rise from the bodies and drift towards the door, slowly forming into human figures who blinked their eyes open. The time it took for a dead person’s soul to come to terms with their demise was half an hour, she had read.
This time, the sight of ghosts brought no fear at all, seeming almost ordinary to her. They swirled like mist, indistinct, like translucent veils, their mouths still open with screams.
Ralende sat and watched, eyes spilling over. She caught drifts of their words, rustling whispers. “Who did this?” one pleaded. “How can such injustice be? Who did this? Ralende?”
They couldn’t leave their old bodies, she realised. They were tethered until the wrong was righted, just like Deneus had been.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying not to peer into those pallid faces which had been living and breathing just an hour before. She wanted to forget this day, but she could not—cursed to keep living while those around her had died.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a bespectacled ghost drift towards her, and his face made her throat ache the most. “I’m—I’m sorry, Beydren,” she cried, burying her face in her lap. “I should have d-died with you. I should have.”
But when she looked again, he shook his head quietly. “No, Ralende,” he replied. “You survived for a reason. You’re still courageous…and clever…and the world will need you…” His voice was thin and hollow, only a trace of his gentle nervousness remaining. He laid both hands on her shoulders, though all she felt was a cooling of the air. She thought of him a day ago, walking her back home, struggling to tell her the truth.
An hour passed with nothing but the ghosts’ voices for company. At least it was better than sitting with the corpses. At least they were still here, speaking in some form. Still, she turned away from them to stare at the doorknob.
Briefly she was struck by the fear that no one would come to check for survivors. She did not wish to room with these corpses overnight.
Then, the first sounds of rescue came. Every minute she had spent here had made her jumpier, and when she heard the gates creak open far away, she leapt with fright at first, before sagging with relief at the sound of carriage wheels and shouted commands through the window.
For a while, she listened to doors opening, one after another. Another banged open, a little closer. “I…I think they’re all dead, sir,” said one constable to another.
“No survivors?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
Ralende leapt from the floor and rattled on the doorknob. “No! I’m here!” she screamed. Reaching for the hilt on her belt, she drew Ocania, stepped back to wind up a stroke, and sent the blade tip punching through the wood door. Splinters flew, grazing her arms.
“Did you hear that?” one constable gasped to another.
She rammed Ocania into the door again, and now there was an opening big enough for her to shout: “I’m here! I’m alive!”
The doorknob began to glow hot, and she leapt out of the way as the metal began to drip down in great glowing gobs. Then the door flew open, and she was face to face with two staring constables, clad in leather armour with deep blue cloaks over their shoulders, badges studding the hems.
“Miss, please come with us,” said the more-decorated constable to Ralende, waving her over. Obedient and slightly intimidated, she walked over, keeping her gaze low. “I’m Sheriff Derrendo. May I know your name? We require witnesses for this event—and so far you are the only survivor we have found.”
“Ralende Haele, sir,” she replied hastily.
He stroked his chin. “Lord and Lady Haele will be pleased.” The pair began to walk her away from the classroom, flanking her on either side. “So, please, tell us all that you can about the attacker and the manner in which this attack occurred.”
The thought of the knives appearing at the man’s fingers, of them cutting deep and spilling blood, made her stomach lurch with nausea. “Yes—he was—a Sevancist, I think. He went one classroom at a time. When he came in here, he pulled out throwing knives to cut his victims. Then he cast a draining spell, and everyone began to bleed. Then the energy began to stream out of their wounds, and they…they died.”
“This is no trivial power we are dealing with,” Derrendo mused. “I’ll have to get a list. There aren’t many Sevancists around, particularly not pure Sevancists, which this man must be, considering the extent of his power.” The sheriff turned to Ralende again. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Haele. Please, take care of yourself. Your parents will be contacted at once.” He nodded once, patting her shoulder, before telling his subordinate to round up the policemen.
Derrendo brought Ralende to the school gate and waited with her, though a few other constables had gathered to stand guard. Now that she had the chance, she began to ponder the implications of what had happened today.
This enemy, whoever he was, was bent on eradicating her. And worse—she shuddered and felt her heart sink rapidly—he had a way of finding his targets. He had found her school with no more than her appearance to go by. He knew more than she thought he did.
Or had he guessed? Was her parents’ fame about to turn into a curse? What if he knew where her home was, and came to kill her in her sleep?
She felt her body go numb with panic, like the fatal chill of a mountaintop.
“Ralende!” A cry burst through the gates, making her head lift. Moments later, she found herself rising listlessly to her feet as her mother threw her arms around her, tears falling upon her shoulder. Her father followed close behind, laying a hand on her shoulder before cautiously joining the embrace.
She could hear the muffled sobbing of her mother as their arms wound tightly around each other, and she could hear their breaths, ragged and despairing, their relief flooding her like curtains of rain.
“The sheriff has told me everything,” said Lycendo over her shoulder. “Ralende…I’ve never been more relieved to see you.”
“I don’t understand what sick person would do this,” muttered Cerralyn, stepping away, tears only just starting to dry beneath her eyes.
“I don’t know—he came to kill me. He was there to kill me.” They stared at her in shock. “I think that’s why he killed everyone—he was hoping to get rid of me.”
Her mother’s mouth hung open. “You?” Her voice was wrought with terror. “He was there to find you?”
Her father laid a hand on her shoulder with a grip so strong she became sure that he, too, was worried, and cared for her in a way she couldn’t yet understand. She had only just realised how closely she had brushed with death. “Who was it?” he asked. “What did you do to attract such attention?”
She shook her head. “I—I overheard his plans when he was telling them to someone else, at a jeweller’s,” she said, taking care not to reveal too much. “Then we went to try and stop him when he began to execute the first step. And he got angry because I was getting in the way. I ran away—Sef helped me—and then he sent out a call saying he’d find me…”
Cerralyn did not appear to believe much of what she said, but her face was grim. “You’ve been through a lot today,” she said. “Let’s head back to the carriage. We’ll take care of everything. Just have a good rest.”
That was the only thing Ralende had heard all day that had succeeded in lifting her spirits.
When Ralende next went to the nomads’ marketplace, Sef spotted her from across the square and sprinted from the jewellers’ booth. He dove into a hug with her, squeezing her so hard she could hardly breathe.
“Thank all the gods, you’re alive, Ralende!” he cried. “I heard a school got attacked—and I got so terrified—was it him?”
She nodded blankly, and his eyes sparkled with horror. “He…he came for me,” she whispered. “He said he’d find me, and he did…he knows how to find me now…”
“I don’t know how we’re meant to stand up to a Sevancist who will stage a massacre in the name of his quest.”
A massacre. As the truth of the occurrence descended upon Ralende, she felt dizzy again.
He eyed her fearfully. “Should we carry on? Or abandon the quest?”
Her hands curled into fists. “We’re involved already, no matter what we do. Right? So we have to make sure he doesn’t succeed. Maybe it’s time to involve authorities. Tell them what we know. But I still don’t know how we’re going to get anyone to believe us.”
Sef shook his head. “Maybe let’s think about that another day.” As they walked back to the booth, his face softened into a smile, and there was enough life in his eyes for the two of them. “It’s almost the end of summer.” He glanced up at the sky, smile turning sad. “You know…when I came, I never thought I’d be making such a rare friend. I don’t know how I’m meant to carry on to the next town, knowing I’m leaving you behind.”
She smiled, suddenly self-conscious. After all her time being reviled in secret, she hadn't thought to imagine anyone could ever regret having to leave her.
Seeming to realise she wasn’t responding, Sef shook his head, toying with his belt of jeweller's tools. “I’m glad Ma isn’t here to hear me say these things,” he murmured. “She’s always saying I shouldn’t get too attached to anyone in any town we visit. But…uh…” He chuckled, meeting her eye. “It’s too late.”
Ralende inexplicably felt warmth bloom through her cheeks. “Oh—I’m glad that you’re here in our town, too,” she replied in a laugh. “This whole thing has been beyond my worst nightmares, but I’m glad it is not my burden alone.”
What happened after they left in winter? What if she didn’t survive till then? If she did, would she have to bear the sorrow of watching the nomads leave for another twelve years?
Even departing this evening was nearly impossible. But she managed it in the end. And perhaps she always would, one way or another.
“School of the Market District? That sound alright to you?” Cerralyn sat in her armchair with a piece of paper in her hands. Ralende leaned back in the cushions, taking in the sound of the school’s name.
In Kina-atana, there were four districts—Market, Central, Outskirts, and Heartlands. There were two schools in each, and in Ralende Haele’s district, the School of the Market District was typically where those who could not afford the fees of her previous school, the Royal School of Kina-atana, sent their children.
Now, with the massacre hanging over it, her old school had been closed down while plans were made to construct a new one. And she, one of only three survivors of that evening, would have to move.
“Well, if it’s the nearest,” she replied, still slightly distraught at the thought of the school that had once housed her for a third of her hours becoming the roof under which Kina-atana’s bloodiest mass-murder had taken place. Now, it would always be known for that.
How fast could things happen? Already, her mother was preparing to enrol her in a new school under a pseudonym—and that night, she would be attending the funeral of her mother’s friends’ children.
What still sickened her the most was that he had come for her, and yet she was the only one among her class who had survived. The rest had paid the price for her.
“I shall send them a letter,” her mother said, cutting her thoughts abruptly short. “In at most five days, you will start your classes there.”
How fast could things happen? Ralende nodded and stood, waiting expectantly to be dismissed.
“Ralende,” her mother said then, making her turn. She blinked a few times. “I love you,” she finally said, bringing a smile to Ralende’s lips.
“I love you too. Even though I don’t say it enough.”
Cerralyn beamed back, though her eyes crinkled with sorrow. “None of us ever do, do we?”
The reply from Ralende’s school came in three days, and so she began her lessons there a day after that, under the name Idrina Marian. The name hardly sounded like herself, but she supposed that that had been her parents’ goal when they had concocted it for her.
When she woke that morning, the garden was filled with mist, like the traces of ghosts curling through the bushes, but the absence of Tae, their horse, told her that her mother had already departed. Her father had started work in his testing rooms, she could tell from the humming that echoed down the darkest, coldest hall.
Ralende’s feet were cold for the first time in months, she found as she came down, fully dressed, from her bedroom to the dining room. She called a servant, who brought her a breakfast of oat porridge with berries.
Finishing her breakfast, Ralende gave the sword on her hip a pat, and she set off with her textbooks, now without her Literature books because it wasn’t taught there.
The nerves made her shake as she walked towards the carriage. She did not know the location of the new school, so she would ride with the carriage until the address was firm in her mind. What would her classmates be like? Would any of them befriend her? She knew that they wouldn’t be the elitist snobs that her old classmates had been—but the prospect continued to make her jumpy.
The cool of the tail end of summer cleared her mind as she walked. Already, the oldest leaves were fading to gold. There were more leaves on the cobblestones than there had been all year, bright as fallen confetti.
The new route led her to the open gates of a white building, its roof tiled in brick-red shingles. The windows shone in the sunrise, and Ralende entered the gates.
She soon found an imposing man waiting just inside for her arrival, who waved at her as she arrived. A few other students were walking in as she approached the bearded man.
“Good morning, Miss Marian, or so I’ve been told to call you,” he said warmly. “A strange circumstance in which to be having you as a student here, but I hope you feel welcome.”
Mouth dry, Ralende nodded.
“Your classroom is the second on the right,” he went on, gesturing down to the corridor behind him where it branched in two. “Please, step inside and make yourself feel welcome.”
Bowing, Ralende followed his directions and found her way quickly towards the classrooms, nerves mounting as she tried to picture what lay behind that classroom door.
Swallowing, hand on the doorknob, Ralende pushed the door open, heartbeat growing louder in her head.
Only ten other students had arrived so far, and all of them had their eyes fixed on her. One of them, a boy whose features looked strangely familiar, stood. “Ral—I mean, Idrina?” he called. Those green eyes! They looked like Xalinya’s…
Her mouth opened. “Zaeri?” Never once had it crossed her mind that Xalinya’s brother, who hadn’t passed her school’s entrance test, had gone to this school instead. Perhaps that had saved his life. He had his chin lazily propped up on his elbow. He did look a lot like his twin, right down to the green eyes and sharp features. But what if his personality was similar to his sister’s—
Xalinya is dead.
Her head reeled at that thought. She quickly found herself a seat near the door.
The girl in front of her glanced back. “Ooh, fancy girl from the fancy school, huh?” she said. Ralende pulled back and said nothing.
Somehow, Ralende already had a feeling that this school wouldn’t be any better than her first.
By the time the teacher came in, there were thirty students—bigger than her class in her last school—and there were all sorts of people in it.
The teacher’s entrance did not seem to affect the chattering at all, the way it would have in the Royal School. He was blond and stocky, his eyes light brown. With those eyes he scanned the room, and upon seeing her, waved for her to come to the front of the classroom.
Ralende stood and dusted out her skirts. She walked over, conscious that her clothes looked much fancier than her classmates’—a black blazer buttoned over a blouse, and a matching skirt in the same dark fabric. When she stood in front of the teacher, she heard the conversation louden. “Good morning, Miss Marian,” he said. “Your first day here, isn’t it? I hope you are doing better now, after last week.”
“Much better,” she replied. It still chilled her, but now, the terror was thawing away to leave behind a smouldering anger.
“Alright, then. I shall begin shortly. Call me Mister Eraya.” The Eraya family was a line of knights whose ancestors were told of in the legends of their country, she vaguely thought. There was a firm kindness in his eyes.
“Yes, of course, Mister Eraya,” she replied.
“She’s such a goody-two-shoes!” someone muttered from behind her. The teacher turned to glare, and they fell instantly silent.
“Now, everyone, I’d like you to meet Miss Idrina,” he announced. “She’s transferred here, and she will be with us for the time being. I would appreciate it if you could welcome her.”
One or two students clapped, but the rest only watched her with expressions anywhere between indifference and annoyance.
She went back to her seat, clasping her hands together as she stared at the walls. Cracks showed everywhere in the paint, the blackboard covered in white dust. THe floors were grey, unlike her previous school’s marble. But the lighting was much brighter, for there was no glass to hold the Lycanist torches.
The lessons, she quickly learned, were delivered by Mister Eraya with plenty of time for the students to ask questions. This was unlike at the Royal School, where they had clipped along, leaving the slower learners in the dust. Here, one teacher taught all the subjects—a fact that made Mister Eraya seem a little more impressive in her eyes than Miss Rielo or any of her other tutors. Ralende watched the teacher scribble on the chalkboard about the War of the Three Kingdoms. He wasn’t just firm—he was kind as well, pausing to repeat anything that any student voiced confusion about.
Throughout the day, few students had dared interact with her—Zaeri had asked how she was doing after the massacre, and she had asked him the same. Not long after, as she was walking in the halls, she started to hear leery comments about her looks. Whereas the boys of the Royal School had had the restraint not to be outspoken—except for Waithe—the ones here were happy to openly call out their opinions, from which she could only brisk-walk away.
But at last, the dreaded practical lessons came. As soon as Mister Eraya asked them to produce their magic textbooks, she began to sweat with nerves and leaden dread.
“Miss Marian,” she was called by the teacher, and she kept a nonchalant face, though she was trembling. “A mid-class fire spell, please.”
Of course, Ralende knew she had never performed a fire spell of any kind successfully before, let alone a mid-class one. Her mind was spinning, just like it had every practical lesson before. But the gazes of unfamiliar classmates pressing into her made it ten times worse.
She stood reluctantly. “Sir—please—” she started, voice high and loud.
He smiled. “Were you taught fire spells in your previous school?”
“Well, yes—”
“Oh, you’re too high and mighty to do a simple fire spell for us?” called a girl to her left, followed by a startling wave of heckling that was instantly silenced by Eraya’s stern glare, though her eyelids were already prickling with tears.
Perhaps today, for once, the pressure would squeeze the power out of her. Fireball, she thought to herself, recalling the steps of the spell. Lifting her palm to face the ceiling, she gently coaxed the heat from the corners of her soul, drawing from the well of energy she held within herself. A tiny flame—she willed it through her veins—it was there, flickering, then firm. Surely she could do it this time! Carefully, Ralende drew it out and let it rise from her palm—and suddenly, there was the tiniest ember dancing above her hand.
Her heart boomed. She was doing it! She drew more energy up from the centre of her heart, gathering it, restraining it, keeping it just the right size—
Then it all ended. Like a plug had been jammed in to stem the flow of power from her heart to her palm, the flame sputtered and died.
The classroom was silent. Ralende could feel her face heating up as her mind went blank, her hands growing cold. She caught piercing stares from everywhere, saw the realisation run through their eyes.
“Oooh, the rich girl can’t cast a spell!” The girl beside her wore a sneer.
Behind her, a pair of boys burst into laughter. “All you’ve got is a pretty face, after all! I bet Orden would have a field day with you.”
“Quiet.” Mister Eraya cleared his throat. “Good effort, Idrina.” Completely crushed, Ralende bowed her head and sat back down, trembling, laying her head on her desk and closing her eyes. The darkness was not enough comfort. She could hear the murmurs rippling across the classroom. It was happening all over again.
She refused to cry on her first day of school. Holding that thought in her mind, Ralende kept the pain reined in.
“Alright, then,” the teacher went on. “Next please. Fire spell.” And so she was forgotten, at least for that moment.
As she ate dinner, Ralende said nothing. She could feel her parents’ stares burning into her, but she kept her mouth clammed shut.
“So, how is your new school?” The question had been hanging in the air all this while, only to be spoken by her father.
“Oh, it’s alright,” she answered carefully. “They ignore me. It’s alright.”
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “You seem troubled, Ralende,” she said. “Don’t tell me…you had a practical lesson today.”
Ralende’s shoulders sank as she nodded, trying not to look at either of them.
“Ralende, if you're having problems, it doesn't help to keep them bottled up,” said her father, losing interest in his food. “Talk to someone—”
Within seconds, the calm unease turned into boiling rage. “What, talk to you?” she roared, anger pulsing through her body. “What help do you ever give?”
She angrily wolfed down her dinner, flinging her cutlery into her empty plate with a clang. Her only thought was to run from her father’s eyes. She did not bother wiping her streaming tears away as they fell from her chin and stained her dress. She slammed her door behind her, and even in the silence, she could hear her blood roaring, the jeers of her classmates and her father’s patronisation ringing in her ears. She felt as if this was the hardest she had ever cried, though that was always how she felt whenever she did.
I’ll never learn—I’ll never survive—never, never, never—
She collapsed into her bed, face buried in her pillow as always, wracked with sobs that shook the entire bed. She had lost hope of ever amounting to anything, ever being considered anything in anyone’s eyes. Even the quest to reform Arenian’s Medallion brought nothing more than a feeling of sickening helplessness. There was a killer on her heels, whom she hoped would believe she was dead…
Nothing more I can do about it, she thought. Until I learn magic, this can only end one way: with him killing me!
Learn magic. Ralende’s stomach twisted when she realised that all her problems stemmed from this one same thing.
Rising on her arms, she crept across her sheets to her bedside table, where Ocania lay hidden by the veil. She reached out to touch its sheath, forlornly wondering if it could be another road to salvation.
I gain my fire when I slay your heart's yearning. She recoiled slightly at the thought of the engravings, but realised that she loved this sword too much to hate the prophecy embedded in its magical steel. At least, her father had seen fit to bequeath it to her, and even to search for a tutor for her, though none had wanted to teach a wealthy girl.
Closing her eyes, Ralende breathed softly. She withdrew her hand and lay down again, feeling too clearly the presence of her parents outside the door, attempting to listen for clues. It was funny she knew they were standing there when they hadn’t given a sign, but maybe they just projected that strong of a presence.
Days were lonely in Ralende’s new school—save for some afternoons, when classmates with too little to do would corner her in quiet hallways, hungry to torment her.
Sometimes, an amateur Zanodar would fire their powers into her body until she was sobbing, and a Fainyar would snatch the breath from her lungs when she tried to scream. By now, they all knew she could not defend herself, and they all saw her as easy pickings.
On many occasions, Ralende considered informing Mister Eraya, perhaps to explain her dropping scores in class quizzes and her lateness in school every day. But these failings had almost immediately put her at the receiving end of stern scoldings, and she was almost certain her excuses would be dismissed out of hand
All that she had left were silent affirmations. It’ll get old and then they’ll stop bullying me.
Ralende left school as soon as the bell rang every day, stopping at the central plaza. Amid all the turbulence of her life of late, there was only one haven left: here, among the carts that kept changing patterns.
This evening, she stood and watched the dancer twins perform with their older brother harpist. She tossed them coins and even a note that they both scrambled to catch, staring at it with huge, shining eyes. Her eyes welled up at their joy.
Then she followed the dancing pair to the jeweller’s cart, where they began to talk with Velani. Velani called over her shoulder, “He’s gone off to fetch dinner, he’ll be back in a minute!” and she knew who she meant at once, her heart leaping. She began pacing back and forth to while away the minutes till he returned.
When Sef finally showed his face between the pillars as the sun began to set, he dashed to meet her beaming eagerly. Once he had deposited his mother’s share of dinner in her lap, they walked the plaza together, sharing the bag of fried potato and crispy chicken. As always, Sef’s demeanour—empathetic and warm—was a beacon that pierced even the foggiest of her sorrows.
“How's the new school?” he asked.
“Oh. It's just as terrible as my old,” she admitted as they walked under the lights.
“Oh, no,” he breathed, watching her with avid worry. “I’m so sorry. That’s just not fair.”
She did not have to ask for a gesture of comfort for him to offer it, beginning to rub circles in her shoulder with one hand. Like magic, the gesture eased her fear away, replacing it with joy, more intoxicating than usual. She smiled at the sensation and said, “Thank you.”
“Here,” he said, offering her the largest, crispiest potato slice, which she took and began to eat as they began walking back.
When the pair returned at last to Velani and the cart, she and the twins were laughing secretively among themselves, all three pairs of eyes trained on them both.
“Oh, Idrina, sweetie!”
Ralende found herself pinned against the wall outside the washroom, and though her heart hammered in her ears, she refused to scream or cry. Perhaps, if she did not react to being provoked, they would stop. They had never stopped, but she held to the rule anyway.
Through the grinning crowd strode Orden, sleeves pulled back, palms open, his dark hair falling in a ponytail over one shoulder. Orden, who had quickly become one of Ralende’s chief tormenters, was a year older and skilled in Cold magic. The sight of him made her insides curl up.
No one argued with Orden, because he could deactivate any attack thrown at him by banishing its energy, then go on to deactivate the attacker.
But Ralende knew that flinching would only egg him on, and so she faced him down with as steady a gaze as she could muster.
“Oh, Idrina, what a sultry glare,” he smirked and brushed classmates aside, coming so close that they stood face to face. He reared back for a laugh, and as withered as her insides felt, she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Again she attempted to twist herself away, but her classmates had pinned her fast with a pair of iron brackets.
With a hungry smirk, Orden ran his hands up her body, making her shudder and hurt as if ice were trickling down every inch of her. The rest began laughing as she tugged and tugged at the bonds, helpless against his wandering fingers. I hate you and your sick little mind! she thought, fighting back tears.
Then he withdrew his hands, and by then she felt so violated that she longed to break her own neck and die. But no, this was no cause to die over.
She glanced at him again. Cold magic was already vibrating in his hand—she could feel it, like frigid fingers down her neck. But she could not wriggle out of her bindings, could not escape whatever he meant to do next…
“I’m very fond of you, Idrina,” Orden murmured, touching her cheek with his fingers. “And if you hadn’t been an upper-class snob, things might be different. Just a teensy bit different.”
He bent and kissed her. And in that moment, all her thoughts began to grey—all feeling, all emotion, all warmth, flowing out through her mouth. He’s draining me, she vaguely thought, dreamy as if an anaesthetic were seeping into her heart. This isn’t Coldness. This is Darkness. Father’s magic.
And with that thought, she felt herself snap.
Her focus sharpened to a knifepoint, even though her arms were bound, even though energy was slipping away.
Sixteen mage classes, she thought. Matter magic—three classes. Life magic—two classes. Energy magic—four classes. Mind magic—three classes. Then there were the three high arts—the three greater gifts. Arcenism—to heal and comfort and revive. Sevancism—to steal and drain and seek. And Lycanism, to explode and burn and glow.
Something clicked. Desperation turned to anger, to strength.
And she felt her soul grow hot and her heart blaze with it—and for seconds, that burning core within her was in her grasp, flowing towards the doorways—
Her captors shouted in pain, letting the metal brackets fall from Ralende’s wrists. She tore her arms away from the wall with a shout. Released suddenly from her prison, she leapt to her feet, her entire body aflame. Magic, she thought for seconds.
Then it was all spent—but that didn't matter. She could handle this now.
She shoved Orden away, breaking the connection between their lips as the last trickle died away. She drew Ocania and slashed it at Orden’s face, sending him stumbling back while his lackeys scattered from behind him.
Ralende swung her sword and grinned. “Some people can only take so much before they fight back!” she snarled, waving them towards herself. The boys darted back, seeming to have realised that a change had come over their helpless little target…
“Hey! Break it up! What’s happening?”
Mister Eraya had appeared at the top of the hall, and in that instant, everyone began to panic. The boys went stone still, and Ralende rapidly sheathed Ocania.
“Everyone, leave this place now!” he ordered—and in threat, he sent a spark of fire of flashing down the hallway. “But you, Idrina—I want to have a word with you.”
As Orden and the others began to scamper away like dizzy mice, Ralende finally found everything catching up to her. And as she stepped uneasily towards the teacher, the only suitable words she could find to say were, “Sir, I’m sorry.”
Not a word was uttered as she was escorted to the staff office. But the instant Ralende and her teacher were safe behind his wooden door, he began to speak.
“Ralende,” he used her real name, “I want to know what was happening there, why so many were gathered—and why you were attempting to use a weapon on your classmates.”
“B-but—” It was unbelievable. She was the victim here—and here she was, being made out to be the perpetrator! “They started it! They cornered me and attached me to the wall, and Orden touched me and kissed me, and I had to defend myself—but sure, I’m the one who had hostile intentions! I'm always the problem!”
Ralende finally buried her face in her hands and cried, until she felt her teacher’s gentle touch on her arm.
“Ralende, listen,” he said as her sobbing subsided. “You said they cornered you, and that Orden violated you?”
“And he started draining the life out of me—” she started, then shuddered at the thought and resumed her sobbing.
This time, Mister Eraya waited patiently for Ralende to fall silent. Then, she looked up and saw that his face was very grave.
He nodded slightly, but his mind seemed to be on other things. “I won’t lie to you when I say that you are very vulnerable here,” he said. “You’re just the kind of person these students like to pick on. I'll do what I can. Their parents will be informed. But just be cautious around here, alright?”
She nodded glumly.
“I’ll keep a lookout for you after school. But I cannot keep my eye on them constantly. See if you can make friends in your class. Some of them are decent people…”
Again she nodded. At the very least, she had help.
“And since you’re here, I was wondering about your lack of magic skill,” the teacher put in. “It’s not something to hold against yourself—but have you heard the general theories on how it happens?”
She nodded again. “Yes. And maybe it’s true, maybe I do believe that I’m incapable of magic. Though it did only start because I…really couldn’t. My father, he tried to teach me from four.”
Mister Eraya’s eyebrows rose. “Four? That’s far too–ah, your father.” He nodded. “I suppose it’s the habit of the skilled to expect the same of all others—especially their children.”
“I always failed, and there was one time he punished me with his powers.” Tears filled her eyes before she could halt them. “He drained me.” She still remembered it—the blade against her palm.
“Surely not!”
“Yes. I spent two days in bed after that—and…and he hasn’t apologised. But I don’t hold grudges.” Ralende’s heart clenched at the thought. But I’m still bitter about it, aren’t I?
Mister Eraya shook his head. “This is important,” he murmured. “Such an impact is hard to erase from memory. And Ralende…if you’re ever going to learn to use magic, your heart’s core magic, especially—you have to be sure in your heart that you can. Whatever the world or your experiences have been, they cannot change what's there in your core. Nothing can change that.”
Ralende nodded. “Thank you,” she said shakily. She had felt it. It was hiding somewhere in her, waiting to be identified.
“Take care,” her teacher answered, rising. Together they walked to the school gates, and she waved as she left, textbooks in hand.
By the time the school compound was out of sight, the sun had already dipped close to the horizon, and the stars were slowly rising from the blue like little white sparks. At the far end of the sky, the night had already taken hold, and Ralende took a few moments to appreciate how magnificent it was.
Just like a lapis lazuli, she thought. When it’s uncut, it’s just a blue stone. But after it’s cut, the lapis lazuli is brilliant, beautiful as the night sky.
Raliende stopped among the carts and carriages of the market plaza. She waited beneath the night sky, and the stall owners around her, now lighting their oil lamps, then drawing new signposts in magic, also looked up to watch and stare.
Come on, let’s make a move on it, she thought, prodding herself out of reveries. Mum and Dad will not be happy if I’m home late, especially not with danger about.
Her feet carried her onward. Now she was here, she might as well get dinner. Ralende was aware of the fatigue dragging on her bones after the draining. As she wove through the maze of caets, her eyes sought out the jewellers’ stall. Around her, the shops were all lit with lamps and surrounded by owners at dinner.
“Oh, it’s Miss Haele again,” called Mazeren, one of the twin dancers, as she passed, and her two siblings turned and waved.
“Third member of Velani’s family, eh?” exclaimed Heikatra. Ralende laughed and shook her head. She arrived at Velani’s cart to find the woman carving a wooden piece alone.
Ralende ran up to her. “Oh, Velani!” she called, watching her shape an eagle’s head out of the wood. “Where’s Sef?”
“I knew that would be your first question,” she chuckled, and Ralende flushed. “My boy is getting me dinner again—you can see I’m not happily eating right now.”
She smiled as Velani picked up a dowel to make a hole for the eagle’s tail. “There’s something I was wondering,” the girl murmured. “Why do you nomads always have to leave? I mean…why don’t you settle in one place? Wouldn’t that be stabler?”
“Ah, but there are so many reasons,” Velani answered. “It is a choice, not an obligation. As I’ve told you, my ex-husband left to live a predictable life as a port worker. Towns and cities consolidate everything they own, their industry and their merchantry—but we, we simply go where the business takes us. And when each town or city loses interest in our wares, we move on to the next. I like seeing new scenery, anyhow. It’s hard at times, but imagine it—we pass through Dei-orin in the west, we see the sea, and we get to set up in little towns with all sorts of friendly folk.”
“But staying in one place doesn’t mean you can’t move back and forth sometimes,” Ralende replied. “There’s a straight road to Cedan from Ametha-orin. You can still reach the world, but without the hardship…”
Velani sighed and smiled. “Humans find pain, it doesn’t find them,” she answered. “Wouldn’t you say you’re just as happy, or unhappy, as we are? This is the niche Hore carved out for us, and I’m quite happy living in it.” Ralende nodded thoughtfully. A new expression came over Velani’s lamplit face. “Hm, that reminded me of something.” The shopkeeper put down her tools. She fixed Ralende with a gaze that shone with amusement, perhaps. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you know, Sefir is a gullible lad. Friendly, and too trusting. And I won’t ask too much, but I have a feeling you’re using his trust to drag him into schemes he has no business being a part of.”
She shuddered at her sharpness. “Oh, I suppose we’ve gotten in trouble a few times—but he happily joined me in it…”
“That’s what I mean.” She smiled wider and patted Ralende’s arm. “No worries. You can’t help the way he acts—but try not to pull him through too much just because he’s agreeable, alright? You’re charismatic in a way you may not realise.” She laughed. “I should ban my boy from meeting such people!”
Ralende glanced away, not knowing how to feel. Flattered or reprimanded? Velani said such strange things sometimes—and though she could hear the sincerity of her humour, there were elements of her self-expression that still eluded her.
“Are you planning to get married soon?”
She straightened. “Eh? Me?” In fact, Ralende had never considered the answer to that question. Her parents could try to match her to someone, but even they found it old-fashioned. “Not really. Why?”
But Velani, with the same breezy smile, simply waved the question off.
“Central Plaza again?” asked Ralende’s mother at the dinner table. She nodded, and her mother glanced at her father.
“Don’t worry, it’s safe there,” she said. But her parents gave her simultaneous withering looks, and she bowed her head in submission.
There was silence for a minute—but neither parent had ever been very good at keeping thoughts to themselves—and as usual, the meditative silence didn’t last. “We got a note from your teacher,” said Cerralyn. Ralende drew back against the back of her chair, wondering which part of their conversation he had written about.
“We’re questioning whether you should stay on in that school,” said her father. “Your teacher seems awfully worried about what happened, and we are, too.”
Her mother pushed her soup away, thumping her fist on the table. “How could they do that to my daughter?”
“Where else could I even go?” she asked. “I can’t quit my studies. That would be the worst kind of failure. ”
Her father and mother looked at each other, then back at her. “Your safety is more important than any of that ever will be,” her mother said. “But it is your choice.”
She nodded. “I understand. Let me think.”
The sickening memory of Orden’s fingers on her continued to hang like a ghost in her mind as she walked back to her bedroom, but she was beginning to grow numb to it.
She noticed then that she had forgotten to turn off her table lamp last night. Stepping over to turn it off, she saw, beneath the light, a message branded into her desk, as if by fire.
And on the surface of the wood was written a message:
“You can’t keep running, child. Look out.”
She screamed.
“Ralende! What is it? What’s wrong?”
She gasped for air and screamed again, until both her parents had showed up at her bedside.
All Ralende did was point at her desk, and as they went to look, she began to cry again.
Why can’t he leave me alone?
She watched through tears as her mother’s face contorted and her father frowned. “That crazy man,” he muttered, glaring down at where the message had been. “Don’t worry, that spell can be performed even without him knowing your exact location.” He pointed a finger at the table with a flash of shadow that immediately scoured the message away.
Both of them stepped out of the door and began to talk, too soft for her to hear. She shivered, gripping her blanket and pulling it between her hands till it strained. Her parents returned, graver than before. “Ralende,” said her mother. “I don’t know and I don’t care what this man wants from you. We’re not letting this persist.”
Her father was no happier. He was furious, and even more so than Ralende had ever seen. He normally kept a tight rein on his own magic, but she could see the way shadows swept across the room, making her feel faint. “Ralende, sleep in the daybed in my office until this is past,” he said. “It is likely he does not know your location, but we can take no chances.” Shadows swirled through his eyes, like clouds about to break.
“Y-yes, Mum and Dad,” she whispered while she gathered her pillows and sheets in her arms. “Thank you.”
When the night faded in, Ralende’s father’s office was cleared out to make room for a small mattress. The place was cold from the years it had borne the darkest of spells, and only the warm lamps that her mother had set up in a line by the far wall made it liveable. The obsidian of the walls did nothing to ease her out of her apprehension, only serving to meld with her fears and darken her mood.
She heard her father outside, chanting as he cast his spell. She understood what it was he was doing, because she had studied her notes diligently: he was performing a spell of oblivion, blotting her presence from the reach of any searching spell.
When he was done, her parents stepped inside her room and gave her a simple smile that made her heart ache. “Good night,” said her father. “Years of shadows ought to mask you from his spells. But I have reinforced them just in case.”
With a single good-night kiss from her mother after a shared supper in the office, her parents departed.
All through the night, Ralende lay awake among the black walls and the warm lights, staring up at the empty ceiling. She turned about, feeling as uncomfortable as if she were lying on the floor. She touched Ocania and sighed, wondering if that singing outside was only the wind, or another ghost calling to be avenged.
Early morning beckoned quietly, and Ralende found herself awakening to a silent mansion, the corridors echoing with the autumn wind. Her cold, lonely footsteps rang through the halls. She checked her parents’ bedroom—they both lay together, limbs crossing.
The girl smiled sadly at them both. As she recalled the story of their meeting, she realised with a little twist of her heart that they were people, too, with lives and loves, and that they understood pain just as much as she did.
“Thank you,” she whispered, closing the door after herself. Without having any breakfast, for it was Asira day and there was no school, she slipped on a sweater and raced down to the Rest, a place whose company she had started to enjoy, simply for the chance to see lost faces again.
The road was familiar by now, taking her some way out of the Central District and into the Heartlands, before meandering into the thin forest in which the graveyard lay.
Again, she stopped by Perreos Arcast’s massive gravestone and bowed, though his ghost no longer lurked there. Then she headed down to the next gravestone, before a magpie’s rattle made her look up. It sped away through the treetops, leaving her to gaze at the axe-shaped tombstone on which it had stood.
Intrigued, Ralende rose from her kneel and brushed out her gown, before walking in its direction.
Beneath her, the grass began to rustle and roil—and before her, grand and stately, rose the shape of the grave’s owner.
“Greetings, Sir…Eldirane Cania,” she read off the headstone. The ghost closed his eyes and sighed deeply, a demeanour typical of one who had been dead and unreleased for too long.
“You are a daughter of Haele,” he breathed, taking a seat on the edge of his gravestone, beside the axe.
“How do you know?” she asked.
He grinned back. “That sword you wear. I was the one who forged her,” he replied.
Ralende touched the weapon in surprise, where it was hidden. She hadn't thought ghosts could see through the spell. Then her eyes widened with understanding. Ocania—it took its name from his family.
She drew the sword, and he tried to touch it, but his fingers only slipped through, and there was something sad about the way he smiled and the weapon.
“I never realised I'd see her again after I died,” he murmured, his voice a rustle. “Use her well, alright? She's a magic lover, this one. Feed it to her at the right time, and she'll do your powers wonders…”
Ralende bowed her head. “Then it's just too bad that I can't do magic,” she said, sadly.
Eldirane shook his head. “Then she will be your magic,” he answered.
“Why ‘she’?” was her absent reply.
“I forged her in my wife’s memory,” he replied. “She has gone to the Palaces. I cannot see her here.” He gestured at the grave beside him, crowned by a sword, carved to appear as if it were embedded in the stone.
She felt a wave of sadness surge over her. “Thank you,” she murmured as she continued to brood. Soundlessly, she went about, greeting the unrested ghosts as was her weekly custom now, before departing for home and breakfast.
This Asira day was a gentle one, Ralende noted as she finished her weekend homework and proceeded to polish Ocania with renewed appreciation. She found herself talking to the sword every so often, and when she strapped her back on, she felt a joy twice as strong as before.
Then, with the afternoon left to spare, Ralende changed into her outside clothes and slipped out the door. She had put on her favourite outfit today: a flaring black hoop skirt, a white blouse, and a black vest that buttoned below her chest. She stepped out the gate and began toward the town centre.
If anyone needed to be told about what had happened in her room the evening before, it was Sef. That is what she told herself as she raced down the streets, hair fluttering out behind her.
The two cart owners were sitting in the shelter of their stall as she came racing in, slowing to a walk so she could tidy the white scarf tied around her neck. Velani stood at once and waved, before calling out to her son, who appeared asleep with his head on the countertop. He blinked his eyes open, then seeing her, he scrambled out of his seat and leapt to his feet, lethargy evaporating.
“Fancy seeing you here again,” Velani commented.
“Hey, Ral!” Sef called out as she stopped in front of their cart. “You seem in a lot of a hurry.”
She frowned. “He sent me a message in my room,” she said, planting both hands on the desk.
Sef recoiled. “No,” he breathed, to himself more than to her. “He can’t have figured out where you live.”
Ralende pursed her lips and shook her head. “My Dad says he didn’t have to know my location to send a magical message. But now he’s making me sleep in his room. To hide me.”
“You two. You’re not talking about the mass murderer, are you?” Velani cut in. They both turned to look at her in synchrony, and perhaps their gazes told her everything. Her eyes widened. “Is there…is there nothing you can do? The city constables? Surely?”
“I think my parents are as good as I’m going to get,” she muttered.
“Maybe—I could get an answer with a divination,” Sef finally said, pulling his deck of cards from its pouch on his belt. Velani sighed, and Ralende came up beside him, peering down at his hands.
“No—divine the location of the medal,” Ralende whispered in his ear.
He glanced at her, stricken. “Are we still trying?”
“I promised we’d stop him. And we’re still the only ones who can do anything.”
He trembled, caught between two opposing forces, before nodding and turning to shield the cards from his mother’s view.
While Sef pulled out the number card of the divination, Ralende found herself watching how his expression shifted as he shuffled and dealt and rearranged the cards. He always wore emotions plainly on his features, especially in his eyes.
“It seems to be in a town museum, Ral.”
She was always struck by how expressive his eyes were, bright as polished jasper…
“Ral?” Sef’s expression turned confused. “Why are you staring like that?”
She blinked. “Oh, um, I was thinking about something,” she said, before glancing down at the cards. “Where was it?”
“A museum,” he answered. “Your town has a museum, doesn’t it?”
Ralende nodded, somewhat absently because she was watching his eyes again, the way they lit up with interest at her affirmation. “Great—well, I think we should head somewhere else to discuss,” he leaned towards her, and she leapt, “so Ma won’t suspect we’re doing anything dangerous.”
Ralende glanced back at Velani, who seemed to be waiting expectantly for Sef to declare the verdict of the divination. “Hey, Ma, the cards are telling us to…go somewhere else to talk, okay? Just for a minute.”
“Wait, you aren’t going to tell me—Sef!” she exclaimed.
“It’s important,” he replied. The woman glanced at her son then at Ralende, and her expression softened.
“Don’t be plotting too much,” she answered, waving them away.
They walked no farther than the nearest pillar of devotion—that of the God Arcen—and sat down together on its edge, watching the early evening lights sparkle to life.
“So, the museum. Are we going to try and intercept this one?” Sef asked.
“We have to. It’s the only thing that can stop him from putting that thing together.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be telling the town guard…the mayor…”
She shook her head. “I tried telling my teacher, and she didn’t believe me.” A lump formed in her throat when she remembered that Miss Rielo, too, was dead. “I don’t think we’ll have any better luck convincing an official.”
He sighed. “You’re right. Well, when do you want to make the attempt?”
Ralende thought for a little while. “How about next Anairi Day, at six in the evening? We’ll meet at the riverbend. The museum is not far southeastward.”
He looked up into the sky in thought. “That should work for me, too.” Then, the boy stood from the pillar and waved for her to follow, and they began walking back.
“What’s it like, living a life like yours?” asked Ralende. “Moving town to town, making new friends and cutting off ties every year…”
Sef sighed. “We learn to make do. It isn’t an easy life, but it is a free one. My mother would rather we kept moving with the village forever…”
There was a twinge of disappointment in his voice that Ralende could not mistake. She glanced at him and saw it flooding his gaze.
“But all that aside…how have your classes been?”
This was decidedly not much better of a topic. “It…it’s gotten worse,” she answered, wringing her hands together. “They’ve been bullying me because of where I come from.” She could feel her lip trembling from the memory.
“Ral,” Sef whispered, tugging on her forearm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you talk about it.”
She shook her head. Still they walked, though he was silent and she was on the edge of tears. “It’s okay,” she answered. She wiped her eyes, blinking tears from her gaze. “It’s hard to talk about, but I need to. Oh, Sef, they really hate me. Everyone does. In my old school and in my new one. What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing!” he said urgently. “Some people just get twisted ideas about who’s beneath them and who’s acceptable to torment. None of it is your doing. The Ralende I know is kind and brave, and she always tries to do right by others—even when it puts her in danger.” A long pause. “Even now, I don’t understand why someone like you cares about a person as lowly as me.”
Ralende found herself smiling at this. She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Whatever do you mean by ‘lowly’?” she answered as the cart came back into view. “I don’t see people that way. No one’s higher or lower. Certainly not you.”
They came to a stop to watch the twins dance. Today, they were performing with flowers, the last of the blossoms as summer faded away. They liked to involve their audience members whenever it was safe, and they were tossing flowers into the crowds, petals exploding through the air.
“You're dressed nice today,” said her friend.
Her eyes left the performance to meet his. “You think so? It's my favourite outfit.”
He nodded eagerly, a grin lighting his face.
Mazeren—Ralende was pretty sure—came whirling towards the two of them in a jangle of jewellery, stopping before Sef with a smile to toss a flower into his hand.
As the dancer beamed and spun away, Sef stared at the carnation in his hands, before looking at her.
An exchange of smiles. She watched him lift the flower and tuck it behind her ear. “It looks better on you,” he laughed, thumb trailing along her cheek.
Her heart flooded with a honeyish warmth, and so did her face. It just isn't fair, she thought, losing herself in his gaze again.
“I hope your conversation bore fruit,” muttered Velani as they reappeared.
“Thank you for waiting,” Ralende replied, though Velani hardly appeared annoyed anymore.
“Ralende!” came a shout from behind them. The girl whirled around to find her father hurtling towards them, fear slowly subsiding in his gaze. “Ralende! Could you please tell me before leaving the house next time? With that murderer about…”
Ralende was about to reply, but at that moment, Velani rose from her seat—and her father froze in his tracks. And almost at once, she felt a sinister crackle in the air between them.
“You,” Velani snarled, stepping out from behind the cart. Lycendo did not move—his eyes were shifting between mother and son, a fearful comprehension dawning on his face.
“Dad!” Ralende exclaimed, drawing closer to him. Velani’s face was contorting with fury.
Suddenly, she realised with horror that she understood. “Dad,” she repeated. “You…you did it. Didn’t you?”
Lycendo inhaled deeply, eyes blank. Velani bared her teeth. “I—” he breathed— “didn’t think he was—”
The woman screamed, “You cursed my son!” She pointed at Sef. “You did this!”
Ralende’s father did not answer.
Velani snatched her son’s arm and dragged him backward, away from Lycendo and Ralende. “Stay away from him,” she growled, glaring at the man as Sef fell silent, afraid to look up.
“Dad, did you really?” Ralende cried. “Was it you?”
He bowed his head, eyes closing. “I am sorry, Ralende. I can make no excuses for myself. I was reckless and easily angered. She insulted me that day—”
“Insulted you? All I did was refuse to do business with you! I heard you call our people what you did. I heard it all. And then you dared to feign politeness when you wanted something from me?”
“You gouged my arm.”
“And that was enough to curse my son to die!” she scoffed, eyes reddening with tears.
And somehow, deep in her heart, Ralende knew that her father was the very man who had done those deeds.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am haunted by it every day. I’ll do anything to make amends. I will guard him with my own life—”
“Dispense with your empty words and leave!” Velani cried. “Both of you!”
“Ma, you don’t have to, please—it’s not Ralende’s fault—” Sef exchanged a desperate glance with Ralende before his mother pulled him back to the cart by the collar.
At the same time, Ralende felt her father take her arm in a vice-grip.
“Sef—Anairi day at the river,” she said. Reading her lips, the boy nodded, face drained of hope, and with a sigh Ralende turned to follow her father home.
Breakfast was quiet the next day. So was lunch. Ralende was nearing the end of the swordsmanship tutorial book—and fittingly, she had reached the chapter about the high art of decapitation.
Stupid Orden! Smack. The clean swipe sent a slice of the huge fruit flying. Stupid Dad, stupid Velani, stupid Sevancist-who-hates-me! No one had to know who she imagined every time she hacked a piece off the pumpkin where it sat on the fencetop.
Dinner turned out to be just as silent as the rest of the day had been , save for the fact that she sprayed jackfruit juice on her father's face and received an entire ten-minute sermon on manners.
But things began to take a turn for the eventful that evening. Upon leaving dinner and going downstairs to greet their new doorman Altiore for his first day of service, she began to hear voices in her ear.
At first, Ralende had believed the noise to be the rustles of the window, but then she had suddenly realised that Altiore could hear nothing. Instantly suspecting the graves, she sprinted out the door—to a flustered protest from the new doorman—and raced into the evening, pulling her cloak taut around her shoulders as the howls of “No, no, no!” rose in her ears.
She dashed down the streets—the Rest was not more than ten minutes from her home—and found herself at the gates, cloak billowing behind her. She slid through the gate, between shadows that shifted eerily, cast by the luminous moon.
In the cold, Ralende felt the path of sand shift silently beneath her feet. The voices were deafening now, like an ocean roaring—but all around her, nothing was moving. Onwards she crept, watching with a chill as the shadows of leaves swept her hands across the milk white tombstones, dressed now in moss.
There were no ghosts around her now, to her bewilderment. But then she squinted at the distances and saw a brilliant, ghostly glow between the headstones…
As soundless as she could, Ralende scurried between the graves, taking care not to step on any of them. She wove between almost-skeletal trees, seeking out that moaning light in the distance…
Then pale shapes rose before her, and the girl held her breath. The ghosts, every ghost of every murder victim—old men and women and children—swirled in a hypnotic sphere around a single white grave, and a single solid, living man standing in the middle.
Him.
Ducking behind a gravestone, Ralende bit her tongue so she would not scream. But her eyes widened, her neck craning from where she hid, as she took in the words of the Sevancist who had been hunting him.
“You won’t lie here forever. I will see you again. I swear it.”
“Tear him apart! Rip his heart from his chest! Let him feel what we felt!”
In the midst of this horrifying tumult, Ralende felt herself shiver, pulling her cloak tighter as tears fell from her eyes—as the Sevancist sank to his knees and kissed the gravestone, laying a single flower in front of its moon-white marble…
The girl wiped the tears away just in time to see the man rise and turn to the road. She thought she’d wait for him to depart before leaving herself. But as she inhaled the cold air, an itch stung her nose, and she squeaked with a tiny sneeze.
Ah—oh no— She dove behind the gravestone as the man’s eyes darted back.
Even as she crouched, trembling, she waited for the man to find him. Even as her hands clutched her cloak close, the ghosts began to whirl around her, turning the air frigid. The man was walking this way. But she could hear his footsteps faltering, could see his breath coming in a pillar of vapour…
He gave a frustrated growl, teeth chattering, then his footsteps dwindled away.
“You’ll pay,” his voice rang in her ears. “You’ll suffer an annihilation so perfect that the gods will weep!”
“Ralende, sorry,” whispered a small ghost close by her, inching towards her. When she turned to face the ghost, she realised that it was that of a child, her features very much like the Sevancist’s.
“It’s all for my sake… He’s always been like this. I wish he would let go. But he can’t hear me…”
“You’re…you’re…”
“His daughter,” the ghost whispered back. “I am trapped here. Just like all the other ghosts whose killers were never brought to justice…except—for me—it was the King of Alade.”
Ralende shuddered at the thought. If this man was trying to take revenge for his daughter…then he must be plotting to assassinate the King…
It was then, in the silence among the ghosts, that Ralende realised her foe was fuelled by grief. It was all for love, after all—love that had nowhere to live.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, glancing at the flower on the grave. A lily, pure white. The ghost shook her head and retreated into the grave—and as she did, the petals shimmered blue for seconds.
Ralende was back on her street well before the hour. She raced in the moonlight, almost tripping on the paving stones.
But before she could reach the front gate, she was halted in her tracks by a huge, fallen shape near the front step.
She shrieked before clamping her hand over her mouth. No, no, no.
She gulped as she knelt beside the corpse, lying on his side in her path. It was Tae, his dark chestnut fur slightly ruffled here and there, his body still warm to her touch. But he did not stir. As her fingers scrubbed his neck, her fingers found the stickiness of a bloody gash.
“Please, no,” she gasped, laying hands upon the creature, heart booming in her ears as she searched for his pulse. Had he done this? Had he found out where she lived? Or had it been mere coincidence? Where was her mother?
As she wiped the blood on the grass, her eyes were filled with visions of her classmates and their own wounds.
The guilt engulfed her, the knowledge that everything that had happened in these two seasons was her fault. So many dead, because of her! She bowed over the cooling body, shaking with sobs.
It’s not fair. None of this had to happen. Why had fate chosen such a cruel path for her? Why, Hore? Why is it I, the girl who was never of any use? Why destroy my life in this way?
Then, from beneath her, Ralende heard a gentle coughing sound, then a snort. And through her fingers, she felt Tae’s heartbeat pulsing back to life…
“Tae!” she cried, wiping tears from her eyes as the beast found his footing and began to stand. She sprang to her feet, too, hugging the horse around his neck. “What a trick to play…” But she felt the gash again, still bloody, and she shuddered.
“Ralende,” called her mother’s voice. A light was glowing up the road, floating in front of the face of her mother, which glowed white as a sheet. She stared in her direction, and then she noticed that her mother was tailed by three servants. “But, I could have been sure Tae had…”
“He woke up.” Her mother picked up Tae’s rein and began back towards the gates.
“You shouldn’t be out this late,” she muttered.
Ralende began to retort, but she closed her mouth. “That was careless of me, I’m sorry,” she replied. Then, the woman waved for her to follow, a small congregation of lights emerging from her fingertips to circle the quartet and their horse, like a protective halo.
Almost mercilessly, school wore on, like a millwheel that could not stop turning. Ralende found herself trudging to school with heavier steps, the sight of the building making dread curl around her again. The corridors to class were somehow too short, yet too painfully long. Her head spun in a feverish blur, the path wavering beneath her feet.
Then she pushed the door open tentatively. Just like on her first day here, the places, the faces were still as unfamiliar as when she had first arrived. Around her, it seemed like there were shadows across everyone's eyes.
“Miss Marian,” said Mister Eraya. Ralende walked listlessly inside. “Please, take your new seat.” She obeyed wordlessly, sitting down at the table set aside for her, in the front row, beside Zaeri. He watched her enter as she laid her books on the table and sat down, and she found his gaze slightly unnerving.
It was bad enough that she had to be placed in close proximity to the teacher. But the first lesson of the week was also a practical. For a while, Ralende harboured the hope that she could still draw out the magic she had accidentally unsealed that day, when she had been restrained by the bullies. But disappointment quickly followed when she realised that all she felt was a void where that power had previously burned.
“Miss Marian, an Arcenist spell, please,” said the teacher. Ralende sighed, knowing he was merely being lenient. No one in class could do an Arcenist spell, not even Orden. But still she tried, shutting her eyes and interlocking her fingers.
Ralende’s Inspiration spell fell excruciatingly flat, not even a brief wink of joy or relief entering anyone’s face. She sat back down, feeling only a little more dejected than she had just minutes ago.
As lessons drew on and the complexity of the spells rose, Ralende began to realise that the second-to-last year of her magical education was coming to a close. Already, autumn was cold on her skin, and the Light spells of her classmates were growing towards perfection. The innately talented Matter and Energy magicians were already showing their skills prominently, with a smattering of Life mages here and there. But only one had proven a master of the Greater Gifts—Orden Arle, who excelled in both Coldness and Sevancism. The sight of his flawless Extinguishments sent her blood boiling, for she remembered all too keenly how those spells had been cast upon her room lights in her bad behaviour.
Mister Eraya closed the lesson with an examination briefing. “Your final examination will be on the Abalea Day of the second week of winter, nine days after the Winter Festival,” he said. “Select one magic type and prepare to perform it well. Enjoy your holiday and rest well. There will be no lessons from then till the test day, so use that time wisely. You are dismissed.”
WIth shadows weighing upon her thoughts, Ralende trudged through the cold autumn, wandering through the town. There was too much whirling around her: a villain bent on snuffing her out, a mission she wasn’t sure she would survive, and now an examination that she would return to if she did live to tell the tale.
No doubt, it would be the first thing her father would ask about when she got home—the exams always came after the festival marking the start of winter. She decided right then that she would not go home until she was ready.
Her walk quickened, her mind spinning as she shambled along, past the carriages and shops, till she reached the last row of houses before the plaza. She slipped her way through the markets, though once she found the jeweller’s stall, she darted behind a fried dough stall, just in case Velani’s wrath had yet to settle.
She heard the ringing of a dozen bells behind her, then felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Heikatra, dressed in her sparkling performance getup which jangled with every step. “Are you looking for your boy?”
“My—” She flushed indignantly but willed herself to reply. “Is his mother still unhappy about me?”
Heikatra sighed. “Sadly, yes, but I’ll tell him you’re here and he can pretend to be fetching dinner. Just wait here.”
She frowned. “Not if he’s busy with something.”
The dancer laughed. “Oh, he won’t be busy once he knows you’re here. You’re all he talks about other than work. Now let me go find him.”
Before she had a chance to process her embarrassment, the dancer had waved her goodbye. Ralende waited there, watching the lights ripple in strings overhead while she clutched nervously at the frilled hems of her sleeves.
“Ralende!” Sef’s voice brought her gaze flying to him. As their eyes met through the lights, he grinned. “I’m so glad you came, even though my mother has been,” he gestured vaguely, “acting like you’re an enemy.”
“I…I'm sorry it all turned out this way.” Ralende swallowed as the guilt attacked her. She shifted on her feet, staring down the corridor of shops. A tear spilled down her cheek. Somehow, this felt worse than any of her other troubles, for he was a genuine friend.
“Oh, Ralende.” She lifted her gaze to meet Sef’s, swiping tears off her cheeks. His face was full of anxiety, too, as he drew closer—close enough for her to smell the spices on his clothes, close enough to make her shy. He took hold of both her shoulders. “Don’t think about that problem, or any of those other problems we can't solve yet. There will be time for them. Think about what comes after. After it’s all over and everything is resolved. What will you do then?”
“The Winter Festival will pass. Then I—I’ll go back to school for my exams. And then you’ll leave—you and all the nomads, next spring…” The words came out in a rasp, her eyes clouding up again. But she willed herself to lift her chin, high and proud.
“That’s all true,” Sef replied. “That’s what will happen. But that man won’t be pursuing you anymore. We’ll live to see that time, I believe it—you and I—and we’ll be alive at the end of the year, celebrating before I go.”
And though the words still made her ache, Ralende found in them the hope of a future she didn’t have to hate. Something better than now. Her mother would trust her friends, and her father would be proud of her, and she’d be an adult, making a life of her own.
They watched each other forlornly, and in that moment she wondered if there could be a future even better than that. Then she decided there wasn’t, and she turned away, because her heart was aching suddenly.
“Ralende,” she heard Sef say. “We’ll meet this Anairi day and finish this up properly, right?”
And though Ralende knew that seeing this quest through would merely paint a target on her back, she suddenly resolved that she preferred this over giving that man the means to slay the king—which would spell disaster for the entire kingdom. She nodded, steeling herself. “We’ll do it,” she said.
Instead of walking back towards the carts, the pair wandered away, to the edge of the plaza. “Ral, do you, um, do you have a favourite gemstone?” asked the boy.
Ralende turned. “It’s the lapis lazuli,” she answered. “Because it’s not that pretty until you cut it. Then it’s beautiful.”
Sef nodded. “I suppose I'm not surprised. The Lapis Lazuli is a card, and it represents a hidden boon,” he murmured. “It keeps coming up when I ask about you, and I’ve started to think it represents you.”
She smiled. “You’ve been asking the cards about me?”
“Well—sometimes,” he murmured, eyes darting away.
She laughed as a flush of joy took over her body. She prodded him with her elbow. “You’re too sweet.”
He pressed a knuckle to his lips and inhaled deeply. “I should probably go get dinner.”
She nodded and waved. As he departed, he glanced over his shoulder at her, then just as quickly away. Ralende stepped backward, pulling her arms around herself.
Without Sef and the marketplace, time seemed to crawl like a glacier around Ralende. Her days were threaded through with a feverish anticipation. She had long realised that there was no way to buy an object out of a museum’s collection. With no evidence to back up her intentions, she would be committing robbery—and so would Sef.
But time marched on, and the day arrived on the heels of a long chain of sword drills. Ralende studied the final exercises of her book the day before the planned theft.
Research in her father’s library had proven fruitful: apparently, there was a permanent jewellery display among the exhibits. They would enter the establishment as ordinary guests and locate the display—supposedly a single artefact among a collection of other medals of similar age, their precious quarry hidden among its kin.
Of course, what happened once they found it was anyone’s guess—but for now, all she could focus on was identifying it.
“Why so busy all of a sudden?” asked her mother. Ralende’s parents had begun to suspect something was amiss, given their daughter was spending half the afternoon outside practising her sword and the other half in the library. She knew she would never be as good with the sword as someone who had trained under a master, for there were none in Kina-atana willing to take on a girl.
The thought pushed her through the toil. If there was going to be a fight over the medal, then Ocania was all she had.
So came Anairi day, when the clocks banged four and the corridors between classrooms flooded with students. Ralende had barely lasted through lessons; all day, though no one had bothered her, she had felt a constant itch to draw Ocania and warm up. She had spent the entire day folding the corners of her worksheets.
The very moment the bell rang, Ralende sprung from her seat and sprinted away from the classroom. Out she bounded, down the streets, through the market district and southeast into the heartlands with its terrace houses, windows locked against the autumn chill.
We’re putting an end to this Sevancist’s plans tonight, she thought as she flew into sight of the riverbank.
She felt a lump form in her throat—only now had the question, “Then what?” sunk in. What happened after they had stolen the medal and destroyed it? Would they become outlaws in perpetual flight, for the good of Kina-atana? What would the town say to a pair of adolescents robbing the museum and claiming it was the solution to the Sevancist problem?
How long would they survive with the man on their tails?
Ralende sank to the grass amid these thoughts, the foliage now brown and dry in anticipation of winter. She sighed down at her lap, shaking her head. What else could they do with the medal? Why had the cards brought them here?
She checked her pocket watch, which read five o’clock, but Sef had yet to appear. She drew Ocania and began to practise with her sword, attempting the most complex of the footwork she had learned among the trees—dodges and feints that felt almost like dancing.
In moments of acute crisis, the body will revert to instinct. It is crucial that certain steps be drilled into the subconscious, such that they are available to the body even while the conscious mind is not in control.
There were three dodges, two recoveries, and five different parries for her to memorise and turn into habit. She repeated them time and time again, though her anxiety made her strokes less certain.
In the midst of drilling her parries, Sef finally burst through the trees, panting and waving at her. With a smile, nervous as it was, she abandoned her practice, sheathing her sword and racing to him.
“Are you ready?” he asked. Ralende nodded quickly, quaking on her feet all of a sudden. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a nod, and she thought again of the future beyond this day.
“Yes, I’m ready.” She reached out to clasp his hand in her own, and they walked out of the grove together.
The streets were messier than ever before. The carts and lampposts were already lit for the evening, melding into a whirl of painted streaks that stained her vision.
Eventually, they came into the Central district, the buildings gaining a stately air as the pair walked inward towards the heart, the gas lampposts replaced with glassed Lycanist lights, floating high above the pavements. The pedestrians and carts were few here, and all traffic seemed confined to the edges of the vast cobblestone roads.
The familiar shape of the museum rose to visibility like any other building around, pillars soaring towards a second storey slightly smaller than the level beneath. In the silence—befitting the antique building, the marks of the flames of wartime still visible on its facade—they walked in beneath the great marble eaves, the dim lights of the entrance corridor engulfing them.
The museum did not charge an entrance fee, and so their passage into the building was unhindered. The guards eyed them as they passed, watching Sef intently until Ralende met their gazes.
As they progressed through the ancient bronze interior gates and passed suits of armour, the first hints of suspicion began to creep up the back of Ralende’s neck like cold fingers.
The air seemed slightly too cold, and drawing slightly closer to Sef, she pulled her arms around herself. Exhibit after dim exhibit passed them by, the shadows between the statues and shards inky and dark. Still , they raced along the dark corridors, the cold soaking oppressively into Ralende's body.
They moved from one display to another. The theme seemed to change—from stone and porcelain to vases and frames, then finally to weapons and jewellery.
“It should be here,” whispered Ralende as they passed a multitude of smithed wonders, wire constructs that displayed clear pre-war influence, and more beautiful blades, all sitting in velveted compartments enclosed in glass…
Then they passed a suit of armour slumped on the ground.
The suit of armour was worn by a man, and he was not breathing.
They looked at each other and hurried onward with renewed anxiety.
The exhibit of jewellery pieces was just beyond, a long aisle of necklaces and pendants and lockets, none labelled individually, all sorted by time period. Ralende came to a stop before the wartime jewellery, holding her breath, gaze raptly searching the medals on display for the one that seemed right…
“That one,” whispered Sef, pointing at a medal that sported a round dent for its lost core. It was almost indistinguishable from the rest of its companions, all glimmering, and yet Sef sounded sure.
He extended a finger to press its tip to the glass. Around his finger, the glass began to glow orange, and then it began to sag and pucker, like melting sugar, till a hole had formed where his finger touched the surface.
Sef kept his magic going until the hole was large enough for her hand.
Glancing at her, Sef offered her the hole in the glass. Ralende swallowed, eyes darting left and right. Without a word, her hand darted inside, the glass still warm, and she grasped the medal with her fingertips, plucking it from its place. Its magic faintly tingled against her skin.
Once it was out, she clenched her fist tightly around the metal object. She held it close, and the pair whirled around to leave, breaking into a dash.
Then there was a crackle around them. And simultaneously, all the museum lights began to dim in their displays. The pair froze, Ralende feeling her insides clench, as shadows slipped like living things around the bends in the corridors.
Then the shadows leapt from the ground and solidified into the shape of a man. The man who haunted all her nightmares and memories.
“I thought so,” he sneered, his voice echoing from everywhere, as if spoken by every shadow in the building. Ralende stepped backward as Sef gripped her arm. The Sevancist narrowed his eyes and flew towards them. “You thought you could beat me. But now you’re right where I want you!”
His eyes flashed from white to black to white again, like lightning through a stormy sky. Ralende and Sef shrank back farther and farther, cold shadows raking over her body in nauseating waves that forced her to a stop. The darkness was screaming. The noise swelled in her ears, their loudness making her recoil.
From his body rose a towering form like a raven, an extension of his body constructed purely of magic. On his neck, she saw he wore the chain, empowering his every spell.
The dark creature’s fingers came down upon her left shoulder like talons, and she began to wheeze. “Give me the medal!” he screeched. The claws dug into the shoulder of the arm carrying the metal piece, and she screamed as they tore into her skin, blood beginning to seep down her sleeve.
“Ral! Ral, no!” cried her companion, levitating a dagger from the ground and catapulting it at the Sevancist, but she never heard it land. Even now, everything was fading, fading, as if she were falling into an abyss. She was just lucid enough to realise…she was being drained.
Draining through the mouth was one thing. But being drained through the blood was like being pressed down by an invisible hand. Ralende’s thrashing dwindled to an ineffectual squirm, her chest heaving with effort…
“Dad,” she gasped feebly, blindly, through the film of shadows trying to push her under. “Dad…please…hear me…”
Ralende had never thought to wonder how quickly her father could travel. Perhaps if he ever saw the need, he could devote a burst of his power to a teleportation spell, though he had never done so in her presence.
But the wait was all of five seconds. There was a blast of coldness from down the hallways, the museum displays ringing out as objects were scattered. Shadows pulled from the corners a second time, and then to her right, they solidified into a dark cloak that unfurled to reveal a person: her father.
In that instant, the shadows surged away from her, leaving her bleeding and gasping. “Ralende!” her father roared, her body shivering with the strength of his voice.
He and their attacker wrestled with the shadows, coiling darkness spiralling around the other man as the construct retracted into his body. Back and forth, the shadows snapped and surged. Her father staggered as the circles of darkness burst apart and the other magician regained command.
The other man roared, “Lycendo Haele!” and with a grin, he sent a torrent of black butterflies in his opponent’s direction.
Her father raised a palm outward and gathered the constructs around his hand, eyes flashing. The flock writhed. The first display light sputtered and died. Then the next. And the next.
Ralende coughed and clutched her wound, wondering which Sevancist was taking the power from the lights, or if both were.
The butterflies turned to needles that hurtled back towards their originator. He snatched his cloak from behind him and deflected some of the projectiles, though a few others pierced through the fabric and drew blood. Even as light began to seep out of his cuts into Lycendo's hand, he rose back to his feet, powered by the chain, and then he sent the needles ricocheting back as blades.
Some struck her father. Others shattered glass with bright pings, scattering silver shards across the black marble, gemstones falling from the cases. Three more lights succumbed. Their foe screeched as Lycendo flung a barrage of knives back towards him and a blade punched into his shin, perhaps shattering his bone. Ralende’s father lifted his arms in yet another attack, a blanket of darkness surging across the floor, pulsing and writhing.
The other man clenched his teeth and roared like a dragon—and as the sheet descended to smother him, he thrust his hands high—and it began to morph—
—into a great clawed beast, like his construct but much larger, made up almost entirely of jaws wider than his head, eyeless and earless and inky.
Ralende watched helplessly. Her father looked all but ready to take the attack—so ready that he did not seem to realise it might not soar in his direction, but past him, at the boy who stood shivering on the other side of the aisle…
The creature’s jaws sprang shut…an arm’s length from Sef’s head. A blink longer and it might have decapitated him, but Lycendo had twisted around, wrenching the beast back by the neck with his bare hands, roaring with effort. The creature snapped and thrashed and wheeled, lashing back to bite at its restrainer before he sent it flying with a blast of force.
The monstrous creature rebounded against a wall like a jet of water and lunged for another blow, but with one hand, Lycendo formed a blade of shadow and thrust it into the creature’s jaws and out through the back of its head, wrenching it in two.
Then from the corner of her eye, Ralende saw that the other Sevancist had formed a javelin in his hand.
“Behind you!”
Her father whirled around just as the first spear soared, past Ralende’s screaming face. He snatched it from the air in front of his abdomen. His teeth were bared in an expression between a grin and a grimace.
Then he stumbled to one knee. His hands parted to reveal that the shaft had pierced through his ribcage after all, hardening as blood dripped off them.
Blood poured in torrents, pooling darker than obsidian. Their foe screamed and laughed. Ralende could only feel her own senses failing one by one while their foe extended his hands and jerked them backwards, blood bursting from her father’s abdomen as the weapon dislodged itself, spraying over the shimmering glass shards.
Ralende collapsed to her knees and screamed, not daring to watch as her father’s remaining strength was siphoned out of his gaping wound in bright rivers of light. His voice dwindled, softer and softer with every utterance.
Trembling, he lifted his head. “Live,” he breathed, as his eyes finally lost their light and his body sank dead to the ground.
“Dad! Dad!” Ralende screamed, on and on, as she went blind with tears. The last lights went out. In the shadows, she heard a sneer, the repeated snick of a blade into flesh, while she shook and curled around her knees, weeping.
Even as her eyes adjusted, she looked resolutely away from whatever remained of her father, the rank iron clouding her senses. Close by, Sef had drawn close, breaths uneven and laboured.
“So your precious father is gone,” snarled the Sevancist. In the last dregs of lamplight somewhere nearby, Ralende could see the chain glinting on his neck, could still feel her fingers wrapped tight around the medal. She felt nothing inside her, except for a guttering flame—one that had been fed by every hurt and grief of her life so far. Her right hand tightened around Ocania’s hilt, her left around the medal.
Sef inhaled sharply and lifted a hand in the Sevancist’s direction. She could see him clenching his jaw even as the man turned towards them and grinned.
“What are you trying now?” he drawled. Ralende glanced at Sef, but he continued to breathe deeply, eyes starting to glow with the magical strength he was gathering…
Then a snap rang through the hallways as the chain broke from the Sevancist’s neck and hurtled into Sef’s hand. As the man began to register what had happened, Sef snatched her wrist and pried the medal out of her grip.
His hands worked as deftly as they always had, threading it onto the chain, then looping the chain around Ralende's neck.
“No, no—you have magic, you should be the one wearing—”
“I can’t be the one,” he whispered. He remelded its snapped ends so it hung firmly around her neck.
“But the core?”
“I figured out where the core is,” he replied. “Why the cards kept showing me the lapis—”
He was cut short. Waves of darkness roared out of the floor, shattering cases everywhere. Centuries-old treasures shimmered and soared across the marble, dark as a starless night. The shadows swept the marble, hunting for their two foes.
Rising to her feet, Ralende gripped Ocania tight. Wind howled through the passageways.
“Do you think a sword-wielding girl can best me?” roared the Sevancist, laughing suddenly as black blades formed in his hands. He flung them at her, but she danced around them, feet remembering her lessons. “I defeated Lycendo Haele—I’m the greatest Sevancist in Kina-atana, and no feeble sword-wielding whelp will lay a scratch—upon—me!”
A cannonball of shadows smashed the wall beside her, shards scraping her skin. But even then, the chain and medal pulsed like a second heart, and she could feel all her wounds closing. She raised Ocania, which flashed in her grip. The man conjured a black whip and lashed out, laughing.
Instinct kicked in again, and her feet took her under his strokes, dodging left and right till, in a breathless moment, she was inches from the man, and she thrust the sword straight into his torso.
He staggered, the tip grazing him, then with a flick of his hand, the whip lashed against her, its force sending her flying into a half-smashed glass case, cuts tearing across her elbow. Sef, who had risen to his knees, clenched his fists tight, and snakes of metal rained out of the glass. A dozen chains shot across the room to shackle the Sevancist against the walls, tips digging into the plaster.
Ralende stumbled to Sef and thrust out a hand to help him stand, but he shook his head, eyes narrowed with the effort.
“I can’t keep holding him—but you have to—my circlet—”
He tipped his head backward, and his hair fell away, revealing the blue gemstone embedded in the silver ring.
The core, she thought sluggishly.
He had said the circlet was moulded to his head, and it could not be easily removed. But then—she realised, as he squeezed his eyes shut with the agony of maintaining his spell—the gem could be pried out.
Even as she crouched beside him, she shuddered with tears, slotting the pointed tip of her shortsword into the tiny gap around the edge of the gem. But she had two of the Medallion’s pieces, and here was the third—and if she finished it…maybe, just maybe, one of them could turn the tide of the fight.
Sef picked up her hand with his left and laced his fingers with hers. “Do it for all the dead,” he whispered. “It’s as good a cause as any.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then, she levered her sword, and the gem popped from the circlet.
Sef closed his eyes, swaying on his knees. He was just lucid enough to avoid the shards, slumping backward against the wall.
His spell broke. The Sevancist flung his shackles away, the chains jangling on the floor.
Tears pouring hotly from her eyes, Ralende pressed the core into the medal. It clicked into place, a perfect match.
The Medallion glowed to life.
Then she saw a flash in the corner of her eye as Ocania, too, grew bright and scalding in her hand, like the sun at noon, like her mother’s magic.
Its glow connected with her arm, her body, the Medallion, becoming part of her and the flame buried deep within her.
The Sevancist recoiled, her light casting hard shadows across his pale face. Suddenly he looked frail and unsure, an old man kept moving only by his thirst for revenge.
“Surrender!” she growled, her voice echoing across the hall. “I will kill you if you don’t accede!” The Medallion poured tides of molten energy through her, and Ocania shone in her hand, and she could feel her fears melting away.
“Then kill me!” he snarled.
And she raised her sword, arms pulled back, and just as she had a thousand times before, she lunged forth with the full force of her legs and torso—
With a resonant bang like a note on a gong, Ocania glanced off his chest, jarring in her hand.
And he laughed, madder than she had ever heard, while horror spun through her.
Shaking, Ralende tried to keep her sword raised, but her resolve had dwindled to a whisper. How can anyone shield so strongly? She thought. Then she remembered— Father’s energy! He took it all! He has their combined power!
Moments later, she felt her body jerk backward as a black dagger thrust into her abdomen and threw her back. She gasped and screamed at that pain above all pains, her head roaring with blood, though she could feel the sear of her body healing over her wound.
“Stupid girl!” he laughed. “At least cast a spell! Then this might feel like a real challenge!”
A spell. Magic, she pleaded. She could feel the power pooling in her heart, coaxed from hiding by the combined power of her sword and the Medallion. It was right there, and she reached towards it. Magic…don’t fail me…
Another dagger sank into her gut and her vision flashed, nausea gripping her body.
A third stab tossed her against the wall. Her knees wobbled, her fingers loosening around Ocania’s hilt.
The Sevancist strode forth to stand before her, and peering into his glittering eyes, she saw his amusement, like that of a beast toying with his prey. “Useless child.”
Briefly, that echo of her tormenters’ voices hurt more than her wounds—voices laughing and jeering at her, mirrored in that grin.
You’ve got nothing!
If you want, Ralende, then you can leave! Get out of my sight!
Oooh, the rich girl can’t cast a spell!
But through the storm of voices and the looming colours of death, she remembered her mother, and Mister Eraya, and Beydren, and Sef.
All the hurled insults from classmates and punishments from her father—her father who lay dead and gone—melted before the certainty of their gazes, in those brief moments of respite.
Perhaps it did not matter if she had never become the daughter he had wanted. Regardless of all the things he did to her, she would not let his ghost lie restless.
Then, she felt something give inside her.
The doors were opening, one by one—and through them coursed a flow of light and heat and…joy.
Like the clouds breaking with the first shower of rain, she felt the final gate burst open. Magic poured in torrents through the skin of her palms and fingers, igniting Ocania with a brilliance that almost blinded her. The sword drank in the strength of Ralende and the Medallion, shining like a lighthouse beacon calling ships home.
Then, Ralende raised Ocania and gave a cry.
All around her, every sparkling piece that lay scattered on the floor began to vibrate, hotter, brighter.
The shadows faded as light bloomed out of the necklaces and pendants and weapons and coins, and each began to take the shape of the one who had loved it in its lifetime. She saw Eldirane Cania rise to her left, his wife with her peerlessly defiant stance to her right. She saw General Arenian spring from the Medallion, drawing his sword in his full armoured glory. She saw her own father whirl out of his corpse like a spectre, and a horde of warriors and mages behind him, all pouring out from beneath the glass.
And she knew they were there in the room with her, and that her opponent could see them, for he was cowering against the wall, his eyes wide and aglow as if he were watching his own life flash before him.
Together the spirits charged at her beckoning, and he was torn by light and shadow, by blades and axes and knives, his body subliming in the heat of their fury, and hers. He moaned, all the stolen energy fleeing, vomiting white. He fell to the floor, landing among the shards of bronze and glass and ruby as they rang beneath his bones.
Ralende stumbled. She lowered her sword, gasping for breath while the ghosts dimmed around her and withdrew into their belongings, and the Medallion’s magic rushed to heal her stab wounds.
Still she ached, trembling with the horror and the heat of Ocania in her hands.
Then she remembered Sef, who had collapsed just minutes before. She dove to his side, using the light of her sword to guide her, tears starting to gather around her eyelids. With one hand, she yanked the medallion off her neck and looped it around his, pressing it desperately against his chest.
She knelt, sobbing, as she felt at his neck for a pulse, but he was still as the statues around them, and his skin was already losing its heat.
She had broken down into tears long before she had finished searching for signs of life.
Only now did she truly believe it—that his boy who had found her in this unlikely twinkling of chance, who had for a time become one of her only joys, would never travel with his mother to the next city.
He had readily followed her into danger, and she had gotten him killed. He had died to aid her, ended by the curse her father had placed on him.
She buried her face in his neck, inhaling because he still smelled like himself, almost alive, and she could almost believe it.
She wept at the thought of her father, whose body she still could not bring herself to look at. Everyone who had died in the course of this cruel plot…
How bitter, this taste of death that follows me wherever I go…
A rattling gasp shook Sef’s body then, and Ralende leapt back, heart pounding against her ribcage.
His eyelids fluttered.
He groped about for something with which to help himself stand, and Ralende felt more tears pour down her cheeks. She bent to take his hands, and he gripped her fingers weakly, rising into a sitting posture.
She still felt the steady glow of power from the Medallion hanging around his neck. His gaze was hazy, and he was tearing up too. “Ralende…” he croaked. “You brought me back.”
“It was the Medallion,” she whispered, pressing her palm over its rough metal, resting over his tunic.
Sef looked down and laid a hand over her own. “No. I could see myself drifting away from my body…but then I felt you holding me…and then I was here.”
“I don’t understand,” she answered frantically. “I thought you were dead.”
“I was. I think so.”
They helped each other stand—and at once, Ralende felt herself sway on her feet. The exhaustion fell on her like a blanket, and she nearly toppled, but Sef caught her about the shoulders, and slowly, without looking at the two bodies or the wreckage of the museum, they made towards the exit.
Outside the museum, the pair found a congregation of police, journalists, and bystanders gathered outside the gates, making the hugest racket in the world. It did not take long for the police to haul the corpses out of the museum, draped in cloth, then for the police to whisk the pair into an interrogation.
Because Sef had been out for a third of the time, Ralende was left with the task of straightening out the story for the law enforcement, though he had helpful explanations now and then.
It took a few rounds of explanation and reiteration—yes, they had known for a while that the Sevancist, whose corpse was identified as that of a man named Ormon, had been pursuing the pieces of the Medallion. No one had believed them, so she and Sef had tried to halt him themselves. And then, in her moment of need, she had called her father to her aid, and he had died defending the pair. Then Sef had died too, when she had taken the gem keeping him alive, which had turned out to be the Medallion’s core.
She showed them Ocania, which hung in her grip and had finally ceased to glow by then. “She came to life, and then the soul of her maker, and his wife, and of Arenian himself came to aid me. And a lot of others, too, whom I didn't recognise.”
Both Sef and the constable stared at her.
“Ah, I see, you’re an Arcenist,” replied the latter at last. “And you revived your friend with the Medallion's aid.”
Her mouth fell open. “I…didnt know they could do that,” she whispered.
“Not without decades of practice,” he replied. “But the Medallion could have made up the difference.” She nodded mutely, unsure of how to explain that that wasn't the part that bewildered her.
Through it all, it was starting to dawn on Ralende that she had changed for good—and perhaps Sef had, too. He was very quiet as they were taken into the healers’ and alchemists’ tents. He spent much longer thinking of how to answer her questions. Then they were sent to join their respective mothers, who had been called to the scene, while the police reported the details of the incident to everyone who needed to know.
What Cerralyn had been told, it seemed, was that Ralende had slain the man responsible for the murders that had happened during the long summer of that year, and that her husband had died protecting the pair, buying them enough time to take down the man.
It was cleaner, easier to stomach, than the truth—the fact that Lycendo had been called by Ralende, only to be ripped to pieces, that his ghost had briefly returned at his daughter's command to aid her in Ormon’s defeat.
Cerralyn wept freely all day and night, always talking through her tears, her eyes stained like skies marred by rain. But even then, she did not allow herself to stop working, tending, sorting, tidying.
Mother and daughter met in the library, and sitting there together, Ralende began to explain the magic that had shown itself in her most dire moment. As they talked, they began to uncover all the signs of her powers’ presence that she had missed before, and it felt like combing a cluttered room for important things.
Right that very moment, for instance, Ralende could feel the pull of her mother’s emotions on her own—which she now understood came from more than empathy, but her magic reading nearby souls.
She was, it turned out, the only one who saw ghosts when she visited the Rest. Ghosts were understood to be real, but no one could speak to them unless they had mastered the Arcenist arts.
The evening when she had knelt and cried over Tae, she had brought him back to life, and then had done the same to Sef.
And when she had wielded Ocania and the Medallion, she had called forth the spirits who had imbued the artefacts with power and significance, wielding their rage and determination as her own.
It was those things to which her power clove: the way human bonds and souls became embedded in all the things they loved and hated, the things they yearned for and mourned.
Almost no one was born with an innate affinity for Arcenism. It was almost always learned. That was what the scholars had always believed. But perhaps they had merely dismissed the signs as defects, just as Lycendo had.
“And your father’s anger must have suffocated your power,” murmured Cerralyn. “Yet it seeped through anyway, in all these ways. And when he died…”
Even now, as her mother said this, Ralende keenly felt that Cerralyn’s love for Lycendo was true and unwavering—perhaps truer than any love she had ever witnessed herself. And when her mother cried, she cried, too.
“But I have one more question,” said her mother. “Are you still able to cast your spells? Even without the Medallion?”
She glanced at her hands. “Like a…” She thought of the Uplift spell that had failed in class a week before, which, when successful, was meant to lift moods and alleviate pain.
As she interlocked her fingers and began to hum, she began to realise that, like her sword drills, Arenian’s Medallion had ingrained a subconscious habit in her mind. For this time, she did not have to think about how the spell was meant to be cast: she simply longed for it—simply saw her mother smiling, for once, with a lightened mind—and the magic hummed and rippled through the tiles, and Cerralyn did smile at last.
Ralende had learned that whenever a catastrophe occurred, the machinery of the town sprang into action to help it recover as quickly as possible. Within a day, recovery operations had been initiated in the museum. School classes resumed. The Medallion was retrieved—minus the lapis lazuli—and destroyed for good.
This was all very useful for maintaining the order, she knew, but sometimes she wished that time could slow down just so she could enjoy her remaining memories of her father before they floated onward upon the river of time.
Dinner the first night was quieter than it had been for a long time, with one less person at the table, an empty chair where Lycendo had once sat. Mother and daughter sat side by side, no space between their chairs. Ralende cast a spell of Taste on her own dinner, and it made the quiet meal almost bearable.
The knowledge had long set in that her father would never see her finally coming into her own. But her sorrow paled in comparison to her mother’s, deep and storied as the books on the library shelves.
“Mum…are you really going to be alright?” she asked cautiously.
The sadness that Cerralyn Haele exuded was torturous. But still she smiled and lied—though she knew she could not lie to her daughter— “I’m alright. Besides, he always said love outlasted death, hard as that may be to imagine—and so I believe it, too. He was also always saying such maudlin things as, ‘you light up my life,’ and I don’t know if he meant that literally, or if he was simply being sweet…”
She laughed through her tears, and Ralende clasped her wrist in sympathy.
Lycendo Haele’s funeral came three days later. This one saw almost half the town gathered in the Rest, for the tale of his bravery had reached its farthest corners.
When she and her mother were called to the front for their last viewing of his body—the morticians had restored it well—Ralende laid a bouquet of daisies that she had picked herself from the garden.
His cloak was placed over the coffin, his jewellery on his corpse. As the congregation prayed, the coffin was lowered into the new grave, amidst their weeping, and buried.
Ralende and her mother were the last to leave the burial. As they turned towards the gates to depart, she felt a cold hand clamp down on her shoulder, then a moan of, “Ralende Haele!”
She leapt and shrieked, head whipping around—only to find the unmistakable faces of her father and Deneus, though pale, laughing their ghostly heads off. They were clearer than ghosts had ever been—sharpened to clarity, perhaps, by her own pain.
“You’re really doing that even as ghosts?” she laughed, then hiccuped with tears. Her mother’s gaze followed hers, eyes widening. “Why are you still here? Have the Palaces refused you?”
“Ralende…are you shooing me off?” answered her father.
She smiled sadly. “Never.”
“No, I am still here because I have business to finish. When Deneus told me you could hear us…I realised why that might be the case. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to speak to you one last time, but I suppose my voice gets foggier the farther I drift from my remains.
“First… I am sorry. I truly am. It was never your fault you could not access your magic. When you were very young, my rage must have sent your spirit cowering inside you. I’m now coming to understand that I was the one who made you lose your power. It was my fault alone. And I am sorry, and proud to see you defeat it.”
“I can hardly hold that against you anymore. What's the next thing?”
His gaze went indistinct for a moment. Then he looked away. “Tell your mother I still love her, and always will. Even in the palaces. As vastly and passionately as I always did.”
She bowed her head, trembling with a fresh wave of tears. “Of course I will. See you, Dad. See you, Deneus. Travel safely.”
She blinked once, and they wavered from her vision. Then she only saw her mother, who was staring at her in astonishment.
“Mum,” she said, wiping the tears she had cried—the way she always cried when ghosts spoke to her— “it was Dad.”
As she repeated her father’s words for her mother, Cerralyn’s composure crumbled again. “He still hasn't changed,” she chuckled, face contorted as she descended into a full voiced bawl, like a child again, hugged by her daughter.
The days rolled on, and the city came along for the ride, healing over its wounds. The first morning of winter dawned, colder than before, and Ralende could only think about the supposed “huge celebration” that her mother had been planning for the Winter Festival.
She crawled from her sheets and gave herself a stretch. With the Festival came the reminder that time still moved, and that the nomads would be leaving soon. She had been so busy with organising the funeral and then attending it that she had not had the time to notice the weeks slipping away.
But now, the thought of the troupe departing brought that sorrow back to the front of her thoughts. Why, she thought, heart throbbing with sorrow, why does the world refuse to waver from its patterns and habits? If life decrees that the rich cannot mingle with the poor, then everyone acts as if that line cannot be crossed. If life says that you must leave next spring, will there ever be any doubt, any at all, that you will leave next spring?
But she knew what was truly putting all these mournful thoughts in her head: Sefir, son of Velani, the mere thought of whom—she finally admitted—was tying her heart in knots.
All morning and afternoon, while she listened to her mother and the servants carting supplies and decorations through the halls, she began to sort out the outfit she would wear as her mother’s cohost. From the depths of her wardrobe she unearthed a blue dress of thick fabric, spangled with silver threads, with a cutout for its white bodice, and a blue ribbon to tie around its lacy collar. The blues didn’t exactly match, but she supposed that did not matter.
When Ralende glimpsed the guest list that evening, she did not bother to read the whole thing. It went on and on and had to be scrolled up to fit on the side table—she reckoned there were eighty on the list at least. Had she invited every single person in Kina-atana?
As they opened their doors to the guests for the evening, it quickly turned out that perhaps she had. First came Cerralyn’s friends, then governors of Kina-atana and their children, some of whom she remembered from one function or another.
Then the dancer twins arrived with their musician brother, and Ralende boggled as they wandered in, glancing about.
The trio had changed into their winter wear—trilayered tunics and scarves over their heads which they pulled down once they were in the crackling heat of the halls. They kept to themselves, dodging around the governors, but when they found Ralende waiting for them at the top of the stairs, they waved and called her name.
By now, her mother had gone off to take care of a decoration malfunction, and Ralende curtseyed to greet them. “Please, enjoy your visit!” she called. “There will be trays of food about, drinks are in the dining hall, games are in the parlour.”
“Oh, look at her!” Heikatra and Mazeren called to each other, pointing. “So beautiful, like the night sky!”
She flushed. “You're looking very fine yourselves,” she replied. “Fit to greet the gods themselves.”
They laughed and ran off pointing and chattering about the bells and banners hanging from the pillars. Yanam, their elder brother, followed after, bowing his head at her as she waved the three towards the dining hall.
In stepped the Principal of the Royal School—or the ex-principal, anyhow—jovial despite his recent unemployment, tipping his hat to the girl as he passed. Sheriff Derrendo was dressed crisply in ceremonial colours, asking her at once where he could find the wine.
There were a few apologies about her father as the guests entered. She thanked them for their concern, resolving not to cry today. All the while, she was conscious of her hands growing cold, painfully certain that it had nothing to do with the winter chill.
Then Velani showed her face next, gaping at the decor then greeting Ralende from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you well?” she asked, and Ralende nodded.
“I’m doing my best with the situation," she replied with a smile.
“That is good to hear, dear,” she called back, and Ralende watched her, bewildered—and hopeful—at her changed demeanour.
Sef poked his head through the door not a minute after, and her eyes darted straight to him. In addition to his usual two layered tunics—one sleeveless and the other sleeved—he was wearing a fancy scarf around his neck, red-brown with its hem embroidered in gold floral patterns.
“Hello, Velani, hello Sef!” Ralende declared in a rush of syllables. “I had no idea my mother would invite you both here. And the dancers! I have no idea what she was thinking when she invited eighty guests.” Suddenly realising that she was rambling, she quickly cleared her throat and returned to her script. “There will be trays of food about, the drinks are in the dining hall, where all the people are going, and there’s games in the parlour. Please enjoy your visit!”
Velani began to laugh. “You’re adorable when you’re being polite,” she chuckled. “I could not tell you why she invited us, either. Truly, I cannot imagine.”
Sef tugged on his mother’s arm. “Ma, don’t make fun of the hosts!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll hurry along and find me some games to win, and you two can have all the conversations you want," she muttered, waving to excuse herself.
Once she was gone, Sef turned back to Ralende. “I think she’s finding it hard to say ‘thank you’ for what your father did for me,” he said. “But I’d like to say it on her behalf. Thank you.”
“He did owe you, for the curse.” She studied his face. Through his dark brown locks, she saw that the blue gemstone had been returned to his circlet. She reached up to brush his hair aside and peer at it, even while he stared. “They gave it back?”
“Yes!” He sounded too eager. “They said they wanted to destroy it, but when they found out it was keeping me alive, they made sure it got put back in.”
Right then, Ralende heard a sigh over her shoulder, and turned to find her mother being tailed by Altiore. “Someone’s child tried swinging from a banner.” When she caught sight of the pair, she added, “Well, if you wanted to go take part in the festivities yourselves, you can head along now! We’ll have the door covered.”
Ralende and Sef glanced at each other, and the former uttered a quick thank-you, both scaling the stairs at once.
Ralende's mother had promised a huge celebration, and as they wandered up the atrium stairs and down the hallways, beholding all the bustle under the golden lights, it became clear that even those words undersold it somewhat. They saw the city guards and the nomads having a showdown of darts in the parlour. The tables were heavy with drinks and the drunk. The dancers twirled in the atrium while her mother’s hired musicians played, many a watcher clapping along.
There were gamblers at a banquet table, betting with the salted wafer chips in lieu of real money, and Velani was raking dozens of little discs into her bowl as they passed.
All the while, Ralende told herself she was merely doing what a cohost did and keeping watch over the proceedings. And Sef’s proximity was necessary, of course—so that she did not get bored. He tasted wines and cheeses as they passed through the dining hall, snuck a chip out of his mother’s bowl and crunched on it, even threw a dart on his countryman’s behalf, which landed just two rings from bullseye.
When Ralende had completed one tour and they found themselves back in the atrium, she finally halted and turned to her companion. “Wouldn’t you like to go join in on the games?" she asked. “There's no need to follow me all evening.”
Sef shook his head, grinning. “I’ve gotten to see plenty on the patrol. Besides, I’m happy having the hostess show me around. She’s looking very pretty tonight.”
Ralende wondered if she coloured up as much as she felt like she did. Suddenly her lips were glued together, and she stood there, mortifyingly speechless, staring at him.
Sef shuffled his feet on the floor.
“Ralende, I—”
“Um, you know—”
Both went quiet at the same time.
“You first,” she said.
“No, yours sounded more important,” Sef replied.
“No, I owe you—for figuring out where the Medallion’s core was. And letting me take your life to defeat Ormon.”
He inhaled, wringing his hands together. “About that…” he murmured, avoiding her gaze. “So, if I remember right, did you—um, did you say Ocania activated during that fight?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“When exactly?”
She closed her eyes to replay the events of the night. She saw Ocania glowing in her right hand, the lapis lazuli glinting in her left, shards of glass sparkling in a field around her. “Right after I pried out the gem from your circlet… When I…oh…”
The realisation came in stages. That she must have fulfilled the prophecy written on its blade. That she must have slain her heart's yearning. And that she had just said all this to Sef without a second thought.
“Well, I—” she stammered, suddenly desperate to change the subject— “I, I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this. I’m sorry my parents and my friends had to be so cruel to you. I’m sorry you died for me. In the end, your being there is what saved me, and everyone else. So thank you for coming into battle with me. Thank you for putting up with it all. Thank you—for—”
Her ramble was cut short by Sef placing both hands on her shoulders with a smile that made her heart feel like it might explode. “Ralende, you misunderstand how I feel—because I don’t blame you for any of that,” he answered. “I knew I was putting myself in harm's way! But I think—I could tell—how lonely you seemed. And I didn’t understand at first how someone so lovely could be so alone, but then I realised. It’s the same reason people spit on us and throw their trash at us.”
From this close, she could see that his dark, tan face was dusted with freckles. This was not helping her ability to speak, but she tried anyway. “But, but your mother warned me not to endanger you—and I did anyway—”
“Don’t listen to her,” he exclaimed. “The boundary still exists in her heart. She has her place, you have yours. And I don’t blame her, given all she’s been through. But I don't really agree with her. I would rather try and cross that line. For you. You—you know?” Ralende could hear how breathless he was growing as these words tumbled out. Grip shifting from her shoulders to her arms, he glanced aside, moving his weight from one foot to the other. “So…um…if Ocania awakened after you killed me, does that mean… Do you…”
He seemed too nervous to complete the sentence himself. By then, her face was burning like stoked furnace coals. “Yearn for you? Maybe a little too much.”
Sef’s eyes lit up, and she thought she might swoon with the joy that radiated from him. Still watching her face intently, he tilted his head to one side, then the other, like a bird. “Oh…I have no idea how this is done,” he admitted.
“How what—”
Before she could finish, he leaned in and kissed her.
Her heart thundered faster and faster, like a horse carriage falling off a cliff. The pressure of his lips grew surer, and perhaps the exhilaration made the boundary between the world and her magic waver, for a flock of glowing butterflies exploded from her skin into the air, a fluttering halo.
Sef leapt breathlessly away as the spell unfurled. Ralende stood, still speechless and faint, breaths coming hard and deep. Then their eyes met among the lights, and he helplessly leaned in and kissed her again.
Ralende let herself return this one in full. The lights around her did not subside, and suddenly the entire staircase was alight with fluttering wings, rivalling her mother’s decorative lights. She felt Sef’s grip weaken on her shoulders, and at the same time, her knees began to wobble.
They pulled apart again almost simultaneously. Ralende’s face was positively burning now—and it did not help when she suddenly noticed that a small group of strangers had been spectating from the stairs.
“I—I thought you didn’t know how to do it!” she gasped.
He shrugged and grinned back, still catching his breath. Then his eyes widened, and he started searching the pouch on his waist.
From within it he pulled a glittering bracelet. “I made this for you,” he said, picking up her hand and coiling it into her palm. She stared. The bracelet was formed of large silver links, but in the middle was a single octagonal gem, a deep and vivid blue with streaks across it like swirls of foam in water.
“Remember when you told me your favourite gemstone? This was what that was for…”
She wrapped it around her wrist at once and clasped it on. “Oh my,” she breathed as she stared at the single lapis lazuli, suddenly feeling again as if she might faint. He lifted her hand gently, like at the start of a dance, and she beamed, wondering if he was working his magic on her or if she was simply this deeply enchanted by him, all on her own.
“Already trading jewellery, are we?” came a voice from beside the pair. Only then did Ralende realise that her mother was there, waving butterflies up the stairs with her.
“Mum! How long have you been here?”
Ralende’s mother waved at the lobby. “I came when you started putting on your light show, dear,” she murmured. “Everyone saw you two kissing, so there’s no need to make any excuses.”
“Mum!” she shouted, clutching her face with her hands.
She smiled. “I’ve come to like this boy,” she replied. “And you know, I could just be convinced to let you have him…”
“Mum, please,” Ralende sputtered.
Cerralyn only winked back. “Well, clearly all is well here. So I’ll be going…right—now.”
Then she departed down the corridor, and they were alone once more.
“Hey, Sef,” Ralende murmured. “Let’s go somewhere else. So we can, uh, talk about this.” Sef nodded vigorously, and together they raced through the halls towards the inner courtyard, holding hands.
They slipped through the doorway, and then they were out beneath the deep blue winter sky, streaked with a spangling of stars, like the gemstone in the Medallion and in the bracelet.
“Funny, but it seems like all your divinations from the day we met came true,” she murmured, thinking of that day, when he had been a shopkeeper on the Central Plaza, and she, the daughter of two aristocrats. “But you'll still have to leave. Won't you?”
He heaved a sigh, eyes glittering with sorrow. “I’d love to find a way to stay, but I need to speak to my mother about it,” he replied. “I want to follow my own heart…but she needs me, too, you know?”
“I could hardly bring myself to leave my mother, either,” she sighed. “Not since my father died.”
“Of course, Ralende… I have never hoped you would leave any of this behind.”
And something about that answer was what made her sure, in her heart, that she would make this work—one way or another.
Sef’s eyes found hers again, too full of pleading and anticipation for her to miss it. So she forgot to think about the future for a moment, and they shared the third kiss of the night.
And oh, there were lights—so many lights that the neighbours must have thought that Cerralyn had overdone the fireworks.
The evening drew to a close, the motley guests trickling home well into midnight. Though the winter had come, the mansion had not been this warm for a long time.
Velani stayed behind for a while after the rest had left, for her son was nowhere to be found. She and Cerralyn later discovered the pair asleep side-by-side in a living room couch.
“Sef!” exclaimed his mother. “I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing the entire time I was—er, making my skills known at the game table,” she muttered, shaking his shoulder. “Nothing I don’t like, I hope?”
“No, Ma,” he answered blearily while Ralende rolled off the couch and onto the floor, a sure way to wake herself up. “I was just talking to Ralende all evening…”
Velani’s tone changed. “I see you gave her the bracelet,” she said, then sighed. “Oh, my boy…” She said something in their language, wracked with joy and agony both, though Ralende could not comprehend it, and he answered with misty eyes.
Then Velani turned to Cerralyn and added, “We shall take our leave now, and perhaps return soon. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Sef and Velani returned homeward. Their departure had been so full of secrets and things unsaid that Ralende found her mind often drifting to them in between everything else she had to do: completing her overdue homework, helping reorganise her father's belongings, studying the books of Arcenist spells in his library as an endless hunger for learning opened up within her, the way it never had before.
“Mum, look!” she called down into the courtyard from the balcony, casting a Rouse spell that had the birds singing in a chorus.
Cerralyn laughed. “That's a dangerous spell you’ve got there, you could ruin a good night's sleep!”
Her final examination the next day, once the subject of endless terror, suddenly ceased to be a challenge. When she entered the examination room and declared to Mister Eraya that she would be performing a spell of Recovery, he had been disbelieving. Then that disbelief had turned to surprise, to euphoria, as the eyebags had evaporated from under his eyes. She received much better than a passing grade.
Two days later, Velani and Sef returned without announcing themselves. Velani wore no joy nor sorrow—she was seasoned at concealing herself—but Ralende could sense the turbulence that trailed her as she crossed the lobby and entered Cerralyn’s office, her mother closing the door behind them.
Sef, however, wore his nerves plainly on his face, as he always did. He waited with Ralende in the lounge outside, the pair leaning together among the cushions, playing with each other’s jewellery as they talked—the circlet on his forehead, the bracelet around her wrist, matching in colour.
An hour later, Velani exited the room—still impassive, her eyes still turbulent, Cerralyn gazing after her. She waved for Sef to follow, and with a parting kiss on the forehead, he let go of Ralende and exited the door with Altiore.
“Ralende,” said her mother, walking towards her. “Velani is emphatic about the difficulty of the choices she’s had to make. And I’m sure you do not need me to tell you that to understand.”
Ralende nodded, pursing her lips.
“She loves her village, who are like family to her, and her heart weeps at the very thought of leaving. She refuses to part ways with her son, for she would struggle immensely without him. But she has also seen the joy that you and her son find in each other, and—even not knowing how long that joy will live, be it measured in months or decades—she would like him to stay, if only to give him a chance to savour it.
“After all—she says—there’s always an ending. Sooner or later. And it doesn’t mean what came to pass before wasn’t worth the while.”
Ralende understood. After all, Velani had long lived her life in the confluence of time and fortune, of fate and choice—left by her lover, raising her son alone. All people knew the forward march of time well, each in their own secret way.
“But there is always a beginning after each ending, too,” she replied.
Cerralyn closed her eyes. “You’re becoming very wise, dear. Soon I shall have to ask you your opinion on my affairs.” Then she sighed. “But on this matter, I think Velani has made up her mind—she and her son will be moving in as guests of our house.”
The easiest part was setting up a shop in town at which to maintain the family business. Cerralyn had volunteered her funds to their cause, and there were places in plenty where charmed jewellery was in demand.
The hardest part was waving the rest of the nomads goodbye from the fringes, on this side of the line for the first time in their lives. The square was scrubbed bare, their stalls packed away into their carts. Velani and Sef wept as the last carriage vanished, leaving a hollowness behind that would not be filled for twelve more years.
In the Haele Mansion, there were rooms in plenty, and both were given their own chambers in the upper floor. “This is a more agreeable arrangement than the plaza,” Velani admitted as she dropped her pack of luggage on the floor. “I will not miss the puddles.”
Elsewhere in the mansion, servants and employees came and went by the day, old furniture and belongings moving from room to room. It seemed the house was always in flux, unable to settle, every inch of it always changing.
But through it all, two rooms were left untouched. Ralende would still visit Lycendo's office on some days, sitting in his old chair in the gentle cool to study, or resting in the daybed when she was tired. The spell of concealment was finally starting to fray, but there was no need for it any longer.
His library, after being his for all of eighteen years, was made Cerralyn’s again. But in everyone’s minds, it was still his, his books left right where they were, creases and all, dutifully returned after borrowing. And sometimes, in the shadows of the far shelves, one could hear the flipping of pages and busy murmurs, perhaps imprints of a past in Ralende’s memory, perhaps the pages themselves remembering those hands…