9th of Sifdras - 2nd Isharil

  This morning all of us in the 5th floor dormitory received appointments with Magistrate Nightshade, one of the Faculty here at Court, to talk about our classes and career path. I am the one who answers the door to receive our appointments by hand delivered letters from an eccentric staff member. She looks human, even though she is only a little bit taller than me, with a mess of shocking red hair held up by a pair of shaded goggles on her forehead. She wears a dirty, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a heavy leather apron that is obviously well used. If her appearance isn’t shocking enough, her accent is crazier than Sigrid’s with missing letters, dipping inflections, and delivered at such a fast pace that I have to ask her several times to repeat herself.

  I can tell she is frustrated by the punctuated slowness in her speech, “This are from Mis-triss Nigh-shay. Dun be leat!” She shoves a packet of six letters in my hands and storms off to the next room down the hall.

  I frown at the letters, a heat of both frustration and shame is written on my face as I close the door. Each letter has a handwritten name on the envelope in a neat, delicate script. I pass them out to everyone and Vesa asks who they are from. My brow furrows in irritation.

  “I’m not too sure, honestly? But I think she said, Nyshay?” my pitch is high with uncertainty.

  “Must be Magistrate Nightshade.” Ciradyl, the soft-spoken elven girl notes as she opens her letter and reads quietly to herself.

  I chew my bottom lip at the correction, but find upon opening my own letter, that she is right. The letter is an introduction to the Court and the purpose of their prestigious school: to train and equip the next generation of mages with all the skills and tools needed to thrive within society, for the good of all. Magistrate Nightshade invites me to her office on the 6th floor in the morning of the 10th of Sifdras (Kaldros) to discuss my talents and desired line of work. That’s tomorrow and it occurs to me that I have no idea where I would fit in with society.

  Suddenly anxious, I find myself imagining the event in which Magistrate Nightshade tells me there is no place for me. Why had it never occured to me that there would be a greater purpose to my studies here? I agonized through the process of getting here. I took the entrance exam, wrote a formal letter expressing why I would be a good candidate, and composed an essay on a magical topic. It took me weeks and so many drafts before finally completing the letter and essay. Once it was all said an done, the waiting was torture, an eternity of days waiting for the post to come in. Forever. And until I received my acceptance letter a few months ago, my only thoughts were of simply gaining admittance to be here.

  Now, I am starting to see that maybe that had been the easy part. My dream was to come here. To study here. But now that I am here, and that goal is more or less achieved, now what? I want to study magic, but I never considered what kinds of magic I want to study, just like I had never considered all the differing, varied peoples of Akeroth until I met some a few days ago. I let out a heavy sigh, overwhelmed.

  Lytha startles me with a light hand on my shoulder and invites me to go to breakfast with the rest of the girls. I happily accept and head down to the main floor with the rest of them chatting amicably. On the way, I notice that Ciradyl has not joined us and I ask the others if I should go back to get her.

  Sigrid makes an uneasy face at the suggestion and everyone, save Vesa, seems to think she is better off on her own. I’m a bit stunned by this reaction and hang back, torn between whether or not I should go back up the few flights to invite her. Sure, Ciradyl keeps to herself mostly, even when in the group of us, but I can’t think of anything she has done or said until now that would make her such a pariah. I frown piteously, my hand rubbing at the twin birds circling on my neck, knowing exactly what it feels like to be excluded. It churns my stomach to think of someone else being put through that kind of anguish.

  I glance up at Vesa who has lagged behind with me, a comforting, warm smile on her face. Wordlessly, she nods back up the stairs, her eyes darting back the way we came, and tells me to go get her. My indecision eases at this simple gesture and I have a feeling that Vesa and I might be thinking much the same thing. I nod with determination and bolt back up the stairs to include our last roommate.

  When I enter our apartment, I find Ciradyl at the central table practicing a spell, making small gestures and muttering softly to herself. I see the draw of aether with her words and am shocked to find them forming something on their own. A prism of color manifests in her hands, expanding and contracting with a slight rotation as threads are enveloped and compacted into a tight ball of light. How is she manipulating the threads?, I wonder. There was no gesture but the first one, but the threads around us are responding as if being molded. Is it something to do with the words she spoke?

  My mind races for answers to all the questions that pop into my head. Curious, I mentally reach for one of the threads on its way to her spell. I only want to look at it for a moment as it goes. I just have to see why the threads are acting this way, when a sudden jolt of energy discharges where I connect my imaginary line. A surge of white hot, lightning quick pain shoots up my arm, stopping at my neck and shooting back through and out; right back onto the strand. The wayward energy collides with the thread, full of potential mana, and sparks fly from the impact. The mark on my neck aches fiercely.

  I have no time to think about how or why the mark feels like a brand on my neck as the sparks of that energy is very real and very hot. The sparks cascade out from the thread, reigning down fiery hot embers on anything in its path. I shield my face, the wool of my sweater taking the brunt of the sparks as they fly and I take a step back from the thread, which now resembles the fireworks they set off in Tranmere Bay every Darkened Veil. Bright embers pepper my forearms, burning tiny holes in my sleeves, the table, the floor, and the carpet in the space between Ciradyl and I for a few terrifying moments. Then, as quickly as it had come into being, the energy dissipates, turning the spent strand to ash as its wake.

  In the stillness, Ciradyl and I look at each other, a tentative relief on our faces as the quiet stretches on. She gives a nervous laugh and I follow with one of my own, waving away the scent and tendrils of smoldering wood and clothing. Our nervousness begins to turn to mirth, until one of the larger embers on the table catches and a small fire ignites. We both stare at it wide-eyed in that split second, our mirth retreating, replaced by alarm.

  I see the elven girl’s horror, a panicked babbling in unintelligible sounds emanating from her as she wrings her hands. She is debating how to handle it, I realize and shake myself from the whirlwind of the moment. Having dealt with these kinds of mishaps all my life, I remember my exercises with Father and reach for the loose aether around us. Calling on a few earthen strands, I pull them through the fire, intertwining water threads to manifest sand on top of the low flame. The sand piles on the flames, smothering them with the weight of it before it grows out of control. There is little more than a small scorched patch on the table before I relax.

  I wipe my brow in relief when the danger has passed. Before I can ask about how Ciradyl is, she is hugging me tightly, thanking me fiercely for averting a potential disaster. I suppose she has the right of it as burning down a dorm room before classes even start might get someone expelled or punished at the very least.

  “I’m really sorry to interrupt your spell like that, I was just curious about—“

  “Sorry?!” the elf exclaims, “You have nothing to be sorry about! You really saved the day. And the table.” We both stare down at the scorched table and pile of sand with varying level of dismay.

  “I suppose, but—“

  “No, no, no!” She interrupts me again, not letting me explain. “That was incredible what you did! So practiced you only used gestures!” She pauses for half a heartbeat before offering her hand to me. “I’m Cira, by the way. I know we met the other day, but I kinda got the feeling that no one here much cared for me.”

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  An awkward unease settles on me and I bite my lower lip as I am caught in this crossroads between truth and kindness. I glance from her outstretched hand to her hazel green eyes, full of warmth and a longing I know all too well. I take her hand, shaking it firmly as I remember what I came here for. “I’m Serea and I came to see if you wanted to have breakfast together.”

  Joy spreads over Cira’s face and after we clean up all the sand and she performs a small mending spell on the table, we head down to the main floor to join Vesa and the others. With any luck, no one will ever notice the slightly discolored patch on the table.

  10th of Sifdras - 2nd Kaldros

  This morning is my appointment with Magistrate Nightshade and my stomach roils with the anticipation of it. Cira tries to make me feel better at breakfast by asking me questions about what kind of mage I want to become. While I know she is trying to be helpful, the conversation only seems to make my discomfort worse as I can’t seem to answer any of her questions. I push my full plate away, feeling that if I ate anything it would come back up to haunt me. Instead, I try to distract myself by asking Cira the same questions she tried to get me to answer.

  Of course, she knows exactly what she wants to do here. Cira is studying to become a great Potions Master and hopes to achieve her goal in just three years. She has it all planned out and to hear her talk about it, it sounds like such a sure thing; a done deal. It might as well have already happened! While I am excited for her to know so well what she wants and how to get it, she makes my efforts seem simply abysmal.

  To make matters worse, she praises me constantly all morning for what I did yesterday. She goes on about how reserved and poised I was, how quickly I knew what to do, and how fantastic my silent spell casting was. She says there is nothing I can't do and that I will definitely find my passion and path soon enough. Her positivity about it makes me think of Father and I smile ruefully at her commentary despite myself.

  I don't point out that I was almost certainly the reason things went awry with her spell in the first place. Nor do I mention that this kind of thing happens to me all the time. In truth, I had never thought about things like this as anything but normal, but based on Cira's reaction, especially regarding my spell casting, it is becoming clearer to me that I am anything but "normal". Even here with all these extraordinary scribes all learning to become great mages. All I am able to tell her is, "it's nothing!".

  I part ways with Cira at the sixth floor and wander down the long corridor looking for the Magistrate’s office. The hallway looks like something out of a fairytale castle with a vaulted ceiling, long windows lining one side, and paintings and tapestries covering the stone walls on the opposite side in between heavy wooden doors. The thick, red carpet under my feet is surprisingly plush as I start down it, muttering in the odd accent of the red-headed girl in a mocking tone, “Down be let.”.

  I read the plaques on the doors as I pass them, thinking that these must be other faculty offices. The first one states in a bold, blocky font “Dr. E. Featherspeaker”. What a name! I muse to myself as I pass by the wide, heavy door. I read the next several, looking for the one with “Nightshade” on it. Along the way, I pass by “T. Greenborrow”, “K. Marblebrook”, “E. Marblebrook”, and I stop. I stare at the letters on the door in front of me and then walk back to the last door to re-read the plaque there. Confirming that the two surnames are the same, I wonder if the two professors with the same names are related somehow. Continuing on, I read the door plates more carefully.

  I don’t have to go very far, though, as only two other doors are between me and the one I am searching for. Those say “S. Moonshadow” and “O. Lighthammer” in the same bold lettering as the rest of them. I find it interesting to note that there is only one more door past the one marked with “Magistrate Y. Nightshade”. Curious, I take a look at the plate on the final door which ends the long corridor. The script on this one is subtly more intricate and states “Dean E. Windraven”.

  I back away from the Dean’s office, hoping that the clean up that Cira and I did yesterday is enough to keep us both out of there. I push it from my mind, trying instead to focus on the previous door and what my future might bring. I knock on the Magistrate’s door. After a moment's pause, a smooth voice calls softly from the other side of the door to enter. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I open the latch and enter.

  The late morning sun reflects through a far window off the polished stone floor. The Magistrate stands calmly and gracefully from behind her pristine desk as I enter. Her appearance gives me pause as I have never seen such a matron before. Silky strands of long white hair frame a darkly tanned face with brilliant yellow eyes. On her forehead, slightly above and between her eyes, is a shimmering, lightning-white mandala-like symbol that hums silently with a soft pulse of mana. She is every bit as tall as Cira and wears flowing blue robes with billowing sleeves and a high collar which is only clasped at the very top buttons. Everything about her is neat and organized from her attire to her desk and filing cabinets. Papers are stacked and filed in labeled drawers and boxes in a tidy way, giving the appearance of a clean space.

  She picks up a piece of parchment off her desk, striding with grace to the other side of it and her strangely melodious voice rings out to me, “Ah, you must be Seretra.”

  I nod, almost forgetting to speak, “Yes, um, ma’am, uh, Magistrate.”

  A gentle laugh passes through her smiling lips. “Please, call me Mistress Yevvena. Come and sit with me.” Her speech has a soft slur to it that makes it both pleasing and exotic. As if her appearance didn’t do that already.

  I approach and sit in one of the two low-backed chairs in front of her desk as she half leans, half sits on the back of her desk. She returns the parchment back to the front of her desk before folding her hands in her lap loosely, a placid expression on her face.

  “So,” she starts, “tell me, Seretra, how are you settling in here at the Midnight Court?”

  “Oh,” I pause, expecting a very different question to be asked and it takes me a moment to reassess how to respond. “Well, it’s very cold here in the north.”

  That birdsong chuckle escapes the Magistrate again in response. “I suppose the last grips of the Shiver are hard to let go up here in the mountains. It is quite a bit warmer in the town at the base of the mountain, but I would still wear a coat until the frost and snow fully melt.” She smiles warmly and I find myself smiling with her. “How are you getting along with your new classmates?”

  I blink, my new roommates coming to mind and my smile becomes muted, but a comfort like a warm blanket envelops me when I think about all the excitement of the past few days. “I like them all just fine. Everyone is just so…” I search for the right word, but can’t seem to find it so I settle for, “different. But not in a bad way!” I add on quickly and Mistress Yevvena nods in understanding.

  “It is good to hear that you feel comfortable in a strange place so far.” There is a pause as I feel the weight of her bright yellow eye on me. Her gaze isn’t unsettling, exactly, but there is depth to it. It’s almost as if she is looking past me, no, directly into me and I find myself fidgeting with my hair, making sure to hide the two birds circling each other on my neck.

  “Tell me,” Mistress Yevvena looks away suddenly as she speaks, gliding gracefully to the other side of her desk, “what is it that you are wanting to be able to do when you eventually leave this Court?”

  At first, it sounds like the same question Cira had asked me earlier, but perhaps it is her careful gaze that makes me really hear the question. “Primarily, I want to be able to perform magic consistently. Um, reliably, is maybe a better word.”

  “Do you have problems with your spell casting now?” She sits, dipping a pen into an inkwell to fill it and begins to write.

  “No, not all the time.” I shift to pick at my fingernails, “Strange things just tend to happen sometimes and I know it’s something I’m doing wrong, but I’ve never had a teacher other than my dad before now.” I idly wonder if anyone has noticed the difference in the table from yesterday.

  “What kinds of strange things?” She writes casually, looking at her work instead of me.

  “All kinds of things, really.” I try to think of a good example without getting myself and Cira in trouble. “Like, one time, I was helping some seeds to grow, and a few hours later the entire bed was full of fully grown herbs.”

  Mistress Yevvena stops from her writing to look up at me across her desk. “That is quite a talent.”

  I frown sheepishly, “It was just an accident.”

  “But a fruitful one, no?”

  “I guess, but not all of them are so ‘fruitful’.”

  “How so?”

  “I uprooted a tree once and it just missed falling on my dad and I.” I pause recalling another not-so-great memory. “I moved the waves too much while fishing and caused our boat to capsize in the bay. I almost drowned.” I cover my face with my palms in embarrassment. Why was I saying all this? “And I set my loom on fire, very nearly burning down our shed.”

  “How exciting and terrifying!” Her dulcet tones, while emphasized are still calm and endearing. “You think that you are the cause of all of these events?”

  I tilt my head in wonder, “Why wouldn’t I be? I was directly using mana.”

  “Ah,” she nods her head slowly, “I think you will find that there are more forces at work in this world than just mana, Seretra. I would encourage you to dig deeper this term. Have you thought about what classes you would like to take?”

  I stare at her, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. This was not the kind of reaction I was used to when talking about my mishaps. This must be a more common story at the Midnight Court and maybe I’m not so abnormal or cursed, after all. I feel the warm blanket around me once more as we discuss what classes I should take in the coming term.