by Cora May
Though Reiter had occasionally quelled the emotions of the people who wished him harm, it was clear that he had to go into hiding. Without the training necessary, he didn’t understand how he had changed their emotions. It wasn’t a magic trick, nor was it a great speech. It was simply a manner of his own emotions, and his Blessing projected outwardly.
Chanta couldn’t help it. She let out a laugh.
Then she recalled the emotions that she had felt while Reiter was in the room. She hadn’t been sure which emotions were hers or why she had been feeling that way. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely in her head—or because of the demon, either. Perhaps he had been guiding her feelings and morphing them into what he wanted her to feel. He did seem to have the control of a man who had been through a considerable amount of therapy, too. Could it be that this was a true story?
If that was the case, what had the text meant by Familiars? And what about Amber Soothers? And what did that make her?
She flipped the page again.
The next section started with a beautiful picture of a solid red stone, shown in a similar way as the Amber stone. It was shown on a cave wall first, untouched and unharvested. Then it was shown dangling from a brown hemp rope. It was a very different type of chain from the Amber stone, but still just as pretty in its own way. She read the description on the next page.
Jasper is the stone of courage and of strength. It is meant to give that courage through the physical strength it gives. It bestows these qualities by enhancing physical ability, stamina, and endurance, while sustaining one’s life force.
Worn by kings, shamans, and many other historical figures, Jasper is said to be the protector not only of the physical world but of the spiritual world as well. The Egyptians would often carve a talisman out of this stone to bury with their dead. It was believed that the Jasper would provide a safe passageway into the next life. The stone would be placed in the cribs of young children, often even being engraved into the wood of their cribs, in the efforts to keep the children safe from both evil spirits and anyone willing harm on the child.
Jasper, despite its beauty, has not been worn for its physical appearance as much as the other stones have. Jasper has been revered as a highly protective stone and, though it is pleasing to the eye, those who actually don the stone do so specifically for its protection.
Jasper is perhaps the easiest stone to detect in a being who has been Blessed. That is because this stone gives such brute, raw strength that it is nearly impossible to mistake for anything other than the Blessing that it is—at least to a Familiar. To someone who is unaware, all they ever have to say about the subject is that there was nothing more than pure violence and insolence.
In the case of Naimie Nessi, brute strength was an understatement. The girl lived on her own from a young age, shunned by her family at three years old. She learned to walk when she was only a few months old and was said to be a lithe, graceful runner just a few weeks later. When she teethed, her parents reported the destruction of all her teething toys, as if this infant was a rabid dog. When she entered her toddler years, that was the first time there had been bloodshed at her hands. Fearful for their own lives, her parents discarded the child in the forest, far away from their city.
Prisanni’s School for the Blessed had been keeping a close eye on the child, since the very beginning of her birth when she had torn through her mother. The reports had been brutal enough that it was clear she had some sort of Blessing beyond earthly things. The council had decided, however, to leave her with her parents until she became of such an age that it was possible to separate her. The decision to discard the child is what, ultimately, caused the school to intervene.
In 1981, the child was safely within the walls of the school. Unsure of how to train a three-year-old Jasper Warrior, but unwilling to let the child go untrained, her strict regimen began right away, which is most likely what caused her strong bond with the stone. It is argued that, since never before had there been a case of someone Blessed by birth, the bond between Stone and Blessed was strengthened tenfold.
Another strong argument is that, abandoned by the time she was just old enough to have memories of her parents, she developed a kind of familial bond with the stone. Whatever the case may have been, the bond between Nessi and her stone caused her to become one of the most powerful human weapons the human world has seen. From archery to boxing, from horseback riding to long-distance running, there is nothing that fazes her physically.
A specific kind of fear ran down Chanta’s spine, and she actually wished that Reiter had been around to calm her terror. She didn’t ever want to meet this Nessi character. Yet, she thought, if she had already met the first person named in the small book, weren’t the chances of her meeting the second one pretty good? This woman sounded like an Amazon on steroids. And that was at three years old. Who knew what she was like at this time in her life, after she had had over thirty years to train in—well—everything. There was a little more in the book on the subject of the woman, but Chanta decided she didn’t want to read anymore. Every word she soaked in only made her more and more terrified of the strange woman.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to read on, either. She didn’t understand the concept of the stones. She didn’t understand anything written in the book, except for the prettiness of the stones. Vain as she was, she was sure she had owned one or two in the past. She couldn’t be sure what it might have been, but they were certainly very beautiful, and, once upon a time, beauty was her entire life.
Her eyes wandered away from the desk. It was sad to her, how her life had changed so drastically in that first night that she had been locked up. And yet, at least her own mother had not abandoned her at three years old in some strange forest. Perhaps she deserved some form of kudos for that.
And yet, was there really much of a difference? She was shunned, misunderstood, and feared. And now she was stuck in a school she didn’t understand. Professor Reiter had told her to find something in those books that she could relate to. Perhaps that was it?
A knock at the door interrupted her thought process.
She glanced at the small clock on the desk. The hands were pointing toward the six and the twelve. That must have been her dinner, then, she supposed.
Chanta crossed the stone floor, her bare feet hitting the cold surface with an alarming touch. When had she taken off her shoes, she wondered? She must have been truly absorbed in the text, then, if she could not even remember that simple fact. She focused on her stomach then, too, and, indeed, it let out a growl. She had been hungry, then, too. Maybe it was a nice enough breakpoint from her studies. She could go for the taste of bread in her mouth.
She opened the door.
In front of her was, as she had guessed, her meal for the night. She smelled it before she saw it, and she saw it before she saw the person delivering it. But eventually, she did move beyond her hunger enough to see the woman who had delivered it. Perhaps “woman” was a bit too mature for her. She was perhaps a young teen, dressed from head to toe in black, except for the white apron she wore over it. She was a maid, perhaps? Or maybe just a servant? Chanta wasn’t sure. She wondered what kind of place this was that they employed such young-looking women.
Then again, she wondered what kind of a place it had been at all. It was a castle of religion, therefore, was this small woman in front of her truly employed, or did she want to be here? Or had she been taken in the middle of the night just as Chanta herself had been?
Suddenly, the scent of the food overtook her, and she no longer cared about what the girl’s intentions had been, or why or how she had gotten to the school. She just wanted the fresh-smelling soup in front of her. She could smell the aroma of hearty tomatoes and oregano. It beckoned for her, as did the steamy bread on the plate next to the soup. It was far different than the cold, stale meals her mother had prepared for her. It was welcoming, and it was… For her.
That last part was hard to accept—until that is, her sto
mach took over her thought process. When the short girl with black curls extended the silver platter toward her, she gratefully took the meal.
The girl backed away from the door. Without a word, she took a few more steps back and waited.
Chanta realized what she was waiting for. She needed to close the door. She was sure the girl would report that Chanta was staying where she was supposed to. She released the door with a bit of force, allowing it to swing shut with a bang. Then, before she could let it bother her for too long, she turned around and took the platter to her bed, where she ate in peace.
CHAPTER TWO: CHANTA
C hanta woke up much later. She thought it must have been morning, but with no natural light in her basement quarters, it was impossible to tell. The lights were all still on, though, so nothing had changed from the time she had fallen asleep to the time she had woken up. Over the edge of the bed, she could see the fallen food tray. The dishes were spread out on the stone floor, but there was no mess of leftover food. She had not left any trace of it behind. She had happily devoured every last bit of it, even licking the remnants of the warm tomato soup off of the bowl. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she must have fallen into a deep sleep soon after that and kicked the tray off of the bed. She had slept so deeply, she hadn’t even heard the loud noise when it had hit the floor.
It occurred to her that she didn’t wake in a confused state. She hadn’t wondered where she was, or how she had gotten there. Even in the dark room in her own home, there were days she had woken afraid, filled with a horrible feeling of not knowing where she was. It would take her several moments until she was truly aware of where she was, and that was the way it went for several months. Perhaps back then, she simply had not accepted her fate.
Did that mean she had accepted her fate now?
She looked around the room again, as if she was searching for the answer somewhere within the four walls she was, essentially, just as trapped in as she had been before. Her eyes rested on the place where she had spent the night reading something that made no sense to her.
What was the meaning of those stones?
She took a breath and rose from the bed. There was plenty more information in those pages, and she needed as much as she could gather before Reiter came in and took her away for those tests he had mentioned. She refused to let her mind wonder what kind of tests he had planned to put her through, not that she knew where to begin anyway.
She was just about to reach the desk when there was another knock at the door.
She froze.
Too soon, she thought to herself. She wasn’t ready to face anything yet. She needed a little more time for a little more research.
What was she saying? She didn’t want to know anything else in those books last night, why had she changed her mind now?
She gritted her teeth.
There was a second knock on the door.
“Miss?” the voice said.
Chanta let out a relieved breath. The voice was a soft, feminine voice. It must have been the same girl from the night before, the one who had brought her dinner. It must be time for breakfast, then.
She walked toward the door and opened it with confidence.
“Hello,” she greeted the familiar face. Then she was greeted with the familiar scent of bacon.
Bacon. She hadn’t had it in so long. Embarrassingly enough, she felt drool coming out of the side of her mouth. She quickly wiped it away. Before she allowed herself to look at the food, she wanted to talk to the girl first. The girl, it seemed, also wanted to talk to her. Once she had finished examining Chanta, she opened her mouth to speak.
“There are clothes in the chest,” she told her.
Chanta suddenly felt the shame in being seen in the same clothes she had worn the night before—then realized the normal reason for that shame could not even be assumed in her case. She hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
“They are meant for you, tailored to your size. Trust me, it’s weird, but we are all given proper clothing when we arrive. Headmistress Prisanni has been expecting you for some time, and she has prepared accordingly.”
“Oh, uh,” Chanta stuttered. She had assumed something of the sort the night before. “Right, thanks. I’m Chanta, by the way,” she said, extended a hand to shake.
The girl looked at her hand but did not take her. Chanta pulled back. Before she could take offense, she realized that the girl’s hands were full with her food.
“Oh, let me take that from you,” Chanta told her. As she reached out to take the platter, she said, “What is your name?”
“I am Maleka,” the girl told her simply as she handed off the tray. “I will take your dishes from last night.”
Maleka’s eyes wandered over to the dishes on the floor.
Chanta grimaced.
“Of course, let me just…” Her words trailed off as she placed the platter of food on the desk and turned around to collect her dishes. She bent down on the floor and stacked them, and as she did, she spoke to Maleka. “So, Prisanni watches us before she steals us away, huh? How’d she take you?” Chanta tried not to feel the shiver that was running down her back at the words—and the delivery—that had just come out of her mouth.
She waited a few beats before looking up at the girl, a spoon still in her hand. Maleka remained silent, staring at her with an open mouth.
She paused in place. The spoon was hovering in her hand, halfway between the floor and the stack she had begun. She turned her head to the side.
“Um,” Maleka finally started, understanding that Chanta wasn’t going to move until she had said something in reply. “I’ll just collect the dishes, and then go.”
Chanta gritted her teeth again.
What was so secretive about her question? What had happened that Maleka would not disclose to her? Then again, if there had been someone taken at three years old, could it be that there were people who were born in this place? Maleka looked young. Maybe she had been here her entire life. Or else, perhaps she felt as abandoned as Chanta herself felt, except Maleka’s family clearly got rid of her at a much younger age.
Chanta sighed and continued to stack her dishes together. She rose, slowly making her way to the girl, who hadn’t taken even the smallest step past the threshold. She wasn’t going to leave this girl without saying something, but what did she want to say? She let the words fall out of her mouth, not completely sure what she was saying till it was out.
“I think you should know,” she said slowly, “I’m with you. In whatever way you need me to be. You can tell me anything, every secret is safe with me. And if you’re in trouble… if you need to get out of here… let me know, and we can get out of here together.”
Maleka reached out for the dishes. She didn’t turn away to leave right away, though. She held Chanta’s eye contact.
“This is not the place you think it is,” she said quietly. “You seem to have misunderstood everything you’ve learned so far. Take the time you have to study, not to talk to me. There will be time for that later. Take advantage of your time in these quarters. It only gets more confusing upstairs.”
With that, Maleka spun away on dainty heels, and Chanta watched her flit up the stairs with grace.
That hadn’t been the response she wanted. She closed the door and turned to her food. The bacon, at least, smelled much more satisfying than the conversation had been. She wondered what Maleka wasn’t saying… and, more importantly, why she wasn’t saying it.
Chanta looked at the plate of food. It was a glorious-looking breakfast. There was bacon, and not just the meager two pieces that most people seemed to have. There was a generous serving of five pieces, each stacked on top of each other in a glorious steam cloud, as if they had been prepared just for her. There was a muffin, which looked to be chocolate chip. It was her favorite, even though most places only offered the traditional blueberry. There was a small square of butter beside the warm muffin. Beside that was a banana, and b
eside that was a plate of scrambled eggs. It was a fairly traditional breakfast, and it was exactly like she would have made for herself two years ago when she was able to do so. Exactly like it.
She wondered just how long the headmistress had been watching her before taking her. After reading the Reiter and Nessi’s stories, she was sure that she hadn’t just stumbled upon Chanta’s story and decided that day to come and take her away. She must have been watching since before Chanta’s mother had locked her up.
She tried to stop caring as she began shoveling the bacon into her mouth, two pieces at a time, till she got to the last piece. That one, she savored each and every taste of, letting her tongue cradle each small piece of the meat.
Her breakfast was a drawn-out affair. She wasn’t as hungry as she was last night, so she was able to truly enjoy each and every bite she took. She was able to savor the different tastes of the different foods on her plate, the chocolate muffin last. That was the sweetest moment, even sweeter than the bacon. She had always had such a sweet tooth, and her mother had taken away all sweets from her. She had decided that sugar was a potential problem, that she could be cured through a stricter diet. It was nice to finally have the sweet taste of chocolate back in her life.
Maybe these people were just trying to butter her up, but it was working in that moment.
When her stomach was ready to burst, the only thing left was the banana. She put it aside, saving it for a snack later. She was sure that she would be fed on a regular basis, but it was nice to have a snack saved just in case. She stacked the dishes neatly and set them aside.
She turned back to the books. She thought about Maleka’s last words again. No, she didn’t want to be in this place, and no, she didn’t understand what was going on. But it didn’t seem like Maleka had been under any duress, nor did she want to jump on an offer to escape together.