by Edun, Terah
Sitara heard a voice in her head; she thought it was coming from the gray stallion to her right. Hello, Sitara; welcome to my herd. I am Setán, leader of this clan.
She bowed deeply to Setán, and he nodded graciously.
Just then, a young man ducked out of a stall further down. As soon as he saw Sitara, he gave her an easygoing smile. She was glad of that, given Rebecca’s chilly reception. He was easily twice her size and built like a blacksmith. “Hello, Mane,” he said. “Introduce me to your companion?”
Mane said a little stiffly, “Good morrow, Tavis. This is Sitara. She’ll be in your class.”
“Well then,” said Tavis as he approached, “Why don’t I escort you to the solarium? The first half of the class will be held there.”
“That would be great, thank you,” she responded, with a backwards glance at Mane, who stayed in the aisle. “Thank you for the tour, Mane!” she said quickly.
He grinned at her but said nothing.
As they walked out of the barn and across the yard, Sitara saw an offshoot of the main inn that was new to her: a glassed-in solarium, which Tavis led her straight toward. When they passed through the solarium door, they encountered a skinny, balding man sitting at the head of a large wooden table, wearing a stained kitchen apron.
He gestured for Sitara and Tavis to sit with the five other youths at the table, ranging from children younger than Sitara to older teens like Tavis. Once they were settled, he said, “Good morning, students. My name is Tom. Shall we go through some introductions? Perhaps where you’re from and your names?”
With a nod to his left, he indicated that Sitara should start. She spoke quickly and directed a smile at Tara, the Earth Probate from orientation, who was sitting to her left. The solarium was filled with the scrape of chairs and the high-pitched voices of young people as they answered Tom’s questions. “Ah, yes, I see,” said Tom quietly when the circle came round to him again. “You have all come quite a long way to attend our famed academy.
“Well, let me tell you,” he continued, “It is the best in the land for what it does: which is training young men and women to be the best at who they are. Some of you have met Tara already; she’ll help you with anything you may need. I am the Stablemaster for the Holder Inn Way Station. Long ago, I was also a Pegasus Windrider. Tavis is my head groom, for both the animal and kith guests.”
Tara spoke up then. “I work part-time here as a scullery maid and groom myself, and I have to say, Tom is one of the kindest individuals you’ll meet on this side of Nardis.”
At that, Tom interjected with a smile, “Enough with your flattery.”
“Before you start working,” Tara said, “you’ll need proper attire and assignment to a Tobama.” Smiling, she got up to fetch a dish of water off a shelf for Mane, who had just wandered through the door, tail wagging. She then reached into a big cupboard filled with large, patched tunics and belts. “Wear these for your stable duties. It’ll keep your school clothes from getting dirty, and the fabric has been spelled to resist bruises and cuts.”
She then knelt beside a large chest in the cupboard. The students strained to see; it was plain metal, a little worn and dented from travel . Deftly inserting a key and a pop of magical power, Tara flipped the lid up and reached into the chest. “Each of you will be keyed to one of two stable tobamas. Each time you come in for a shift, you’ll be credited towards your work-study program. You can still choose to continue with a fifth class separate from this; but if you do anything over 40 hours in one week, you’ll get overtime, which will credit to your Probate tuition should you choose to continue your studies.”
She began passing the tobamas around. Each person touched one, causing it to glow, and then passed it on.
“All right, my bright lasses and lads,” said Tom, “let’s go out and see what you’re made of, shall we?” After they had finished dressing in their stable clothes and keying to the tobamas, he led them out to some of the outer paddocks, where six Pegasi of varying ages waited.
“First,” Tom said, “Always approach a Pegasus with respect. They are at least as intelligent and caring as you and I; some say more so. The leader of the herd will announce whether you may come forward.” In this case the leader was a dapple gray mare with white fetlocks. To the Pegasi in the ring he said, “Please choose the students to whom you will impart manners.”
One by one, each Pegasus came to stand before a student.
Sitara was paired with a silvery mare with a white mane and tail and a mischievous look in her eyes. Hello, Sitara, said a new voice in her head. You may call me Bella. I believe we’re going to be great friends…as long as you do exactly as I say.
Bit of a diva, Sitara thought as far back in her mind as possible; physically, she bowed and expressed quiet acquiescence. As Bella began to walk off towards the gate, Sitara followed as quickly as she could to keep up with the winged horse. Bella began to list her demands: I need to be brushed twice a day, once in the early morning and once after you arrive for class. My stall should be mucked out once every second day by you. With an impatient shake of her mane as she saw Sitara lagging, Bella continued, My stable boys do it twice a day but aren’t thorough enough. Make sure to also instruct the stable boys that I only eat golden Taffear hay sprinkled with purple raisins. You’re also to take care of my tack and gear, buffing it and shining it once a week. Although I almost never go out with a wind message lately. The Pegasus tossed her beautiful head.
I wonder why, Sitara thought in that hidden back corner of her mind. It couldn’t possibly be due to your sparkling personality and charming wit. Aloud she quietly said, “Yes, my Queen,” which earned her a sharp look from the Pegasus.
When they reached the stables, Bella showed her where the tack room was and ordered, “My stall is the third on the left, next to Sapphire’s—meet me there. Bring my headgear and the brush.”
Sitara moved hesitantly into the tack room. It was huge and neatly organized, with a saddle and pommel for each of the Pegasi hanging on the bottom rung, and their tack and gear racked on the top. Everything was clearly labeled. She saw that Bella’s gear had sparkly pink adornments, and quickly went to gather the requested items.
As she returned, Bella said Great! I’ll show you how to brush me and polish the gear. And for the next hour, that’s all Sitara did, until Bella herself shone and the gear was blinding.
As she staggered out of the barn, she slumped against the wall to rest her tired form. Mane came up and quietly sat next to her. “I’m sorry you got Bella!” he huffed. “She’s just….Bella! Don’t take it too hard!”
Sitara replied, “Not to worry, Mane. I’ve seen worse; I can handle Queen Bella.” Without thinking, she patted him on the head; when he smiled a vast doggy smile, she dared scratch his ears, which caused him to wiggle with delight. “Thank you oh thank you!” he told her. “I’ve been itchy all day and I haven’t had much time to scratch!” With that, he dashed off to his next assignment.
As for Sitara, she wiped her forehead on the back of her forearm and peeled out of the overtunic. Clutching it tightly, she headed off to the Citadel. She had a little bit of time to clean up before the third class bell. She didn’t want to go to class smelling like a sloth. Bella would not have approved, either of her attitude or the implied insult, which made her feel a bit better.
For his second practicum class, Maride decided to take A Personal Background: Intro to Research. This class was also held in the main library; he only had to go down a different corridor to reach it. This room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining all four walls, interspersed with slender windows. There was also a row of windows around the top of the wall, just below the ceiling. Taking up most of the floor space in the room were four large tables, with just enough carpet to walk around the edges.
He was the first to arrive. Still smarting from Maran’s insult—he was no more a felanche than a fish was an aetherbird—he settled into a seat in what he guessed was
the back row, as close to the windows as possible. Soon others began trickling in; all told, there were sixteen students in the class. When the instructor came in, Maride was gratified to see an acquaintance by his side. The girl from earlier, Callia he thought her name was, was also in this class.
“Good afternoon,” the instructor said softly, “I am Initiate Barinum, and this is A Personal Background: Intro to Research. I take joy in teaching this class every semester. Do you know why?” Some of the students shook their heads, while others just stared with rapt attention. Barinum was an attractive being, but Maride—and he was sure the others felt the same—had no idea whether Barinum was male, female…or something else.
“Why then?” Barinum said with a smile, “Because it allows each and every one of you to study the history of your peoples, your families, who you were and who you will become. Many of you may not have enjoyed the luxury of family historians who kept track of births and deaths, tragedies and triumphs. Well, today you become your own historian.”
With that he turned—Maride had concluded from the Initiate’s intonation that he was in fact a he—and tugged open a large satchel that he carried on his shoulder. He reached in and pulled out a slender notebook. “These,” he said, while holding the book open and fanning the bare pages, “will be your familial notebooks. Write down everything you come across here, from memory to historical fact. In the end we will piece it together into a true family history.”
As he walked around passing out the notebooks to the students, he continued, “Researching your family history not only reveals secrets of your past and future, but also allows you to gain familiarity with penmanship and scripts from multiple periods and particular social classes.
“Now,” he said with a clap, as he turned to a boy with blond curls and blue eyes. He looks like a Winterfair cherub, thought Maride. “An Astor, am I right?”
Yes, sir,” replied the boy instantly.
“Yes, with those looks you couldn’t be anything less. And you?” he said, pointing at Maride this time, “With your dusky skin and black hair… Are you not from the courts of Sandrin? From the clans of the East City?” Maride nodded numbly, not sure what to say. A thread of ice had slithered down his back when he was pointed out. What happened when he discovered who Maride truly was?
Fortunately, the Initiate moved on with no further mention of Maride’s background, correctly identifying the origins of every person in his class before continuing. “Now, my fine young ladies and gents, every day this semester I expect you to write something down in your books. It can be memory; it can be research. But it must illustrate to the class a new fact about your family and its history. I suggest that each of you make a point to see an archival librarian this week. They can familiarize you with the genealogy books and the histories of the different cities.”
Pacing back and forth in front of the windows, whirling theatrically at the end of each pass, Barinum declared, “Studying your history can give you a window into the past, my friends, but it can also tell you much about your future! Every child does not turn out precisely like the parent, but it is most likely that he or she will not fall far from the family tree.” He took up station at the front of the room and said, “Now: the day is not yet done. Please take the time to inscribe on the first page of your notebook your name, your familial titles or status, and your first memory.”
Oh, dear. As he spoke, Maride thought back to his childhood memories. He remembered playing with multiple cousins, kissing his first girl, his first boy… He briefly toyed with the idea of lying to his notebook, playing the role of some other person or changing his identity to that of a noble relative. But truly, he was proud of who he was as a merchant’s son, and as a person innocent of the crimes he was accused of.
As he stared down at the paper, his thoughts swirled. What was his very first memory? He remembered a small room, one that had doubled as a nursery and a second closet for his parents. He was dressed in a red dress and jumping on the bed, of all things. The maid who acted as his nurse on the days when his mother was too busy, which was usually, had come in. Her face was red from beating the laundry outside in the cold, and she had scolded him for jumping up and down on the mattress.
He wrote that memory down; and as he wrote, he remembered his family: his mother, his father, and his two little sisters, who had been nothing but pests from the very day they were born. Pests they were, and pests they would always be. But they were his pests. They were part of the reason that he had agreed just one day past his 15th birthday to seal his hand in marriage to Damian, Lord of the Windswept Isles and Guardian of the Port. His parents were in dreadful debt by then, and the nobleman had agreed to absolve their debts in exchange for a betrothal to one of the Bercen children. At the time, Maride had found it strange that a 25-year-old nobleman had wanted to wed a 15-year-old—or worse, one of his sisters, who were nine.
He hadn’t wanted anything to happen to them, so he accepted the proposal with his mother by his side. His father, ill and bedridden, had been unable to join them. And with a mere slip of paper, the financial shackles that had burdened his family’s lives for so long were gone.
Hmm, he thought. Perhaps I can find out more about mother’s family while I’m at it. It’s a good time to learn who I truly am. It might even help my sister’s dowries. Familial lines with magic blood always brought more money to the table where bride prices were concerned. It hadn’t mattered as much with his marriage, as they were both males. Damian would have hired a surrogate mother for his heirs.
He’d just finished scratching his name on the inner cover of the notebook when a loud clap interrupted his thoughts. “Very good!” said Barinum in a satisfied tone, “Off to your fourth classes for the day, my fine young friends! We’ll discuss your first memories in class tomorrow. And I should mention this: all that is learned in classroom discussions is considered private, and not to be shared with outsiders.”
Ah, the privacy of the confessional, then. That was…encouraging. The students all gathered their things and left in a gaggle through the door, Maride among them. He decided to head to the third floor stacks; he had seen some interesting books on mercantile history there the other day. There was bound to be some information about the great families and their cadet branches there.
Chapter 14
Sidimo entered a side room off the Healers’ emergency headquarters, feeling a bit annoyed. It was a queer room, divided precisely in half by an invisible line. In the back half, 12 individual desks sat facing the front half. In the half near the door, there were six cots, three to each side. As he walked between on his way to the seats, he saw that each cot was covered with a lumpy sheet, and his heart sank a bit as he realized what they probably concealed.
He took a seat at the first available desk he came to, and looked around calmly. It seemed that two Probates would be teaching Emergency Aid today: An older girl and an older boy, both of whom fidgeted nervously in front of the class, under the watchful gaze of a female Initiate with graying hair, who stood off to the side.
They got started four minutes later. “Welcome to Emergency Aid,” blurted the young woman. “We will be your instructors in the class. I’m Caras and this is Sean. First we’d like to say that classes like Emergency Aid are taught by student instructors with the help of an experienced professional to enforce what we’ve already learned as we go off into the world as well as to impart the importance of having strong skills in the field when you might not have an adult by your side.”
As she stopped to take a deep breath, Sean stepped forward. “The class will be broken up into four intervals of two weeks each. In the first interval, we’ll study the five steps of first response aid and practice the techniques on mannequins. The second interval will consist of a study of common medicinal herbs and their uses in field situations. Now, please open your texts to the diagram on the 10th page. Bring them with you to your assigned cot when we tell you to.”
“Pull back the sheets,” Caras said to her group, which included Sidimo. “Imagine that you’ve come across a fallen person in the forest. Their body is warm, but you’re not sure if they’re breathing. What do you do?” she asked.
Sidimo, bored, deigned to answer, “Check for signs of life—breath from the mouth or air from the nose.”
“Yes,” Caras replied. “Physically common tactics are sometimes the best answer.” She motioned to a boy standing at her side. “Now, if you wanted to check magically, what would you do?”
He responded, “I would check for the magic vitals and his pulse rate.”
“And how would he do that? Please demonstrate, Vane.” Caras pointed to a girl with silky black hair standing on the other side of the cot from Sidimo.
The girl pursed her lips and lowered her hand to the mannequin’s center. She said, “I would place my hand over his heart, like so, and use my magic to feel for activity. The pulse of one’s magic is timed to one’s heart rate. The only time it stops is when the heart stops. As such, he should be breathing if he has an even pulse rate.”
“And if something obstructs the blood flow to his heart?” Caras said this while looking at Sidimo.
“If I can push my magic to align with his magical pulse, I could see the raised bumps that an obstruction would emanate from,” he responded.
“And what should he be wary of?” Caras asked, this time pointing at a short boy with mouse-brown hair. He wiped his locks out of his eyes and quietly said, “If a magic user emits too much magic into another’s form, he could disrupt that person’s heart rhythm and stop their pulse—especially if the patient is very sick.”