Chosen (9781742844657)

by Morgansen, Shayla

  Was this what life was going to be like at the Academy from now on? A constant headache, literally?

  The next day we played a hot potato-style game with a round, smooth quartz in Jadon’s class. Each person in the circle would hold the quartz for five seconds, imbuing it with as much energy as the person could transfer in that amount of time, as pass it on. As the game progressed, the time in each hand was reduced to four seconds, then three and then two. The idea was for the crystal to never lose its glow, and to glow more brightly as it was passed between students – to hold the energy we gave it – and for us to learn how to transfer energy quicker as the game became faster. The lesson was fun (minus the write-up) and took my mind off my scrying concerns for a while. When it ended, though, I had the rest of the day free from classes to spend stressing. At dinner, Sophia commented on how pale I looked.

  ‘No subject is worth this,’ she chastised when I explained. ‘You shouldn’t be hurting yourself.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I insisted quickly. ‘I’m just working really hard.’

  ‘There might be a really good reason why you can’t scry yet,’ Sophia warned. ‘I’ve read about cases where sorcerers have discovered gifts they never knew about because they were buried by the mind, like trauma and suppressed memories. The mind is a pretty amazing thing. You shouldn’t mess with it too much.’

  From what Qasim had said in my first class, I suspected that what Sophia had read applied to me, but I didn’t say anything. She sighed and put down her fork.

  ‘Can I try something?’ she asked, offering a hand. ‘I need your permission.’

  ‘For what?’ I slowly lowered my own hand towards hers, unsure what she wanted me to do.

  ‘Sometimes, when our mom gets a headache, she has me try to soothe it.’

  ‘She’s really good at it,’ Kendra added before I could refuse. ‘She is a Healer.’

  I shrugged and nodded, figuring that Sophia couldn’t exactly make it any worse. I let my hand fall into hers and she closed her fingers.

  ‘Just relax,’ she suggested. I tried to do as she asked, closing my eyes and wondering how much good she could do with a pain that wasn’t even physical. At first I detected no change, but I soon noticed her presence, silky and insubstantial, inside my aura. She brushed past my thoughts and I resisted the urge to shut down. She was going to help me.

  When she found the source of the pain she worked quickly, and I felt the relief straightaway. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, because there was no injury per se and hence nothing to really heal. Regardless, my overwhelmed mind quickly quietened and calmed. The strained feeling faded. My worries fell away.

  When Sophia removed herself, I opened my eyes and smiled at her. I felt blissfully calmer, and ten times more aware. My head was still throbbing lightly but it felt less intense.

  ‘Better?’ she asked. I grinned back.

  ‘So much better,’ I agreed. ‘Thanks. You have the very best gift.’

  I meant that. Even though scrying was my obsession, how cool was it to be able to undo migraines, stitch up cut skin, reverse broken bones and single-handedly fight off disease?

  ‘Don’t tell her that,’ Kendra told me off light-heartedly. ‘She pats herself on the back for it quite enough!’

  We laughed and went back to our meals, but as we did, I glanced up and noticed several councillors of the White Elm watching us, concern on their faces. Their senses brushed over me one at a time, almost imperceptibly. I realised that they were making sure that Sophia had not tampered with my mind while she was inside. A sorcerer can do a lot of damage once inside another’s mind.

  I smiled briefly at Emmanuelle when she caught my eye, hoping that she would understand that Sophia was my friend and meant me no harm. She nodded once and tried to smile back, but the expression faltered on her face. I noticed, offhand, that she, too, looked rather pale. Her mouth was tight and her posture was tense. She’d been kind of airy and less-than-present during her lessons this week, too, I realised now, but I didn’t know her well enough to know if this was unusual. I shifted my gaze to Elijah, beside her, and to Lord Gawain, beyond him. Both men were studiously eating their dinners, making no effort to make conversation with anyone else. I looked along the table at the only other councillor present – Glen – and noticed the same behaviour. Usually, their table was just as talkative as the student table.

  ‘Where’s Renatus?’ Sterling asked, following my gaze to the councillors’ table, at the same time that Hiroko asked Sophia, ‘How long since you can first heal for headaches?’

  ‘He’s probably really busy, Sterling,’ I said, as Sophia started relating her first memory of healing to Hiroko. ‘He’s hardly ever at dinner.’

  ‘I guess,’ Sterling agreed unhappily.

  ‘And that was probably when I was about five. Or maybe six?’ Sophia finished. Kendra swallowed her mouthful of soup and shook her head.

  ‘No, we were five,’ she insisted. She turned to Hiroko, sitting opposite me. ‘When did you first learn to displace?’

  I listened with interest as Hiroko said, ‘I was ten years old when I first displaced by accident, and so my father began teaching me on the weekends when we go to the parks.’

  ‘Kendra had a vision of our dad falling from a ladder when we were very little,’ Sophia recounted suddenly, glancing at her sister. ‘We didn’t tell him because we thought it was a silly dream, but it happened that same day and he sprained his ankle. That’s when our mother realised that Kendra was probably a Seer.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Qasim enter the dining room and make his way over to his colleagues. I watched, paying only the vaguest attention, as he made eye contact with Lord Gawain, Glen and Elijah each in turn. All three men stood abruptly and left the dining hall with Qasim, leaving Emmanuelle alone at the table. She watched them leave, and I felt, distantly, a trickle of concern and sadness emanating from her. Were they keeping a secret from her?

  ‘When I was seven, I had a vision of my mother in a hospital holding a new baby wrapped in blue,’ Xanthe spoke up. ‘Up until then they’d only had daughters, and my mother didn’t even know then that she was pregnant again, so when I told them what I’d dreamt, they were pretty happy. I’d seen a few other things before that, but they just dismissed it as coincidence until my brother was born.’

  ‘I’ve Seen a few things,’ Sterling agreed, though she didn’t go into detail. For once. ‘It started for me when I was little. I don’t remember when, exactly.’

  The girls turned to me expectantly. My stomach flipped nervously. I didn’t really know what my gift was, and I hadn’t really ever done anything extraordinary to indicate what my gift might be.

  ‘Have you scried anything before coming here?’ Sophia asked when I didn’t speak. I shrugged uncomfortably.

  ‘I…No, I’m not quite as gifted as you all,’ I said lamely, trying unsuccessfully to make it into a joke. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve never Seen anything or healed anything.’

  Sophia cocked her head to one side slightly, regarding me.

  ‘No, because you’re a scrier,’ she said.

  Sterling laughed and began talking about how sometimes she wasn’t sure if maybe she was meant to be a Crafter, but I wasn’t listening. I leaned closer to Sophia.

  ‘You’re sure?’ I asked, keeping my voice soft and hoping she wouldn’t laugh. ‘Are you positive that I’m a scrier?’

  ‘One hundred percent,’ she promised in an equally low voice. ‘I learnt to sense and feel energies very young, years before my sister. I was always able to classify the witches I met into six groups, though it wasn’t until I was older that I realised that I was able to sense the energetic features that define the classes.’ She shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and cleared her throat before continuing. ‘Every class feels different – that is, Healers feel different from Seers or Displacers or scriers. Next time you’re focussing on auras and energies, compare Kendra, Sterl
ing and Xanthe. They’re all very different but there’s a part of them that’s just the same.’

  ‘I had no idea that anyone could read into energies that deeply, other than the White Elm,’ I commented in an admiring tone. ‘Is it something anyone could do if they tried, or is it just because you’re a Healer that you can do it?’

  ‘I’ve met others who can do it, not all of them Healers.’

  ‘You’re so lucky to be so talented,’ I said, slightly envious. I looked around. ‘Everyone here is really talented.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she agreed, sipping her juice. ‘That’s why you’re here, too.’ She smiled as I blinked, then continued before I could argue. ‘It turns out that anyone can learn to read energy. I was lucky, learning early. Kendra was just slower, but eventually she worked it out, too, to a point.’

  ‘It probably helps that she’s a Healer, being naturally attuned to others and energies,’ Kendra interjected, overhearing. ‘I might have learnt to read people sooner if my gift were one that actually involves other people.’

  The twins bickered playfully for a few minutes, and my attention shifted inward. Sophia was one hundred percent positive that I was a true scrier. Qasim had indicated that I had a lot of potential as a scrier. Could it be?

  That night, after dinner and after the usual chat with my roommates, I lay in bed smiling. Sophia’s insistence that I was a scrier was a huge encouragement. Could she be right? How reliable was her opinion? She seemed like a knowledgeable and respectable sort of source.

  Was it possible that I was already everything I’d ever wanted to be? Could it be that I just needed to work on fine-tuning my skills?

  I wanted to believe it. Did believing make the difference?

  I closed my eyes and concentrated, though not hard.

  I’m already everything I’ve ever wanted to be. I am a natural scrier.

  I pictured myself and the room, and instead of straining my mind for results, I allowed myself to wait. I kept thinking: I’m a natural. I don’t need to try. It will come to me.

  And it did.

  Slowly, reluctantly at first, something shifted in my mind and a dim image of the room and its four unmoving occupants came into focus.

  I was scrying. All by myself. All by myself! No candle, no crystal. Unassisted, unaided.

  It was enough for me. I opened my eyes and allowed the image in the forefront of my mind to fade away. I wasn’t going to be kicked out of my class for lack of improvement. Grinning uncontrollably, I rolled over and went to sleep.

  I drifted off reasonably quickly, but soon found myself rising back to consciousness. I experienced an odd and unfamiliar sensation right before waking, though, of floating or flying. I flexed my shoulders by way of stretching, wondering what the time was, and opened my eyes.

  I was standing in front of a window.

  I gasped loudly and jumped backwards, shocked. Where am I? I had only just gone to bed, hadn’t I? Was I dreaming? I seemed awfully conscious and aware for this to be a dream.

  The window was arched and large, and overlooked a great deal of black. I could see nothing through it. I glanced around as my heart hammered against my ribs. What’s going on? I turned slowly to my left, taking in the elegant bookcases, stiff armchairs and the spaciousness of the room I was in. Opposite the window was a tall, thin door, much like the others in the house.

  At least I haven’t left the house.

  I turned further, noticed a large desk, and got another shock. A man sat at the desk, his narrow shoulders stooped over the letter he was writing, his dark hair obscuring his face. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I wondered whether this was his office and whether I’d be in trouble for being here, this late at night. I realised suddenly that I was still wearing my pyjamas.

  ‘Um, hi…I’m…’ I began to apologise, but even as I spoke I realised that something wasn’t right. The man didn’t look up at me in response, or even startle at the sound of an unfamiliar voice in his private office. Perhaps he was deaf. I took a nervous step closer, and finally he moved. He craned his neck a little to stretch out a kink and used one pale, spidery hand to brush his longish black hair out of his face.

  It was Renatus.

  Sure that he’d be able to see me now that his hair was not covering his eyes, I began apologising once again.

  ‘Uh, Sir, I’m really sorry about this,’ I said, but nothing had changed. The headmaster continued etching word after word with his elegant fountain pen, the scratchy sound the only thing I could hear above my own thudding heartbeat. ‘Sir?’ I waved experimentally, but still, nothing. ‘Sir? Renatus?’

  He couldn’t see me. He couldn’t hear me. He was completely unaware of my presence. Was I dead? Surely not: I was young and healthy, how likely was it that I’d gone to bed and just died? This had to be a dream. And yet, it was so real. The desk was solid dark wood. It was piled high with tidily stacked papers and books. It was highly impersonal – no photo frames, no personal possessions…even the fountain pens were identical and lined up neatly in their own little space in the top left corner. Obviously, this was the workspace of a highly meticulous mind.

  I thought to tell Sterling of this, then realised with another little jolt where I actually was. The headmaster’s office – his private office that Emmanuelle had told us was so private, it had no doorhandle and was spelled to keep people out…

  I hurried to the door, but already knew what I’d find. It had hinges, but where the doorknob should have been, there was nothing. I looked around for a way out. I didn’t want to be caught here. What if one of his spells detected me and I got zapped or whatever? How much trouble would I be in when he finally worked out I was here?

  I looked back at Renatus. Still, no response at all, no indication he had any idea he wasn’t alone. I considered shouting his name, but I wasn’t sure yet whether I was actually here or just dreaming, and it would be way too embarrassing to wake the other girls up shouting aloud the name of the headmaster. Xanthe and Hiroko wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I wondered aloud, moving away from the door and around the room. The bookcase was filled with some very old and mismatched books. Some looked like published texts; others might have been diaries. They spoke to me the same way the library ones did and I reached out to touch a particularly battered book’s spine, but my fingertips had not quite extended far enough when there was a sharp knock at the door. Startled, I snatched my hand back and spun around.

  Renatus had looked up and was gazing at the door with a thoughtful, calculating expression. I stepped closer to him, wondering how he’d heard that knock but still hadn’t noticed me. He put his pen down and waved his left hand lightly through the air –These are not the droids you’re looking for, I thought.

  Instead, the door swung inward, and Emmanuelle strode in. Renatus sat straighter in his seat and his eyes grew concerned as she approached. I could see why. Her beautiful hair was ruffled; her cloak was sitting on her shoulders funny, as though she’d just thrown it on and not bothered to straighten it out. I couldn’t see auras, but I could feel them as well as any other witch. Emmanuelle was flustered, upset and angry, and looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

  ‘Emmanuelle…’ Renatus said softly, sounding both resigned and concerned. She, too, ignored me, and marched up to his desk.

  ‘When were you planning to tell me?’ she demanded. Her voice was very high and she didn’t sound far away from losing control. ‘Is it true?’

  Renatus regarded Emmanuelle for a moment, as though assessing what he should and shouldn’t say. I stepped closer again, frightened by Emmanuelle’s hysteria but curious all the same.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Renatus suggested finally, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say.

  ‘Sit down?’ Emmanuelle repeated furiously. ‘I don’t think so. I’m just fine. Why don’t you start by telling me what you know? If it’s what I think it is, if it
’s about P-Peter, and you think I’m too delicate to ‘ear it, then you’re wrong.’ Her voice broke at the name, contradicting her words. ‘If you think I’m too weak-’

  ‘I don’t think you’re weak,’ Renatus interrupted her. He was still sitting at his desk, gazing up at her with intense violet eyes. ‘We both know that you’re a very powerful and gifted sorceress.’

  ‘So,’ she said, calming down a little, ‘tell me what you know. Where ‘ave Lord Gawain, Glen, Qasim and Elijah gone tonight?’

  Renatus held her furious gaze for a few seconds, but eventually had to back down and look away.

  ‘Emmanuelle, please take a seat,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll have Fionnuala bring you a drink of something-’

  ‘No,’ Emmanuelle shouted. I jumped in shock and moved away, so I was standing near the darkened window. What had I dreamt myself into? Tears of frustration were glistening in the French sorceress’s eyes now. ‘I will not be treated as a child, and not by you. You bastard! You know! Tell me! ‘ow dare you ‘ide this from me? You told me scrying doesn’t develop this late in life – you told me it was a dream. You let me think myself an idiot!’

  Renatus finally stood up so that he was facing her, looking down at her slightly. She was a tall woman, but he was taller.

  ‘I’m trying to protect you,’ he argued.

  ‘I don’t need you to protect me,’ Emmanuelle said furiously, but quickly softened, her sadness curtaining the anger. She struggled to control herself and, in a tight monotone, she said, ‘S’il vous plait; please…tell me – is it true, what I think? What I saw?’

  Slowly, Renatus nodded. Emmanuelle seemed to crumple. The anger and tension left her, and suddenly she wasn’t so tall. She took a step back.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ she murmured hollowly. Renatus rounded his desk and leant against its opposite side.

  ‘Tell me how you found out,’ he countered gently. Her return look was cold.

  ‘You first,’ she said firmly.