No one would give her an answer. They only patted her on the head and told her not to worry. Why even last night she’d stayed up late to catch Master Therin when he’d arrived back from his meetings. He’d dodged her questions many times before and so she’d been more assertive last night than usual, asking direct questions about the topics that pressed at her most. He’d winced, rubbing his head, and replied that she was not to worry. She’d let the old Master escape up his stairs, feeling sorry that she’d pressed him. He was obviously tired and working hard. But yet, that was the consistent answer that she received from anyone in contact with life outside the tower . . . that she shouldn’t think of such things, that they’d take care of her, which didn’t set her mind at ease at all. She groaned and rubbed her fingers against her temples. What was she to do?
“Analindë, are you okay?” The worried voice came from the edge of her room.
Andulmaion.
Her keeper.
No, that wasn’t fair. He was trapped in this tower just as much as she. He’d been charged with guarding her, teaching her upon occasion, and she hadn’t yet the strength for him to be relieved of his duties. She sighed.
“Yes,” she dropped her hands back into her lap. “I’m fine. I thank you for asking.” She looked back over her shoulder. His eyes were worried. He studied her face for a moment and the stars in his eyes flowed to a calmer whirl. Stars never lied. He really was worried about her, but he was calmer now, less anxious.
“Should you need anything, please ask.”
“I will, thank you again.” She gave him a smile, which felt weaker than she’d intended. He must’ve thought it was a good enough effort because he nodded his head, turned, and left the room.
She swiveled back to face the windows. She’d already questioned him yesterday afternoon to no avail. They weren’t telling anything to him either, except that one of the healers had accidentally let slip that people were talking about oath swearing again. She wondered what that would be like, to be bonded to someone else. Anxiety wound through her at the thought and so she forced her mind blank, then let her head fall back onto the sofa behind her. Her weary body had sunk deep into the couch, her eyes fluttered shut. It felt nice to sit still. Warm. Cozy. At rest.
She remembered Laerwen’s warning, that much of her energies would be spent in self-healing and—again—not to worry about her lack of strength. So Analindë tried not to worry and let her mind drift instead. Like she’d done in the forest glade, at the glacier lake, and so often after that time, she allowed her senses to piece together her surroundings. Her breathing slowed and fell into the rhythmic cadence she used when finding center.
She felt the rays of sun shine down upon her; its warmth strengthened her as her body absorbed its Energy. Puzzled, she wondered why the sunshine didn’t feel as strong as it had when out in the forest. The question didn’t linger long since it was easier to let her mind drift around the room rather than to puzzle it out.
Her thoughts sank to the floor beneath her. Stone. Heavy with age. With her magesight she traced the suite of rooms. She saw the way the stones fit together, the layers of sediment, and the very faint traces of a spell that had melded them all together. Mapping out her bathing room and the vacant room to the side of hers, she vaguely took in the room’s contents, then moved on. She studied the sitting room, its entryway, the dining area, the two groups of chairs and couches, one by the fire, the other by the windows. All had faint traces of Energy which allowed her to see the room. She scrutinized the jeweled stones that were embedded in the walls and was startled to realize that they weren’t just decorative, but that they were functional. Their purpose eluded her.
She reached Andulmaion’s suite and paused briefly, then hesitantly sent her thoughts into the room. As with the other objects in the tower, everything in Andulmaion’s rooms radiated traces of Energy from when they had been alive or been formed. Some were faint: chairs, a table, and some books. To her magesight, others glowed as bright as the sun and she found herself doing the magesight equivalent of squinting by tamping down on the tendril of thought she’d sent into the room. A large piece of glass, a wooden bowl, a few books, and a sword lay next to Andulmaion’s bed. And all around the tower, she now noticed it, a shield unlike any she’d seen before.
She sent her thoughts to circle the tower suites; her floor was completely encased by the shield. She realized with a start that they yet worried about the Humans. That’s why Andulmaion still sat with her all day. The thought made her frown.
Worry wormed its way slowly around the back of her mind. She’d not thought much about safety beyond reaching Mirëdell and relaying the warning. The school was the safe-haven she’d sought, but obviously to Master Therin it was not enough. She pushed the worries and the danger the Humans presented to the side of her mind to deal with later and sent her thoughts to the main sitting room.
Andulmaion was there. Through her magesight she watched him spin his energies out, working on his spell. A book that sat open at his side pulsed with violet energy. She hadn’t realized that books could glow like that and wondered where he’d found it. The variations of color that spun from his fingertips dazzled her senses. A combination of deep yellow golds and a few lighter pale yellows, the color of straw, melded and then swirled together. He finished the spell as she watched and the energies solidified in place; all variations disappeared and it pulsed a unified yellow gold.
She watched Andulmaion sigh, dissolve the spell and start anew. Looking again at the shield surrounding the room and the technique in which it had been woven together, she knew without doubt that he’d created it. She sensed the traces of intent, and for the first time noticed faint patterns in the way the Energy felt that reminded her of him.
She brought her thoughts back to her own room and the nagging worry that the Humans presented attempted to wiggle free. She was so tired. She just wanted to be safe and forget all the horrible things in the world. She slammed the door shut on the worry, and as an escape, turned her attention toward the stone floor. Stone had no worries; she wondered how it would be to escape and just be? Ignoring all other things, she turned a singular focus toward the stone floor and let her thoughts drift through the layers of sediment.
The rock was solid, peaceful, and still.
For a long time Analindë’s mind just drifted. She fell asleep briefly, and when she awoke, was worried until she realized that her thoughts still mingled with the stone floor beneath her. Still drowsy, but deciding to explore the tower further, she settled back down into the couch and let her thoughts meander down through the travertine floor. A feeling of great age and strength seeped deep into her soul. As with all things of nature, Analindë sensed the residual energies from when it had been formed. Like most rock, its pulse was a slow, long, and steady wave of Energy almost completely faded. She followed the pulse further into the stone until she ran into Andulmaion’s shield. Stars, now what?
She decided to work her way through it.
Analindë became as still as the stone she drifted through, then watched and studied the shield as it shimmered and glistened in front of her. It took a very long while, but eventually she spotted a pattern. She watched the pattern shift this way and that, looking for a way through. When she finally puzzled it out, Analindë studied the path, searching where it led. It was a little circuitous, but the way through eventually wound from one side of the shield through to the other.
Without any thought to consequences, Analindë sent a tendril of Energy though the maze she’d found and easily reached the other side of the shield. Elated, she sent her thoughts through to the other side and then circled the tower, going up then down, exploring the tower as she went.
She sensed the faded spell that had been used to form the tower still embedded within the stone, yet she couldn’t puzzle it out. She was, however, able to sense the residue of intent which lingered from the mage who had originally cast the spell. Stand strong, and be still. Solidify, . . . and b
ecome one. Now the tower stood firmly on its own, without weaves or spells to assist.
Shortly thereafter, Analindë realized that parts of the tower were solid. The staircase for example. It was one solid piece of stone spiraling down through the center. The outside walls were another. From the outside it looked as if the tower had been made of blocks stacked one upon another, but it was not so. The walls were solid with just an etching upon the surface to give it an illusion of blocks.
She wondered if the tower had been built block by block and fused together or called up out of the earth in one solid piece. Either way it would have taken quite an effort to build.
Curiosity drew her on, so she explored her way out of the tower and into the school. She investigated the outer walls of Mirëdell, then moved on deep within the belly of the small city. Some structures were older than others. Just as one could look at architecture and know the age in which it was built, so too it was the same with Energy signatures. Some buildings had been built in a hurry, others had been built to last, most carried a faint shimmer of power. As she traveled deeper within the school, a feeling of great age and slumber seeped into her. She reveled in the sensations as they made her feel safe. It didn’t take her long to realize that in some sections of the city, the older the stone was, the more strongly it pulsed with strength and Energy. Her interest piqued, she followed a string of smallish rooms, each older than the last, until she reached what must have been the heart of Mirëdell when it was first founded.
She scanned the room; it was beautiful with simplicity. Planked wooden floors were worn smooth. Plastered walls were finely finished. Raw beams of wood were exposed overhead, yet they’d been polished with care until they gleamed. The design was definitely elven, yet in such a spare, simplified manner that it could have been called plain. The lines of the room were distilled down to basic shape and form. Clean and uncomplicated. There was something special about the room; she felt it in the air, just beyond her grasp of understanding.
«Beautiful, isn’t it?»
Analindë whirled around looking for the voice. A swirling mass of Energy spun itself into a shape leaving an elven man standing before her. He was tall but bent with age, which meant that he had to be well over a thousand years old. «Yes, it is.» She answered cautiously; she’d never seen Energy used like this, never spoken like this. Had he heard her?
«Do you know yet how to show yourself?»
«No.» Who was this man?
«Think yourself as you are. But here. Leave yourself where you are, by all means do not try to move yourself here, but form your thought into self.» He gestured down at himself, his legs, his arms.
Analindë concentrated hard, envisioning a tall young woman, newly into adulthood, with long braided hair the color of darkest night. She opened her eyes, looked down, and took a surprised step back. Layers of soft underskirts caressed her legs as the floor pressed curiously against her feet. She was here.
No. She wasn’t. She sensed her body back up in Therin’s tower. How did it work? She peered over at the old man.
«There, that was not so difficult, was it?» The friendly words belied his expression. His face was stern and strong. He wore a court mask, the blank facial expression her mother instructed her to use whenever she was around those she did not know or did not trust. Analindë responded in kind, keeping her face neutral. She dropped her gaze to hide the stars swirling in her eyes. She was an intruder here. She stilled the urge to fiddle with the rings that were all too real on her fingers.
«It worked better than I expected,» she said while hesitantly brushing her hand against the ruby gown she wore. It was made of the finest silk and was fanciful. It would stain easily and was fashioned in an archaic style, one that even her great-aunt wouldn’t have worn. The floor-length gown had a fitted bodice and flared at the hips. The collar of the jacket was tall and fanned out behind her neck. If not for the three-quarter length sleeved jacket, her shoulders would be bare. Her hair was caught up at the back of her head; she didn’t dare reach up to see how it was styled. The dress felt flattering. She’d just never thought to wear such a thing.
She fidgeted and fought the impulse to study the dress further. Feeling overdressed, her eyes left her hands and sought out the purposefully blank eyes of the aged elve. What would he think of her? Her palm’s were clammy; she turned them away from her skirts so she wouldn’t soil the fabric. Would her imaginary hands actually sweat? The thought darted through her mind.
Sensing at least some of her thoughts he said, «It cannot be helped. For centuries I have appeared thus, in a pair of old work pants and shirt.» The corner of his mouth twitched. «You are a mage.» It was a statement, not a question.
«How did you–»
«Your gown. Most mages appear in robes or gowns of some sort. Clothes appear like towers. If you ever build a tower or home of your own, it will appear from an image you hold deep within yourself. Once it starts building itself, there is little you can do to influence it but watch it take shape.» He smiled briefly. His regal stature belied the humble trousers and shirt. This was not an elve to be trifled with, no matter what clothes he wore.
«But the Metal Masters and–»
«They are different. The elements answer to them differently than they would to you. Analindë, isn’t it?»
«Yes, I’m Analindë. My pardon Lord, but you are?»
«Master Donarion, the keeper of this place.»
Analindë bowed low before him. She had never heard his name before but sensed he wielded great power and position. «My pleasure,» she said, wondering if this way of communication was like far-speaking? She’d have to ask Master Therin.
Impassive silence pressed in on Analindë. Should she leave? No, not until he dismissed her. The stars in his eyes began to move in a pattern she did not recognize and she began to worry. When she could take the weight of them no longer she looked away to study the room and said, «It’s beautiful.» He didn’t strike her down or reprimand her so she let her eyes continue to drift about the room. For all its plainness, the room didn’t feel cold or barren. It felt familiar, as if she should somehow recognize the place for what it was and be happy.
She’d never been here before or anyplace like it, so the feeling baffled her. «This place is comforting. Welcoming. Like a safe harbor for those who seek it. Why? Or, um, how?»
Master Donarion’s eyebrow quirked up, stars stilled in his eyes. «You feel that, do you? Hmmm, tell me what you think of this.» He shuffled to the far wall where there was a tall narrow table and opened a medium sized chest that she was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. He opened the chest as she crossed to him. A golden ball glowed within the chest, radiating solid, glorious power so expansive that it tugged her toward it. She stopped and consciously held herself back to keep from stepping closer to pick it up.
«It’s ancient. Powerful,» she blurted.
«Yes it is.» He studied her aloofly for a moment. She was seconds away from fidgeting with the rings on her fingers when he turned from her and thankfully shut the ancient chest before opening a second smaller chest to its right. With the aggressive pull of power gone, she noted that a faint melody—that she couldn’t quite pick out—now drifted about the room.
He beckoned her closer. She darted forward, forcing herself to veer to the right toward the smaller chest, not left. Her soft silk slippers brushed the polished wooden floor, and a corner of her mind wondered if they’d snag if the floor had been rough. The second box contained a single seed resting on silver satin. Puzzled, Analindë studied it intently. She glanced briefly at Master Donarion to gauge his intent. In that moment, he reminded her strongly of her mother, head cocked to the side, waiting to see if Analindë could figure her way through the quizzing games they’d used to play.
Master Donarion’s face was blank. Even the stars in his eyes had dampened down, barely sparking. Daring boldness rushed through her. Before she could think twice about it, she sent a tendril of thought out,
winding herself around and through the tiny seed. Recognizing its potential for greatness, Analindë withdrew and returned to herself.
«It is a potential of what may be, a delicate living thing waiting for the right moment. Patience?» She guessed.
He said nothing; his face gave away nothing. He did not even nod in her direction. He simply studied her for a long awkward moment and then closed the lid and opened another. Inside the third chest lay a charred hunk of wood.
Her home. She recoiled.
Analindë yanked her mind back away from the panic to refocus on the burnt wood. This time she was drawn into memory.
It’s was blazing hot. What crazy idea had gotten into Master Zithrien to make him want to work on fire making spells in the middle of summer? Morian’s knees ached. He’d been crouching for far too long. He grabbed a few sticks of wood he’d gathered that morning and, one by one, placed them into the fire pit he’d just dug.
Always the long way or the hard way! Morian knew it to his core that the old man did it just to make him suffer. Why, the old Master could have made the pit without even batting an eye, whereas it had taken Morian most of the morning to dig this hole himself and now he was going to miss lunch.
He finished laying the sticks in the pattern Master Zithrien had asked for and looked up at the old man’s expectant face. He hoped in vain that for once the old man would find nothing wrong with his work.
Old Master Zithrien stared at Morian with such a piercing gaze he began to think the old man was reading his thoughts. The old man’s gaze flicked to the wood he had prepped for the fire. Barely glancing at it the old man said, “You need larger pieces of wood.” Anger flared inside Morian; his efforts were never good enough. Always there was something wrong. “Go out and collect more. What you have collected will be good enough to start a blaze but will not be enough to sustain it.”
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 16