Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  “Donarion, I would like to present my two apprentices. Andulmaion, of the Mages of Olórindil, who is preparing to start his tuvalië. And Analindë, of the Mages of Lindënolwë, who has within the past few years come to study here.”

  “Andulmaion and Analindë, may I make known to you Master Donarion, who is the Master of the High Council of Stone Masters here at Mirëdell. Every now and then he comes to check on me and my tower to make sure we are both still standing.” Master Therin chuckled at his joke and gestured formally to his colleague.

  Both apprentices bowed low in greeting as Master Therin sat down in the chair opposite Master Donarion. Analindë noticed with an internal cringe that the only seats left were on the small couch. Andulmaion, gentleman that he was, waited for her to settle before taking the seat next to her. There they sat in uncompanionable silence while Master Therin poured tea.

  After an excruciatingly long wait, Master Donarion began asking Andulmaion about his studies at Mirëdell and the village that his family lived in. Analindë settled back into the sofa, content to listen as the two men spoke over her. Master Donarion was a tad bit more amiable in person than he’d been down in the depths of the school. The stars in his eyes spun more freely; his face smiled more often. Despite this, he was more intimidating now than he’d been before.

  Over the past few weeks she’d realized that the power swirling within people was noisy, tending toward chaos at times. Master Therin and Andulmaion constantly dampened down their energies, keeping a close hold on the ebb and flow of power emanating from them. She’d become used to that tight way Master Therin and Andulmaion held their power. And so it was a bit of a shock to sit so closely to Master Donarion.

  It was a massive amount of power that he wielded, albeit well schooled. She did not doubt that he had such masterful control of his energies that he wouldn’t have made a sound should he so wish it. However, he did not. She wondered absently if the reason he didn’t dampen down his energies was to impress and intimidate. The sensation of wisps of his Energy brushing over and against her own felt crowded, invasive, and for a moment it was all she could do to not be so rude as to get up from the couch and move a suitable distance away. As the power ebbed around her, she thought that perhaps this was just one way that the pecking order amongst mages was established.

  Master Therin handed her a cup of tea; it was a traditional mid-winter tea spiced with cinnamon and star anise. It was a favorite of Analindë’s and she breathed in its fragrant smell before sipping it. Master Therin sat back in his chair looking pleased. She relaxed as much as she was able; all was well.

  She was eventually drawn into the conversation and it was hard not to laugh as the two Masters talked about their madcap adventures from when they were both much younger and prone to seek adventure.

  As the conversation drew to a close, Master Donarion stated, “Therin, your tower is in sound shape. It has held up well these past many years; I expect it to continue to do so.”

  “I should hope so, with a Master such as yourself to oversee it.”

  “Well said, old friend.” Master Donarion rose to his feet and shook out his robes; the others stood, following him to the door. “Oh dear, I left the book you lent me upstairs in your study.”

  Master Therin looked over Analindë’s shoulder. “Andulmaion, would you please retrieve the book for Master Donarion? It is lying on the side table near the window and is bound in red.”

  As soon as Andulmaion was out of earshot, Master Donarion quickly turned to Analindë. “It was a pleasure to meet you earlier.” He grasped her hands firmly between his own. “You show great promise. Should you ever need help or have questions concerning my field of expertise, come find me. I have offices here at the school. I welcome any opportunity to aid you in your studies.” His voice, although rushed, held a solid quality she remembered from before. “If you cannot come to me in person, find me as you did today, in the room below. I will know when you are there and come if I can.” He turned to face his old friend.

  “Therin, may the ancestors be with you as you watch over this one; she learns quickly and does not miss much.”

  “That I have found to my misfortune. I have vowed not to underestimate her again.”

  Master Donarion hastily dropped her hands and stepped back from her as they heard Andulmaion clatter down the stairs. Seconds later he appeared, red book in hand. “Here it is Master Donarion.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you Andulmaion. Good luck with your tuvalië. And thank you for fetching my book.” Master Donarion bowed ever so slightly as he tucked the book under his arm. “Analindë, Master Therin is one of our best; you could not have ended up with a better mentor. Trust him, he will not lead you astray.”

  Master Therin sealed the door after Master Donarion had departed. “I have modified your shield yet again Andulmaion. Can you find what I have done?” Smiling, the old master turned to Analindë, “Come. He will be up awhile yet; you should get some rest.”

  “Good night Master Therin, Andulmaion.” Analindë watched Andulmaion staring intently at the walls around them. He did not reply. She knew what it was like to be lost in a task set before her. Master Therin climbed his stairs.

  Exhausted, Analindë left the room, quickly dressed for bed, and then nestled down in the soft feather bedding. She checked the mask on her source, and drifted off to sleep while pondering easier ways to feather edges.

  Near dawn she awoke in panic. Fear of suffocation crawled at her as she struggled to breathe. Bolting upright, she drew in ragged breath after ragged breath as she tried to make out her surroundings. She was in her room in Therin’s tower. A moment later she threw off the heavy bed coverings and jumped out of bed. She shoved open a window and leaned out, gulping cold, frigid air from outside.

  She tried to focus on the twinkling night sky, the frozen puffs of breath hanging in front of her, or the sharp, warm edge of the window sill pressing against her. Her mind still raced. No, raced was the wrong word. It was as if she’d been caught up in a cyclone of fear, pain, and crushing defeat. As she continued taking deep cleansing breaths, a few images began to come to mind. Liking these images even less, she shivered.

  Analindë pulled the window shut and had to force it back past the shield with a punch of power until the latch snicked in place. She pulled a dressing gown over her thin nightdress. Tying it shut, she sank down onto her couch. She’d been trapped in an airless stone cell and couldn’t get out. No matter how hard she’d tried or how long she’d puzzled things out she couldn’t break through the stone walls nor the wards and spells woven around her.

  She shuddered as she stood up to fill a pot with water. Tea. She needed a cup of tea. Her feet were cold. She pulled on her slippers as she waited for water to heat. Last night when she’d walked through the rough stone wall which protected Mirëdell’s source she hadn’t felt trapped.

  Welcomed, cherished, and accepted?

  Yes.

  Frightened, terrified, and imprisoned?

  No.

  She wondered how the wonderful experience of finding Mirëdell’s source had morphed into the horrifying dreams of this morning and shrugged. Too unsettled to go back to bed, Analindë dressed for the day.

  Escaping her bedroom, she walked into the sitting room and began to pace. She’d circled the room four times before she heard it. There was the light sound of bare feet running across stone. Startled, she whirled around expecting attack.

  No one was there.

  She paused and listened; the sounds came again, accompanied by a whistle of wind. It was coming from the library. She paced forward. No, the workroom. She walked quicker.

  She peered around the doorway and found Andulmaion practicing an advanced form of kaji, The Dance of Warriors. He’d stripped down to a shirt—matted with sweat—and loose trousers, and she realized for the first time as he moved powerfully across the room that although he was slim he was strongly built.

  The steps he took were grounded in
familiarity, and she recognized the basic forms she’d mastered years ago. The patterns he wove across the floor were as complex and difficult as they were beautiful. Beyond a movement here or there, his steps had nothing in common with the simple sequences she’d spent ten long years mastering.

  He ran lightly forward and at the last moment launched himself into the air, spinning to the side in a spiral until he landed, sword in hand, deftly decapitating an invisible foe. He leaped up into the next series of movements with controlled ease. His blade swung quickly in a whorl, blurring before her eyes. She could not follow it.

  He danced fluidly across the floor without stopping, one movement or gesture blending lithely into the next. Kicks, steps, sweeps of the leg. His arms jabbed and swept both gracefully and deadly. Where she would have hesitated or been jerky in her execution, he charged forward. It was dramatic to watch. Intimate, almost.

  She felt uneasy; she was intruding. She backed away from the doorway slowly so as not to draw attention and headed back to her room. She wondered if Andulmaion regularly practiced kaji, or if he’d recently decided to begin again. What had driven him to master the technique in the first place?

  As soon as she crossed the threshold to her room and looked at her bed, the remnants of her nightmares vividly returned. Stark stone walls pressed in on her and she felt terror unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She couldn’t catch her breath and her legs shook beneath her.

  She slumped out of the room and staggered over to the sideboard. The claustrophobic images became fleeting. She heated a second pot of water with a touch, then plucked a packet of chamomile from among several varieties of tea available and dropped it into the pot. When it had finished steeping, she poured herself a cup of the calming tisane and then sat facing the view outside the window, eyes unseeing, and tried not to listen to the patter of foot against stone.

  Her disobedient mind bounced between thinking of the terror of her dreams, Andulmaion’s athletic body as he practiced kaji, and the numbness of shock. In frustration, she finally stood, grabbed a book about shielding from off the library shelves, then plopped back down to study. She corralled her wayward thoughts into constructive purpose. She was not a victim, she was not going to waste time with embarrassing thoughts, and she was not going to cower. She would spin her fear into determined focus. If she could break through any shield, then she wouldn’t ever be trapped. There was no reason to fear. And so she searched the book for practical knowledge on ways to break through shields so that she didn’t rely solely on intuition.

  Later that morning a note was delivered with Analindë’s breakfast. She broke the seal and sat back. She could almost hear Erulissé’s musical chatter as she read. The woman was forever in constant motion.

  Analindë,

  Using my excellent talents, I’ve finally talked the healers into letting me visit. It took me a lot longer than I thought it would, but they finally relented.

  The healers won’t say how you are except to say that you’re better. The Masters have been very strict about visitors; they’ve even posted guards at the foot of the tower to keep us out.

  They say that you have finally arrived at the point where visitors will help and not hurt, so I have pled and begged and if you say yes, I am to be allowed to visit during lunch this afternoon. Don’t forget to let them know I am to come.

  Classes aren’t the same without you. Everyone sends their love.

  E’soloné fier’natalle,

  Erulissé

  “Erulissé.” She sat back with a sigh of relief. It would be good to see her dear friend again. She was a breath of fresh air and she’d bring news, for she always knew the latest gossip.

  “A letter from a friend?” Andulmaion gestured toward the pale pink paper she held; he tucked a slim ragged volume he’d been studying to the side and leaned back.

  “Yes, Erulissé. She’s studying to become a Sea Master. Do you know her?” At the shake of his head, she continued. “She’s almost finished with her schooling. A few years yet and she’ll start her tuvalië.” Analindë paused to take a bite of scrambled eggs. “When I first came to Mirëdell three years ago, she befriended me. While at school, we have been inseparable . . . that is until now.” She picked the letter up and scanned it.

  “Some of her elective classes were beginning ones for me. We started studying together and continued thereafter. She said they’ll let her come to lunch. You’ll let them know I’d love to have her?”

  “Yes, I’ll tell them. New company will be good for you.” The look on his face was serious; he absently picked the slim volume next to him back up and slowly rubbed one finger against its cover. Questions—that she could not read—circled in his eyes. Uneasy, she let her gaze fall.

  “I did not mean–” she began to apologize. Was he the type to be insecure with others around?

  “I’m off to the workroom to practice a new spell.” Did the man never rest, she wondered as he rose? “When you’ve finished eating work on the edges of your mask and come up with a few shield illusions.” He smiled politely, then slipped out of the room before she could think up a suitable reply. Analindë mulled over their exchange. What had she missed? Had he been offended? Perhaps he was equally glad for a visitor but had not wanted to be offensive? Most obviously he had a lot on his mind; best to leave him alone.

  She was glad that Erulissé was coming to visit. The tower walls were beginning to press in on her like the cell walls she’d dreamt about that morning. Seeing the same people day after day was tiresome.

  No, she was being unfair. The small circle of people aiding her had been very helpful. They had done their best and she had been ill. Really, they couldn’t have done better under any other circumstances. But still, the walls pressed in as they hadn’t done before. Mirëdell’s source had brought her more than power; it had given her mental clarity, health and strength. Most days she felt lost in a fog of pain and confusion. That was all gone now and she felt more like herself. Actually, she felt better. She guessed that the mental sharpness was why she now chaffed at being sequestered in the tower suite. She picked at her breakfast as her mind wandered.

  She felt diametrically conflicted. The person she’d always been warred with the person she was speedily becoming. Through no choice of her own, she’d been catapulted onto a path she’d never thought to travel.

  Well, actually, she had made a choice.

  She hadn’t hidden.

  . . .

  She thought back to that awful day and realized that if she had hidden in the Stone Master’s home as asked she’d be dead. She didn’t feel empowered by that thought, but felt maudlin instead. She wondered if her current pity party was related to the dream she’d had that morning, then pushed the thought aside.

  She was glad that she’d chosen not to hide that day. If she’d hidden she wouldn’t have overheard the Human’s discussion of Gildhorn and the Mageborn books. She would have eventually been found and slaughtered like her family.

  That one choice. The choice to stay near and fight had collapsed the ground beneath her like land gives way in a deluge. That choice had led to her harrowing flight to the school and everything that had happened to her since.

  That one choice had catapulted her forward onto a dark and unsteady path. She felt like she was falling. Falling out of control in a raging storm.

  Wind and rain was battering at her from every direction. She realized that no matter what she clung to for safety along the way she’d continue to slip and fall, rain pelting at her and mud weakening her grasp. She’d had such high hopes for Master Therin; thoughts of him fixing everything had buoyed her along on her journey to the school. But now that Master Therin was within reach, he continually slipped through her grasp just as effectively as if she’d never made it to the school in the first place. He did not have time for her. He did not listen. He would not answer her questions. He looked so awkward when she approached him that she’d begun to feel shame and guilt when asking for even th
e simplest of things. He, nor anybody else, was going to save her from falling into the darkened abyss.

  She would continue to slide and fall downward until she hit bottom. No matter how much she wanted it, the ground could not be put back to where it had been, nor could things be as they once were.

  There were only a few remaining choices for her now. Should she continue the search for safety by grabbing for and clinging to anything within reach knowing that the ground would eventually rush at her with crippling speed? Or should she perhaps learn to embrace her fall and somehow learn to fly?

  Panic swamped her at the thought.

  Trapped.

  She felt trapped. The walls of the tower pressed in. Choices limited.

  Move forward or move back? Clamber for false safety or embrace the fall? Embracing the fall would mean pulling important things to her as she was able, but it would also mean that she needed to stretch out and learn things that were new. She could envision her future self, standing independent and strong, metaphorically turning the winds of change to her advantage, soaring above the deepening abyss in defiance.

  The old her would have been content to sit in her room for years on end because it was asked of her to stay safe.

  The new her bristled at the confinement. She needed to move. Be active. A flare of power rushed deep within her. Mirëdell’s source was age-old and wise; it still whispered to her of millennia spent protecting, plotting, and consolidating power.

  “Go and learn. Quickly,” she remembered the source saying.

  Yes, she would do that.

  She’d start by gaining a mastery of intermediate shield work. She would begin practicing kaji again in the mornings. The drills would be good for her, focus her mind, help strengthen her weakened muscles. She’d learn anything and everything that she could get her hands on.

  Analindë adjusted the mask covering her source to fit better. Firm control of the mask still eluded her. It kept slipping to the side every now and then, and that morning it had been terribly askew. Fortunately, it was still active; at least she had that much under her control. Andulmaion hadn’t thought she’d be able to do even that and had counseled her to come to him to remake the mask each morning when needed.