Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  She turned her mind to illusions and produced one that made her look like a dancer. She worked on trying to feather its edges while thinking about what else she could pretend to be. Perhaps a musician, or better yet, a scout.

  When she’d been younger, one of her brother’s friends had come to stay with them each summer. The three of them had traipsed all over the mountains. Usually if she caught up with her brother and Arandur they would let her play with them. Even then they did their best to escape her, even after she’d found them.

  She’d always wondered why Arandur came to their home during the summers instead of going home to his own, but she never did figure it out. She fidgeted in her seat, agitated at thoughts of her brother’s close friend. He was a scout now, stationed near Mirëtasarë. He had planned to visit at the end of autumn. Riian had been looking forward to seeing him again. It hadn’t happened; the Humans had come instead.

  At thoughts of her family, a familiar prick of pain and unrest pushed at her. She shoved it to the side with a now familiar refrain of later. Worry left her restless; she turned back to her illusion. She attempted to feather the edges just so, and failed miserably. Unable to maintain focus.

  With a cry of frustration, Analindë dropped the illusion. She stood up and paced back and forth across the room as she isolated her emotions. Anxious Energy welled up within her. The humans, the threat they bore, and her desire for revenge against them. Fear that the Humans would keep hunting her and that they would catch her unprepared. Anger against the ones that had betrayed them all. And finally despair that she was all alone, cast adrift with no family. She didn’t have aunts or uncles or even close cousins as her parents had been only children.

  After the umpteenth time circling the room, she pushed it all away, boxing it up and locking it away deep down inside herself. Later. Now was not the time to worry and be anxious. Time was of the essence. Right now she had an illusion to learn and shields to work on.

  She thought of the disintegrating path she trod and steely resoluteness gripped her. She would not fall.

  Instead, she would fly.

  The Sixteenth Chapter

  ANALINDË WAS WORKING ON THE finishing touches of an illusion she’d conjured up to show Andulmaion when he strode into the room. “Hold on,” she called out as she quickly dissolved the illusion with a wave of her hand, hiding it from view. “I’m not finished.”

  He smiled, “Going well for you then?”

  “A little slow, but it’s coming along. And you? How’s the new offensive spell progressing?”

  A look of frustration crossed his face. “It’s not quite there yet. I have a long way to go before it’s good enough to use. Parts of it keep eluding me.”

  “Like the edges of my illusion?”

  “Like the edges of your illusion,” he commiserated. “Your friend is on the way up the stairs. I sensed her trip the ward I placed halfway up the tower.”

  Analindë’s eyes snapped back toward him again; a smile spread quickly across her face. “She’s here?” Her voice was soft, hopeful.

  “Almost. She should be close to the door by now. I’ll drop the shields for her.”

  Analindë jumped to her feet and flew to open the door. “Erulissé?” she called out into the passage below.

  “Almost there,” Erulissé sang out. She rounded the corner, red hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, a bright smile on her face. “Good news. The healers said you could move to solid foods today.” Erulissé grinned mischievously at her. Analindë replied with a welcoming grin of her own. She’d been eating solid foods for over a week now and they both knew it. “I had the kitchen make up a wonderful dessert that you’ll just love.” They hugged briefly and air-kissed each other’s cheeks.

  Erulissé swept into the room like the breath of fresh air that she was, a harried chef’s apprentice hard on her heels carried a heavy-laden tray.

  The apprentice set the tray upon the table and quickly backed out of the room. “I’ll be back for it later,” he mumbled before escaping.

  “What did you do to him?” Analindë hissed at Erulissé, as Andulmaion sealed the door shut.

  “Oh, nothing. He didn’t want to talk, even though there were all sorts of things he needed to hear on the way up.” Erulissé shrugged. “He probably won’t be back anytime soon.” A sly grin spread across Erulissé’s face as she looked at Analindë out of the corner of her eye.

  Analindë chuckled and walked over to the sideboard to grab some napkins.

  Erulissé was the most carefree person Analindë had ever met. She always claimed that there were enough stuffy bones in the world already and that she did not need to add to their numbers. She only ever meant just over half of the outrageous things she said and was a joy to be around.

  A gasp of dismay stopped Analindë cold; she jerked back around, searching for danger. “Analindë, has no one been here to do your hair? Before I leave I’ll teach you a spell that will pull it back correctly,” Erulissé teasingly mocked.

  Analindë exhaled a shaky breath, “Don’t scare me like that.” Her heart still hammered and her fingers shook as she reached up to touch the offending braid. An expression flitted quickly across Erulissé’s face before she could catch it. The stars in Erulissé’s eyes stilled, then forcibly brightened.

  “Nonsense. Who else is there to take you to task? He certainly isn’t.” Erulissé flung an exacerbated look at Andulmaion. The air in the room crackled between her old friend and her new friend. Analindë burst out into laughter; it filled her with lightness. The tension in the room faded.

  “Oh, Erulissé. I have missed you!” Her old friend smiled and Analindë felt like everything was finally right in the world again. Enticing smells wafted from the dishes, so Analindë ambled over to the table.

  Erulissé tugged at the simple braid Analindë had managed on her own and shuddered. “With your grasp of basic fundamentals, it should be quite easy for you.”

  “I–” Analindë stopped herself from correcting her friend. Instead, she said, “It would please me greatly to learn this spell. On my own, I can manage only the simplest as you can see,” she said in mock humility. Erulissé saw through the words to the teasing that lay beneath and sighed in what Analindë hoped was relief. They grasped each other in a tight hug, the light scent of Erulissé’s perfume washed past her, and she reveled in the sensation of being held close. No one had hugged her this way in a very long time.

  She felt the tenseness in her friend fade and become somewhat relaxed. Erulissé wasn’t a relaxed sort of person; there was always an underlying agitated tension about her which Analindë felt quite easily with her newly awakened senses. Analindë pushed back from the embrace to look her friend in the eyes. “Erulissé, it’s good to see you.” Erulissé nodded, then they plopped down onto chairs at the table.

  “Andulmaion, you’ll eat with us?” Erulissé watched him from beneath her lashes; her lips were pursed.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said as he pulled up a chair on her other side. Erulissé nodded her acknowledgment of him making the right choice, proceeded to set out dishes, and kept up a steady stream of chatter at the same time. Curried lamb, a cucumber yogurt sauce, flatbread, a chopped salad with lemon herb dressing, and a few other side dishes quickly filled the table. She shared all the gossip that had circulated while Analindë had been gone while she divvied up the food. Who was hanging out with whom, which elves were taking certain classes for the second or—gasp—third time, and the latest scoop about whose powers had suddenly flared into existence. Unfortunately, she spoke of everything and anything but what Analindë wanted to hear most, but Erulissé wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

  When she finally paused to take a bite of curried lamb, Analindë blurted, “And the Mageborn Books, the Humans, or Gildhorn, what news do you have about them?”

  Erulissé choked. Looking stricken, she grabbed her glass and drank quickly. She coughed a few times and swallowed cautiously before saying,
“They asked me not to say anything.” Her face flushed red with guilt. “I knew you’d want to hear, but they made me promise I wouldn’t tell you anything. I’m so sorry. The healers in particular were adamant. They think you’ll suffer a relapse or something.” Analindë didn’t say anything but sat back while trying to keep the frown off her face and disappointment from her eyes. It was as close to a court mask as she’d ever used on her dear friend. It wasn’t Erulissé’s fault that she couldn’t say anything.

  Erulissé wrung her hands in her lap. “But I know you better than them. The not knowing is probably driving you crazy. And is probably worse than the knowing. It would drive me insane, the not knowing. I can only imagine what it is doing to you.” She paused for a breath, and Analindë nodded in agreement, not wanting to interrupt the direction of Erulissé’s train of thought. Andulmaion sat back, amused at the scene, not caring one way or another, or at least that was the image he was projecting. Analindë could tell otherwise simply by the way the stars in his eyes had slowed and by the way his fingers kept toying with the cuff on his left sleeve.

  Indecision warred across Erulissé’s face as she struggled with what she would, could, or shouldn’t say. Finally, having reached a decision, her face cleared.

  “I suppose . . . that if I told Andulmaion,” she paused to look endearingly up into the man’s face. “To help allay the fears and burdens he carries on your behalf.”

  A light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh yes, I have been terribly worried.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. They were close, almost touching.

  “And if you just happened to overhear what I told him in confidence,” she flicked a glance over at Analindë, “Then I will have kept my promise, right?”

  “To a degree, but I’ll take it,” said Analindë. “Please leave nothing out. Andulmaion has been extremely anxious.”

  Erulissé nodded at the command and turned to face Andulmaion. “I am quite embarrassed that I know as little as I do, but I will tell you all that I do know.” She paused to take a deep breath, an ominous sign regarding what was to come next . . . a nonstop stream of tale-telling.

  “There has been much gossip and speculation, but in all, the same information circles around endlessly.” Surprisingly, she paused to see if he understood and would accept what little she had to tell. He nodded sharply and she continued.

  “A team of scouts has been sent to Lindënolwë, first, to take care of our dead.” A catch in her voice stopped her and not for the first time Analindë wondered if her friend had harbored a secret fondness for her brother. “Second, to search the village for clues, and third, to track the humans. The scouts have been successful so far and have followed the humans through the mountains for some days.

  “It is said they will receive special commendations for the work they do.” She darted a look at Analindë, “For as you know, the humans are quite dangerous. Also because they suffer from privations and the terrible storms the Weather Masters have been sending to slow the humans.”

  “Gildhorn has gone to ground,” Erulissé said. Andulmaion frowned and crossed his arms across his chest but did not interrupt. “Officers from the High Lady’s court went to his city but arrived too late. He and many of his friends have gone. They left little of value, and it is expected that they will not return. Several younger sons have disappeared as well.” Erulissé flicked a glance to Analindë to see if she understood. A cold chill settled into her chest, Second Sons, the Elven Wars, she understood. “Their homes and whereabouts are being investigated, and the Truth Sayers have been sent out.”

  Andulmaion’s face was curiously blank by now. Analindë wanted to ask him what Erulissé had said that disturbed him, but she didn’t want to interrupt Erulissé in case the kitchen apprentice came back early.

  “And lastly, no one seems to know what to think of the Mageborn Books. Some say they never existed. Others say all copies were destroyed during the Elven Wars; however, most think a few copies still exist throughout the Realm. Of course no one can produce a copy.” She pursed her lips together. “Not even in the Mountain City.

  “As to what they contain, some suggest it is just a book on birthing practices, and specifically how to increase the chances your child will become a mage.” Erulissé turned an interesting shade of red that clashed with her hair as she glanced away from Andulmaion, who was grinning cheekily. Clearing her throat, she whispered to Analindë. “As if we all wanted to become mages.” She rolled her eyes. Equanimity restored, she continued. “Others think the books contain the songs passed down from our earliest Tale Spinners, but most of us believe that the Mageborn Books contain within themselves the very secret of the Elves. That in them is our unmaking, and that in the wrong hands, they could bring the destruction of us all.”

  By the time Erulissé finished speaking, all color had fled from her face. She cleared her throat a few times and took another sip of water. “And there you have it.” Her voice changed into a friendly, cheerful sound. I hope it all sets you at ease Andulmaion.” He looked anything but. “I should hate for you to worry.” She reached out and patted him briefly on the arm. She looked half pleased with herself for making it through her monologue uninterrupted and half sick with worry from the dangers that threatened them all.

  Erulissé turned to Analindë. “Now then, I would teach you the spell to braid your hair. Your smooth locks will look lovely in the new style being sported.” Analindë nodded numbly and allowed herself to be led into her bathing room. They left Andulmaion staring pensively at the fireplace grate; a blue fire roared to life in its depths as they left the room.

  When Erulissé left the tower a half-hour later, Analindë felt as though she had barely survived a whirlwind. She had mastered the art of styling her hair with a spell. She’d been assured that she was now competent enough to attempt several of the more intricate styles. And she’d received another earful of inconsequential chatter.

  Erulissé had been more energetic than her usual self, almost frantic, and it hadn’t had anything to do with their lack of time. Analindë wondered what her friend had been too afraid to tell her. They’d rightfully been afraid of running out of time. The young kitchen apprentice had arrived just as Erulissé had put the finishing touches on her hair. But still, something else had lingered in the air between them, and it puzzled Analindë to no end.

  Once Erulissé had left, silence once again descended upon the tower, this time welcomed by both occupants. They sat in shock, she on the couch and he in the armchair he’d claimed as his own. He clutched a few shabby pieces of parchment bound together in one corner with a dirty bit of apple green ribbon. Where did he get all those dilapidated manuscripts, she wondered. Could he not afford new ones?

  After quite a bit of time had passed, Analindë broke the silence. “I knew they must be of some worth. Why else go through so much effort to get them?”

  “Analindë, do not worry. The High Council and the High Lady’s Court watch over us; all will be well.” But his voice lied, and the stars in his eyes were still. The placating words rubbed her the wrong way.

  Andulmaion stood abruptly. “I have work I must do. Please excuse me.” He strode into the workroom, throwing up protective shields behind him to close the room off from the rest of the tower.

  Analindë stared at the closed door where Andulmaion had disappeared; confusion and sadness swamped her. She sat alone, in newfound sorrow, as eddies of worry grew within her until they churned. She turned forward again to stare unseeing out of the window in front of her.

  Why, oh why, did she continually forget that she was alone. There was no one else with whom to shoulder the way forward. She thought of the metaphorical path she trod in life, of her unsure footing, of the sensation that the ground was caving out from under her. The ferocity of the deluge, that battled against her as she pushed her way along had grown. She stood and paced, pushing her worries to the side. Fall down the cliff? Or fly? Fall or fly? . . . Fly. She would fly.

/>   So she retreated to her room and practiced each new shield she had learned, incorporating the lessons from Master Therin and Andulmaion, forcing herself to be quicker, react faster, until the patterns in the weaves became part of her and required but a single thought.

  Erulissé was barred from the tower and was not permitted to return again; at least that’s what Analindë decided when she didn’t hear from her friend again. Her tale-telling must have been discovered and Analindë wondered how they’d been found out.

  During the next couple of days, Master Therin continued to meet with the High Mages, and Analindë and Andulmaion worked without him on different types of shields. The two apprentices had reached a sort of amiableness in their interactions. And although Andulmaion did not stint on the amount of tutoring he gave her, there was still a reticence about him. Her newfound strength and power became more comfortable and settled as time passed. Analindë quickly grasped the concepts he taught her. Between her lessons and the books she studied, there was so much knowledge stuffed into her head that her dreams remained troubled. They were filled with barren stone-walled cells that she couldn’t break out of, and Human wizards attacking her as her shields failed one after another.

  The third night after Erulissé’s visit, the dreams about her family began. They weren’t fluffy dreams about happy memories and enjoyable days, but of brutal pain, suffering, and deprivation. Her mother, father, and brother looked haggard and worried. The dreams were not pleasant.

  Determined to get help, she’d stalked Master Therin for two days. Despite her persistence, he’d managed to elude her. But he was coming up the tower steps right now. Learning from past experience, she slipped out of her room and into the entry hall in order to corner him. She felt awkward for simply awaiting his arrival, so she started rummaging through a smallish stack of books on the entryway table as a pretext for being where she was.