Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  She was nervous; her hands felt clammy. Where to start? How to explain? The door opened behind her and she spun around.

  “Oh, hello,” she said breathlessly.

  “Analindë.” He glanced at the stack of books she’d been going through. “Have you yet eaten?” He moved to brush past her.

  Dismay swamped her; he was going to get away. She reached out, clutched his sleeve, then promptly let it go. “Master Therin!” Her voice was shrill and she cringed when he turned around. His eyes were wary.

  “Do you think my parents yet live?” The words rushed out of her, the foremost thought in her mind making its escape before all others. It was not how she’d planned to start the discussion.

  “No, Analindë. I’m sorry, but I do not,” he replied.

  “But, I’ve been thinking, that is to say, I’ve been having–”

  “Analindë, dear child.” Analindë bristled at his words and tone. She was an adult. A sheltered adult, but an adult nonetheless. He reached out to grasp her hand. She let him pat it, her mind blank. All thoughts had fled except for the one that told her she’d ruined her chance and said the wrong thing. Started wrong. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say. How to make it right.

  “Analindë, I know your parents’ death has been difficult, and that of your brother.”

  “Yes, but–”

  “But in time you will make peace with their passing.”

  “That’s what I’d like to–”

  He continued to speak over her. “Right now you must take time to mourn, but also to focus on other things.”

  “Have you ever had disturbing dreams? Could they be vis–”

  “It is common during periods of grief to have dark thoughts.”

  “But they are–”

  “I’m sorry Analindë, but it has been a long day; could we continue this discussion another time? Perhaps tomorrow?”

  She paused and really looked at her mentor. He did appear tired. Haggard almost, and he rubbed at his temple as if in pain. She stepped back, “Yes, of course. I apologize for bothering you. Of course, the grief process is normal.” She watched the swoosh of Master Therin’s cloak as he quickly retreated deeper into the tower. It was as if he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough.

  And so she was placated, but not quite so. Her thoughts were restless; questions remained unanswered, but she was resigned to her fate.

  An opportunity to speak with Master Therin did not arise the next day nor the day after that. By the third day she’d given up, and by the fourth she’d dropped the matter altogether. By then she’d realized that she alone must muddle through her experiences, that there was limited help to see her along the path she traveled. Expectations adjusted, she fared better, or so she told herself.

  The horrid dreams continued. Days slipped by quickly. The mornings after she dreamt of her parents Analindë pushed herself harder, practicing, reading and listening to everything Andulmaion—and on occasion Master Therin—had to say. Lingering fear haunted Analindë. Death had been so close; she could have died with her family. Would she be able to protect herself if the Human wizard found her again?

  Several days later, after a particularly bad night filled with mutated shields gone awry and dreams about her mother, Andulmaion called a halt to their morning lesson. They’d been practicing shielding in the workroom. Analindë would form a shield and Andulmaion would break through it. She had just spectacularly failed at fending off one of his attacks and her arm was smarting where his mage bolt had zapped her. He knew she could hold him off longer, but hadn’t. Her work was off, and he knew it. She saw it clearly in the stars turning in his eyes whenever she got close enough to see.

  “Analindë, are you well?”

  “Yes. Please. Don’t stop.”

  He frowned and moved out of his mage stance. Now that she thought about it, he’d been going easier on her today. She sighed. He looked thoughtful. “Something is driving you. Your eyes are haunted and you push yourself too hard. It took me years to learn and practice what you have mastered in the past two weeks. You must slow down.”

  “I can’t–” she murmured.

  “What?” He pulled his shoulders back, crossed his arms in front of him, one eyebrow quirked up. Analindë opened her mouth several times to tell him that it was none of his business how hard she worked, but couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

  She looked away from him, eyes shaded, and said, “I can’t sleep.”

  “Come, sit. Tell me about it. I’ll make tea.” His muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he leaned down to grab his jacket from the floor.

  “No, I am fine. Let’s continue.”

  “Analindë, you can’t continue like this. Come.”

  Giving her no choice, Andulmaion strode out of the room. She took a deep breath, hoping that it would release some of the angst she felt, and then followed him to the sitting room. By the time she’d dragged herself into the room, tea was steeping and he was cutting up some fruit and cheese. Analindë sat down in a chair on the other side of the small table. Sunlight streamed through the windows, attempting to warm them.

  When had winter arrived? A few leaves clung desperately to bare branches. The trees extended arms up into the frigid cold air toward the sun, seeking warmth they would not find. The ground was blanketed with snow.

  Andulmaion handed her a plate of food: apples, fall berries, a wedge of cheese. She took a bite of apple, not noticing its sweet crispness as she ate. They sat in silence gazing out the window, each caught up in his or her own thoughts. Once in a while, between bites of food, she would glance his way. Questions swirled in his eyes.

  Andulmaion poured the tea and handed a cup to Analindë. She held it, letting it warm her fingers. She inhaled the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and star anise. “Mid-winter tea. So much time has passed.”

  “Time passes quickly when you need it the most,” he replied, and she wondered what he had wished to accomplish but hadn’t.

  She perked up and said. “You were to have started your tuvalië this fall.”

  “Yes.” He stared into his cup, then took a sip. “Master Therin believes it is a dangerous time to travel so he keeps me close. He says he needs me. First to watch over you whilst you were unable to keep watch yourself. Now to help teach you when there are other more capable teachers than I.”

  “I–”

  Andulmaion interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “But I know the real reason; he fears for my safety.” He swirled the tea in his cup, then brought it to his face to breathe its spicy fragrance before drinking. “The council does not yet know how one human wizard overcame three Mages. Of Lindënolwë no less. Until that question is answered, I will be kept here. Close. Where he can protect and keep watch over me. No matter that I’m the most advanced apprentice he’s had in about thirty years.

  “It is not easy to send a nestling away from safety once its wings have grown. But in dangerous times it becomes impossible to do so for all but the hardest and strongest . . . and Master Therin is not numbered among the hard.” He drank the rest of his tea, then refilled both of their cups.

  “However, I do not feel my time is misspent. I have found purpose in helping you learn.” A smile crossed his face so quickly had she not been watching she would have missed it. “And if I can in some way help you stand against the human wizard, should he search you out again, I will feel content with these past weeks.”

  Once again they sat quietly while they each thought separate thoughts. This time the silence was more companionable; it reminded her of times before she’d found Mirëdell’s source. When they’d both been better friends, less estranged.

  “I can’t sleep,” she divulged at last.

  Andulmaion looked over at her, patiently waiting for her to continue. The stars moving in his eyes told her that he truly was content to listen, to help if he could.

  “I can’t sleep. Each night I lay in bed petrified of what will come once I finally close
my eyes. Each day terrifies me because of dreams that came the night before. I force myself to learn as much as I can, to prepare against the day the Human wizard starts tracking me again. That day haunts my thoughts, so that I dream of defending myself with shields all night.” She grinned wryly. “It is not a restful sleep. Some nights are different, but worse. I dream of my family. They are worried; sometimes they sit calmly, a lingering malice waits just out of sight. Occasionally, I see my mother pacing back and forth in a dark confined space, as if she would search me out if she could, but can’t.”

  “Last night you dreamt of your family?”

  “Yes, mostly of my mother. . . . She looks worried.” The dreams were silly, and yet were not. She shyly looked up to see what he thought of her. He’d shifted forward; concern swirled in his eyes and his posture was protective.

  “Perhaps she looks down on you from the stars and worries that you are not happy.”

  “Yes, that must be it.” No, that wasn’t it. She glanced away and blinked back tears. She tried to take a sip of tea, but her hand shook. Her cup clattered against its saucer when she set it back down.

  Andulmaion steepled his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. He became lost in thought. His face shuttered once again; she could read nothing from it, although she tried. She started to turn away from him, but he looked up at her suddenly, eyes alight, and she hesitated.

  “There is something you can drink before you go to sleep. It is not wise to use it for long periods of time, but in this case it might ease you in the transition you make. It will help you sleep in a place where dreams can’t come.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” Relief fluttered inside her for the first time in days.

  “I’ll send a message to the healers; they’ll send some to us.” He nodded to himself.

  “Andulmaion, could we go there ourselves? I’m so tired of these walls; they’re closing in. Pressing. Today is worse than usual.”

  “I suppose it’s safe, and it would be good to move about. Let’s practice along the way.” He stood and extended a hand to help her up. “If you can, tell me who else, if anyone, is in the tower, and which floors they’re on.”

  They walked to the door and Analindë stretched her senses out, “I can’t reach very far.”

  “Just tell me what you can; that’ll be enough,” he said.

  Andulmaion sealed the door shut behind them; Analindë led the way. Down the circling stairs they went. “I don’t sense anyone yet; the other rooms are empty. How many are there?” she asked as they reached yet another landing on the way down, she turned to watch him. She was having trouble reaching all the rooms while she was moving. Some rooms were shielded against sight. Those she didn’t pry into.

  “I don’t know, I never stopped to count.” Andulmaion ran his hand along the wall and slowed to trace a curious glyph etched into a door. “I suppose there are–” Andulmaion yanked his hand back and shook it. “It shocked me. I . . .” he hastily backed away from the door and hurried down the stairs to catch up with Analindë.

  “What was that? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Must’ve been a ward,” he rubbed his hand along his leg. “Remind me not to touch any doors or strange glyphs in this tower. I should never have touched it in the first place. My mistake. Now where was I?”

  “All these rooms.”

  “Oh, they’re for family, their associates, and apprentices. Right now Master Therin is the only one of his family who lives here. But if they come, there’s room.”

  “That makes sense,” she said.

  Intercepting her at the bottom of the tower, Andulmaion reached out to keep her from opening the door. “How many elves in the hall outside?”

  Analindë quickly found that when looking through magesight, she was pretty much blinded on all sides. Still new into her powers, her peripheral vision was nonexistent and she couldn’t see very far. She became worried when she could only sense what was on the other side of the door. Andulmaion reassured her that magesight was shortened when on the move. A sentry awaited on the other side of the door, just as Erulissé had said. She thanked him for the guidance, reported on the sentry, and so they went, playing seek and find as they continued to the Healer’s Wing.

  Four flights of stairs, several twisting corridors, a short trip outside, and one inner courtyard later they approached the Healer’s Wing. Small cobalt blue stones crunched under their feet as they passed beside the central fountain. A chill wind blew from the north, freezing the exposed skin on Analindë’s face. Bushes moved violently as particularly strong gusts of wind rushed past. Analindë clutched her cloak tight in a vain attempt to keep the cold out and warmth in.

  The courtyard was a place of beauty no matter the year. Marble benches ringed pools of water; despite the cold, they had not been drained. Hedges bright with red winter foliage provided secluded seating areas where the injured could come and sit during their convalescence. No one else dared the elements today. A sculpture of a majestic stag stood eternally alert while a doe next to him drank from the pool. Forever locked in place, their lifelikeness was a testament to elven craftsmanship.

  The healer’s wing consisted of a four story building that connected to Mirëdell on one side and was open to the garden on all others. Tall arched windows graced the building, and delicate stonework framed solid wooden doors darkened with age.

  As they approached the building, comfort and healing stole over them. Residues of healing Energy used time and again had sunk deep into the walls until the stones themselves radiated wellness. A gust of wind accompanied them as they stepped over the threshold.

  Near the far end of the cavernous room a young elve yelped and jumped up, scurrying after pages that had blown off his desk while Andulmaion wrestled the doors shut behind them. An enormous hearth was set into the far wall. They walked past chairs and couches toward the young man and the hearth. He wore the flowing green robes of a healer; the needlework around his collar indicated the rank of apprentice. They reached him just as he dropped a rather large paperweight on top of the stack of papers he’d gathered up.

  “Does Laerwen yet work today?” Andulmaion asked.

  “Yes, I’ll send someone to find her. Whom should I tell her has come to visit?” He looked up at them expectantly.

  “Mage apprentices Analindë and Andulmaion. She is not expecting us, and the matter is not urgent.” The healer’s apprentice nodded once, then disappeared down a hall sandwiched between his desk and the hearth.

  They drifted toward the fire and sank into chairs just close enough to feel the fire’s radiant warmth, content to wait for Laerwen to find them.

  “Do you ever wonder why we still light fires when the stones beneath our feet have already been warmed by weaves and spells?” he asked.

  “Comfort?”

  “Yes, perhaps.” He turned to study the blaze before them.

  “Andulmaion, we see so little of Master Therin these days. Do you know how the High Mages fare?” Analindë asked. Erulissé still hadn’t visited again. Although the occasional note had begun arriving with her meals, they’d all been read and vetted for content as evidenced by broken seals. The notes brimmed with the latest news and gossip, telling her everything. Except anything that had to do with Humans or the Mageborn Books.

  “The council continues to watch the three humans who came to your village. As of now, the humans are trapped by winter snow in the high reaches of the mountains, about one week’s journey—at a human’s pace—from the Mountain City. With the snows hemming them in, they will not make it to the city before spring.”

  “I hope that will give us enough time.” She realized she was twisting a ring around and around her finger, and her hands immediately stilled as she forced them to lie pleasingly in her lap. Her mother’s voice rang in her mind. You betray your feelings, Analindë; sit still and no one will know. “And the Mageborn Books? Have they learned anything about them?”

  Doors at the side of the
hall crashed opened; Analindë flinched as the cavernous room filled with sound. She jerked her head around and saw two emergency healers burst into the room carrying a moaning young elve through the door. “What an idiot!” One of the healers spat out.

  The young elve clutched splintered pieces of wood to his chest with an arm; the other arm hung awkwardly off the stretcher at a wrong angle as he sputtered, “I almost had it.” He was silent only for a moment. “It would have been a great day for flying,” he moaned. His eyes rolled back and his head lulled to the side.

  “Idiot,” the other healer muttered.

  Analindë recognized her friend Pedar as they charged past; she sprang to her feet and called out, “What happened?”

  They had crossed the room and were halfway through a doorway opposite them; one of the healers called over his shoulder. “He heard that human wizards flew on broomsticks and he decided to try it himself.”

  “Idiot!” The other one repeated.

  Then they were gone. Feet clattered down the corridor, as hard shoe soles scraped against stone.

  “Analindë?” a soft, deep voice said at her side. She glanced down at the strong masculine hand that had been stretched out in an offer of support, but he did not touch her. She was trembling.

  “Stars,” said Analindë, sinking back down into the chair behind her.

  “Who was that?” Andulmaion carefully sat back down as well.

  “What? Oh, Pedar.” She felt sick inside; he must have fallen pretty far this time.

  Andulmaion waited for her to explain. Her brain finally registered the expectant silence, “Sorry. Right. Pedar. He has a fascination with flying and Humans. It seems his two loves finally meshed.”

  Each time she heard that another one of Pedar’s attempts at flying had failed, a little part of her dimmed. She would have liked to fly and secretly hoped he’d succeed someday. But she knew deep down he wouldn’t; many had tried before and failed.