Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  “See that you don’t.” The young woman slumped down into her chair and nodded, which must have been enough of a response since Master Harwyn immediately began to circle once more.

  A quiet rustle of sound moved through the room as students remembered to breathe. “Where were we? Oh yes, Esgar’s Principle. Linselwen,” she paused to look down at the black haired, topaz eyed girl that had been the first to block Analindë’s access to the board that second day in class. “You will tell us the process of how Esgar discovered that Asealōné affects the subconscious mind and then describe the ramifications of his discovery.”

  Linselwen cleared her throat and began a monologue that would proceed for the rest of class. “It all began just prior to the outbreak of the Elven Wars.” Her voice was strong and would have been pleasant to the ear except for the overtones of conceit that laced her words.

  “The younger sons, and daughters I might add, had grown stifled from years of oppression.” An uncomfortable stir moved around the room. Linselwen’s words identified her quite clearly as being on the side of the rebellion. Analindë carefully glanced around the room, taking in the expressions on the faces around her. She saw outrage, pity, sympathy, and fear. Only a few wore calm masks that betrayed nothing and she wondered to which side their loyalties belonged.

  “When Esgar discovered that Asealōné influences the subconscious and that he was able to persuade his older brother to be fairer and more considerate in his decisions, he was joyful.”

  Persuade? Manipulate or subvert would be more accurate. But joyful was right. Esgar had used the drug to strip his brother of his birthright and kick him out of the home where his ancestors had lived for unnumbered generations.

  Esgar’s treachery had been discovered after his older brother had been found by a healer. Savöwen’s great-grandmother’s great-grandmother to be exact. Esgar’s older brother had been weeks in healing. And by the time he’d regained the faculties of his mind, the damage to the brothers’ relationship had solidified and no forgiveness was given.

  It hadn’t taken long for use of the drug to become widespread. Its use became one of the major triggers that had catapulted the Realm into the Elven Wars, where brother fought against brother.

  “It showcases that people can be driven to do horrible things.” At least Linselwen acknowledged that what Esgar had done was wrong, Analindë thought as the haughty young woman continued. “But, if the elder brothers would have shared their heritage more fairly and evenly it never would have happened.”

  Analindë was astounded at Linselwen’s complete lack of understanding and rolled her eyes. The inheritance laws were clear; the eldest or most powerful inherited. However, there was always room for exceptions. Her parents had been only children, and since her mother’s heritage had held more power, her father had come to live with her mother. Either Riian or herself could claim their father’s lands should they choose to do so. . . . Riian. Her heart clenched.

  He’d never claim anything.

  If he’d lived–.

  He hadn’t. . . . But if he’d lived and they’d both decided to stay near the place she’d called home then her rights would be equal to her power.

  Riian would inherit, but she also would have had all rights to use any and all knowledge and resources of the estate if she’d had the strength and ability to do so. Even her brother would have been ruled by the same rights. If he hadn’t had enough power, he would simply be denied the use of things he was not strong enough to wield.

  Not by any person, but denied the right by the house itself. If he chose to leave, he was free to do so and the birthright would fall to the next in line or be held in trust should no one be there to take his place. It had always been thus.

  And if by chance they’d both stayed at home and they hadn’t wanted to share, Analindë could have raised her own tower or home which would have been an extension of the first in all ways, except that it would belong solely to Analindë.

  The problems arose when younger siblings coveted the elder’s abilities and couldn’t match them. If they’d been strong enough they would have had what they wanted. But they hadn’t.

  After Esgar had driven his brother from home and yet the house still would not answer to him, he’d become filled with rage. That rage drove him until he was slaughtered during The Battle of Twilight Falls, which was a decisive and bloody battle marking a turning point of the war.

  War.

  Would they go to war again? The laws had been changed to allow more freedom and great concessions had been made. One of the concessions was that elves could now settle outside of the major cities. Not many had grasped the opportunity; it took a lot of power to hold the land. Analindëssë, her namesake, had done so.

  Analindëssë hadn’t fought on the side of the rebellion, but as soon as the new laws were in place, she’d acted. Promptly vacating The Eastern Desert City, she established a house high up in the Mountains of Lóresse as far away from the poisonous intrigue as she could manage. She’d had enough power to lay claim to and hold enough land to make sure her isolated valley remained isolated. She’d been happy in the calming wilds of Lóresse, and her descendents had remained there ever since.

  Analindë’s thoughts were interrupted by a particularly loud, “And so, we see that even though Esgar had the ability to control another person, he had no right to do so.” One of the old books Analindë had studied had hinted that toward the end of the war the rebels had begun to use the drug on each other.

  One of the other laws established after the great war was that anyone caught in possession of the drug would be stripped of all rights and be imprisoned immediately, pending judgment and execution. A harsh sentence for a heinous crime. “But that when viewed from a broader perspective, Esgar’s intent could be judged as–”

  “That will be all Linselwen, our time runs short, yet we thank you for your most interesting description of Asealōné and Esgar’s Principle.”

  Analindë kept her polite society mask clamped in place as she wondered what side Master Harwyn’s ancestors had fought on and why the professor had let the biased commentary run for so long with no correction.

  “Class dismissed.”

  “For example, chamomile tea,” said Master Roshär, her Potions Professor.

  “What do you have if you break it down to its most basic component? Chamomile.” Master Roshär wore his auburn hair short because he said he couldn’t be bothered to style it. His eyes were golden and radiated excitement. Analindë leaned forward expectantly. Whenever Master Roshär’s eyes began to gleam like that they were in for a treat.

  “What is an ingredient? Why specify different ingredients at all if it doesn’t matter what you put into a concoction? Yes, Pedar? By the way, it’s good to have you back,” he grinned.

  Her human-loving, flying friend spoke, “Because specific ingredients retain inherent characteristics from the moment they begin to take shape. And as you layer them together they form a foundation on which you build.”

  “Very good. And who can tell us the characteristics of chamomile?” He pulled a long rectangular case out from under the counter and placed it on the table. Good, today was a show and tell lesson. She grinned in anticipation and leaned even closer.

  He tapped the case once on the top and twice on its sides and it unfolded itself to reveal a row of glass containers filled with dried chamomile blossoms. “Elinessë.” He called on the young elve next to Analindë. She was one of the forest elves from along the southern border.

  “It has calming properties.” Her soothing voice reminded Analindë of wind meandering through trees. “It is also used as a cleansing agent, and to purify.”

  “Exactly. Now the question remains, is all chamomile the same?” He began to tap the row of jars on the lid one by one, “as any other bit of chamomile?” A faint shimmer in one of the jars caught Analindë’s attention. It swirled and sparkled promising things she–

  “Anyone?”

  An
alindë glanced from the faintly shimmering jar to the one at the opposite end of the row, which was flat. “No,” she blurted out. Embarrassed at the outburst, she blushed and knew the tips of her ears were bright red, which made her blush even more.

  “That is correct Analindë. Can you tell us why?” She shook her head. “Anyone else? Very well then, let us proceed.

  “From the moment a plant begins to form, no even before that. From the moment you decide which seeds to use. No, again, even before that. At the beginning, when you decide where to plant, you determine the efficacy of your end product. The potential strength of the plant and how potent it will be depends on many things. Let us narrow the scope a bit and start out with good soil and great seeds.” He spun an illusion around them and they found themselves seated at their desks.

  In the middle of a farmer’s field.

  A mild breeze teased Analindë’s hair, bringing with it the smell of freshly turned earth. Mounded rows of dirt stretched before them in all directions as far as the eye could see, the sun beat harshly down upon them. Analindë wished she had a hat.

  He walked along the bare rows. Pointing at one, he said, “What if this row receives infrequent watering? What happens? . . . The plant’s growth is stunted.” Leggy ragged plants sprouted up, with only a few buds ready to blossom. She reached over to her side and gently brushed the plant growing next to her with the tips of her fingers. It felt real. He was good. Really good. Analindë grinned.

  “And what if there is too much water?” He pointed at another row. A line of lighter green plants sprang to life; their leaves were faded, potency diluted. The plants also battled root rot. A row sprang up on her other side. She was surrounded now.

  “Too much sun? And not enough?” He skipped a row, and pointed further to the right. Two more rows of plants grew quickly, one with sickly yellow spots and the other lush but stunted.

  “And when you get the right combination of water, heat and light? . . . Perfection.” A row of healthy chamomile plants grew down the middle row with heavy green buds ready to blossom. “And if they don’t have the right nutrients in the soil?”

  All the plants wilted in front of them. The middle row still looked the best of the bunch, but less happy. Could that word be used to describe a plant?

  “And if they are fed properly and nourished?” All five rows perked up, looking fuller than they had been, with more buds.

  “And if they are helped to grow with a bit of Energy? Grow swift and strong, healthy and potent.” Analindë jumped in recognition as Master Roshär sent a swath of Energy out to nourish the plants. They grew a foot taller and even the least of them looked decently healthy.

  With a wave of his hand the fields disappeared and they were back in the cool shaded classroom. It felt wonderful after the searing heat. “And how will you harvest the plants and blossoms? How will they be cut up, dried, and stored? There are so many variations, so many places to go wrong.” He tapped each of the jars twice; their lids unscrewed themselves. The last two in the row he left fastened tight.

  “And that, my students, is why a good Herbalist is worth his weight in gold, should you decide not to spend the necessary time to grow needed plants yourselves.”

  “This one,” he opened the jar that felt flat, “I purchased from a human market, in a barren corner of their land. . . . Can you sense it? You are welcome to try if you are able.”

  She sensed tendrils of Energy snake out across the room in varying strengths. Some were as weak and flickering as hers had been a few months ago. Others were strong, born of practice and constant use.

  Analindë sent a fine thread of Energy out to mingle with the others. She let hers hover over the jar seeing what, if anything, she could sense.

  It wasn’t as flat as she’d thought, but the Energy radiating from the dried chamomile blossoms felt weak and dry.

  “This one is of human origin as well.” He tapped and the lid flipped open. “Purchased it from the farmer himself.” It was stronger, but not at full strength. “This one I purchased from a human witch three hundred years ago.” The next jar sparkled with Energy, but there was an underlying weakness she couldn’t name.

  “These three I purchased from elves who shall remain nameless, the first from the Forest City.” He tapped one jar. “The Eastern Plains and the Northern Hills.” He tapped two more as their lids flipped open to rest on the table. Then he paused as the students’ tendrils raced from jar to jar, seeking and feeling. Analindë restrained herself and sent her fine thread to hover over the twisting melee.

  The first of the three jars radiated weakly. It had less Energy than the Human witch’s and was deeply flawed as if the elve who had grown this chamomile had pushed the plant to produce more than it was able.

  The other two were beautiful. Energy swirled heavily through them, reminding her of lazy summer days under the warm sun. The dried bits of plants themselves felt fresh and healthy, strong and wholesome. One felt more soothing. The other felt bolder in a comforting sort of way. The latter sample was from the Northern Hills.

  Two jars remained unopened and Master Roshär was twitchy. Which meant they were something special. “This one,” he laid his hand upon the second to last jar, “I traded for . . . from a human named Daniella.”

  That caught everyone’s attention. “Daniella’s family has stayed in contact with elves through the generations and has,” he swallowed a smile, “reaped the benefits.”

  He tapped the jar three times. It opened and contentment rolled through the room. Analindë had a strong urge to curl up and take a nap.

  On the stone floor.

  Warmth and strength pooled in her and her muscles relaxed. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense. Before she could send her thread to explore the blossoms, Master Roshär flicked his wrist and his fingers moved in a complex pattern. All the lids snapped back into place, sealing the jars shut. But yet, they weren’t sealed.

  Analindë sent her thread of Energy to circle one of the jars. There was a hole in the seal. She searched quickly and found holes in all the seals. Big ones. She wondered if this was a necessary part of the storage jars so that the plants didn’t go stale. Or was it a flaw, with the holes leading to staleness?

  She looked up to catch Master Roshär’s attention and found his eyes locked on hers. She opened her mouth, words half formed waited to leap out. He’d watched her perusal of his jars and read the question in her eyes. Caution was what his eyes said back to her.

  She looked around at her fellow students. Some lounged in their desks like they hadn’t a care in the world, others unaffected by the potency of the energies swirling in those tiny jars still paid rapt attention. Her mouth snapped shut and her polite society mask descended. Master Roshär nodded his approval and his stance relaxed. He’d been nervous. She hadn’t realized it.

  “Time to wake up.” He snapped his fingers.

  “Everyone wake up.” He clapped his hands; a wash of peppermint filled the room followed by a crisp clear breeze of winter wind. He’d opened the window. A moment later everyone was back to the edges of their seats, clear-headed and perky.

  “One last sample,” he said as he placed his hand reverently upon the last jar. “This one I traded for from my mother.” He grinned. “It was from one of her more spectacular crop successes.” Unlike the other jars, only about a quarter of this one was filled with blossoms, but it was enough. Newly sensitized and knowing what to look for she watched the Energy crackle and spark just beneath that glass lid. She knew that this batch of chamomile was potent. Very potent, judging by what leaked out of the gap in the seal.

  “Some of you may feel it more strongly than others,” a questionable grin slid onto his face and he leaned forward in anticipation.

  “You may want to reach your senses out; I’ll only take the lid off for half a moment.” A dozen tendrils of Energy darted out at his suggestion, ready and waiting. One of the younger members of the class had sent a particularly fat strand of Energ
y out, obviously not wanting to miss anything so special. Master Roshär’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. Analindë sent a very fine thread of Energy out to join the others, half the size of the one she’d used before.

  “And now, here it is.” He began to tap the jar and a shield sprang up around the professor moments before he touched the lid. It was a trick! Try as she might, she couldn’t react fast enough.

  Energy rushed up and over her with her shield only half formed. She gasped and then everything went dark.

  She was nestled down into the softest bed she’d ever slept on. She hadn’t felt like this for ages and decided that she’d stay here and not move for at least another very long while.

  “Analindë.” The pleading voice sounded like Pedar’s. “Wake-up. Class is over.” Someone pushed her shoulder; she felt herself slide to the side, and then she was falling. Hands grabbed at her shoulders and then she was back on the fluffy bed again.

  “Stars, Analindë. Scare me to death why don’t you.”

  Go away Pedar, came out as, “Mmmmm mmmm.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “I’ll try again.” She smelled mint and her mind began to clear.

  “Does it always happen like that?”

  “Yes, sometimes less, sometimes more. Never quite as much as this.”

  Were they talking about her? Her thoughts began to circle. Why were Pedar and Master Roshär in her bedroom? Sleep began to fade. Questions circled faster, and her soft bed slowly stiffened, becoming less comfortable. Her head felt heavy, the right side of her face was squashed against something hard. Not a pillow. Was she drooling? She pushed herself upright and away from the desktop, a hand at her face to check for anything moist.

  The room spun wildly and she closed her eyes until it stopped. Breathing deeply, she rubbed hands over her face and pressed them against her eyes. She felt more awake, so she peeked her eyes open and looked around the room. Most of the students were already gone.