Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  Analindë carried the tray to the table, sealing the door behind her with a wave of her hand, then started tea. She sipped the hot fragrant drink, eyed the ripe strawberries—their enticing fragrance wafting toward her—and thought of the forgotten mage millennia ago that had discovered the preserving spell used in the cellars.

  The sun had fully risen by the time Andulmaion and Master Therin emerged from their rooms. Master Therin looked as if he’d had little rest in the night. Andulmaion wouldn’t quite meet her eyes; his posture was stiff and she began to feel embarrassed. Should she apologize for getting him into trouble with Master Therin? Did he hate her now? No sense in asking either of them about scrying or anchors now; she was not likely to get a straight answer. Unasked questions buzzed around her head, making it difficult for Analindë to sit still. Guilt started to edge in on her, but then that just made her feel angry. The mood in the room was such that breakfast was completed in silence.

  Master Therin rose to leave. “I will be in council meetings all day. Analindë, you will attend your regular classes this morning and work on shielding with Andulmaion this afternoon. Andulmaion, see if you can finish your spell. We may have need of it. I have mentioned your newfound skill to the council and they have great interest in whether it can be used.” Gone was his anger from last night; today he was back to his normal self, except he looked more tired and spoke even less. He paused at the door. “Analindë, before you go to class could you please describe to Andulmaion the spell that killed your parents, what it felt like? This way he can recognize if one is being cast.” And then he was gone, making his way quickly down the tower stairs and to the council meeting that awaited. She sat still, unmoving. It was the first time he’d put it so bluntly. Killed. It was not a pretty word.

  “There was not much to it.” She finally said to Andulmaion as she stared at the crumbs on her plate. “Just a welling of power, wave after wave, and then it burst, washing over me in a deluge. At that time I couldn’t have told you who had cast the spell. Even now I cannot tell you whether an elve or Human cast it, except that I saw no other elves and that Humans came out of my home quite happy and laughing at their success.” She started to shred the sweet roll on the serving plate into tiny bits with her fork. “I think that they were surprised that it worked.” She remembered the shocked elation on the Human wizard’s face.

  Andulmaion reached out to hold her hand, but he changed the hold to an awkward pat at the last moment. “I am so sorry for your loss Analindë and apologize that you have to revisit those events in order help me.”

  Analindë drew in a long breath, letting it calm her troubled heart, then breathed out a well of sorrow, letting it go, move on, away from her. “It is no matter Andulmaion. I would help you if I could.”

  “Tell me about the power, and if you can, more about what the explosion felt like. If indeed I am called upon to help disable the humans, I need to know how to recognize when the spell is about to be triggered,” he replied.

  “It happened slowly, just a subtle gathering of power. So there would be time for you to prepare. Actually, now that I think about it, from the very beginning the waves of Energy were powerful, for I could sense them back when I sensed not much of anything. At the time I thought that my parents were about to cast a spell. But the power felt different, and when I would have expected them to cast their spell, the waves of power kept growing bigger, and peaking higher, until it could grow no more. And then the explosion was exactly that. It was as if a bubble had been popped. The Energy dispersed in but a moment, scattering in a mere fraction of the time it had taken to be gathered. It was a long while later when I heard the laughing.

  “After the casting I felt nothing abnormal, but my senses were not like they are now. I wonder that the wizard did not seem fatigued at all.” She put her fork down and looked over at Andulmaion. “Now that I think of it, shouldn’t his Energy have been used to fuel the spell?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he had the power or spell stored in some way. During ages past, when our ancestors went to war, it’s said that they gathered their power and stored it in precious stones. They carried the stones with them for use when there was great need and they had no more to give. Perhaps the Humans learned the technique from us. Or perhaps the ancient artifact that he carries does it for him.”

  “Yes, that must be it; he couldn’t have managed it otherwise. Do you know how to work such spells?” She looked around the room at the innocuous looking stones embedded in the walls; she didn’t sense any power radiating from them, but she wondered.

  He shook his head side to side, “No, I don’t. Perhaps the High Mages have such knowledge, but I haven’t yet learned it. Perhaps after completing my tuvalië they’ll share the information with me.”

  Analindë nodded, “I hope that one day they do. May the Stars shine upon you and the Lady give you her light when you finally go. And may she watch over and protect you as you journey the path.”

  They left the tower together, heading for class. When Andulmaion finally left her, turning off for his offensive spellwork class, Analindë changed directions, doubling back toward the library. Since she’d not been able to ask any questions of Master Therin or Andulmaion—she’d felt too guilty to ask him anything that might get him into further trouble— she was going to go find answers on her own. First she’d look for information about the void, anchoring, and scrying, and then perhaps, if she was lucky, she’d find a book about storing power in stones.

  A Sword Sworn stood by watching students as they entered the library. Analindë didn’t care; word was not likely to make it back to Master Therin that she’d skipped class.

  She ignored the now familiar tug from the second floor and the quiet chatter from the books she passed. She headed for the section on the third floor, most likely to hold books about scrying and the void, and began to hunt. She’d spent a lot of time in the library over the past several weeks, and books seemed to come to her a little more easily now. Despite this, none of the books about the void seemed to fit her needs. She finally gave up and began the hunt for a scrying book. A very short while later she found success.

  She headed for a secluded corner of the floor where curious eyes wouldn’t bother her and where the babble from the shelves was muted, and glanced out the windows. A towering tree waved back and forth, blown by the wind. Turning away from the cold scene, she settled down to study at a table away from the windows where it was warm.

  The book looked like it was from the fourth floor. It was bound in a curious kind of tooled leather which glistened under the sunlight. She wondered to what kind of animal it had belonged.

  She opened the cover. “An Apprentice’s Guide to Scrying,” by Lithilwen of the Northern Hills, the ancient elvish script read. It was a practical step-by-step book that outlined the proper way to set the spell, from finding and assembling the correct materials to the exact words and intent that should be used.

  According to the book, the easiest method of scrying involved a bowl with any kind of liquid poured within it, although clean water worked the best. The spell could also be cast by using a mirror or polished object that could reflect something, but this method was more difficult to use. The clearer the reflection to begin with, the easier it would be to cast the spell and the clearer the image would be when it appeared.

  She was surprised to find that a mage could scry anyone or anything provided he had seen whatever they were scrying some time before. She just needed to have that first image to start the scrying session; then she could scry the surrounding area. She’d seen the Humans; she wondered why the council hadn’t ask her to help them when they scryed?

  A slight variation of the spell allowed the caster to hear sound as well as see. It used more Energy, but when necessary, was worth the expense. ‘Palan’ the power word in the scrying spell, changed to ‘Palan lastaqua’, meaning to hear and see.

  Analindë eagerly committed the steps of the scrying spell to memory; she’d become
very adept at memorizing knowledge during her many years of study. The skill she’d mastered long ago now served her well. As soon as she was confident that she knew the scrying steps forward and backward, she went to shut the book, then decided to leaf through the blank pages at the back. On the last page was scrawled:

  To call her, say her name. Serethiel, Fanyarë-Tari.

  Puzzled, Analindë flipped back through the entire book looking for the meaning of the words she’d read. Written in ancient elvish, she couldn’t quite make out the woman’s title. Fanyarë-Tari had something to do with clouds, but nothing in the scrying book had mentioned anything about clouds or even mists for that matter. Finding no other written comments in the book, she turned back to the last page.

  Uneven and jerky in places, the hastily penned words flowed across the page. Elves prided themselves in the beauty created with the written word. Whoever had written these words had not cared about making sure the writing was perfect, but with making sure the message had made it onto the page.

  She traced the lettering with her finger, saying the name aloud. “Serethiel, Fanyarë-Tari.” Lightning fast, an electric buzz zipped from the page up her arm. Confusing images flashed through her mind: a courtyard, a woman in loose flowing clothing, red hair. Her eyes widened in surprise. The words in front of her flared brightly, like embers as if they burned from the inside, then faded from the page. Within the space of two breaths, no trace of them was left except for the tingling in her arm. Even the images in her mind were fading, becoming fuzzy.

  She unconsciously rubbed at the ache as she stared at the page. “I wonder who she was?” she whispered. She closed the book and studied it a moment longer before standing up to return it to the shelves. The book was old and looked as if it could have dated prior to the Elven Wars. “She must’ve been a powerful mage if she could hear you from simply saying her name.” Shaking her head, she placed the book back on the shelf and searched for another that would teach her about anchoring.

  Three rows over and on the top shelf she found what she was looking for. It was a short book of instructions. This book was covered in supple brown leather; the words “Grounding, Centering, & Anchoring” were burned into the cover. Back at her reading spot she quickly leafed through the book. It reiterated the basics she’d already learned with Master Therin several weeks ago. Calm your breathing and thoughts, make your mind a place of order, and settle yourself firmly against the ground beneath you. She dove into the last section of the book. Anchoring. She carefully read and reread the sparse instructions.

  She eventually put the book down and thought through the information she had learned, linking it together, searching for the pattern or logic that made the different concepts work as one.

  They were all pieces of a puzzle that made up a whole, each piece equally as important as another. She’d been stupid last night. No wonder she’d gotten lost and almost died. With a firm foundation to search from and the clearness of thought to define herself, she’d been able to cast herself out into the void, but she’d been susceptible to drifting.

  If she linked a tendril of Energy to the spot where she was grounded, anchoring herself to the earth energies, she wouldn’t drift no matter how scattered she became. Analindë sat for a long time staring out at nothing in particular, thinking through the process over and over again, looking for flaws that would trip her up. In the end, she was amazed at how simple it was and how the parts fit together. She rose from her chair and returned to hunt the shelves one last time; she had enough time to search out a book about spell stones.

  Analindë searched the area she’d been reading from twice over before she went to the next section. By the time she had meticulously gone through the four most likely areas the book should be in, a throbbing headache had formed behind her eyes, resulting from working constantly to shut out the clamor of the books she’d touched. Her knees ached from crawling along the stone floor and dust was embedded into her hands and clothing. So much for her rose colored gown; she looked down at the smudged spots and hoped no one would notice.

  She had one last section to search before she headed downstairs to the Earth Energy floor. Analindë turned and strode toward the restricted section.

  The books she’d encountered so far hadn’t mentioned or even hinted that using stones to store power or spells was possible. So the best chance she had of finding information about it on this floor would be in the advanced section.

  She neared the end of a long row of bookshelves and covertly searched to see if anyone would stop her. The advanced section was off limits to junior apprentices and she would be in serious trouble if she were found there. It was off limits for good reason; using Energy was very dangerous to the untrained mage. She could kill herself or others by even thinking the wrong combination of words, or so the rumors said.

  Analindë peered around the shelves; seeing no one about, she took a deep breath and darted across the open space into the sheltered rows across from her. Glancing around to scan book titles as she went, she strode forward. She made her way back and forth along the many shelves fairly quickly. She found book sections about weaving spells and shields, offensive weaves, fire, water, and finally, she found the books dealing with earth energies. An entire row along the bottom of one of the shelves was dedicated to rocks and stones. It looked promising.

  Kneeling, she scanned the books one by one. These books were more well behaved than the others. They murmured quietly beneath her touch, but for the most part, left her alone. She searched their pages for any mention about actually storing Energy or spell work in stones and found nothing. Book after book she searched . . . large tomes, small skinny ones, and books that looked like they were made out of rock themselves and were just as heavy. Books dedicated to one type of rock; first granite, then slate, sandstone, limestone, and marble. They went on and on. Finally she found a book that sparkled like the sun. It was a fiery red and had been enchanted to glitter like the many faceted stones that were placed in sword hilts or in jewelry.

  If any type of stone was used to hold Energy it would be these. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, topaz, and quartz . . . the list was endless. A chapter dedicated to each type outlining their many properties and how they could be used to enhance Energy, be formed, or be found. She searched, but there was no mention about holding energies. Disappointment filled her with each page she turned until she reached the last one. She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf in front of her.

  There was one more section she could search; it was on the floor that dealt strictly with earth energies. The section she had in mind was located in the restricted section a few rows away from the books that had once yanked her across the library. She made her way back through the third floor restricted section and crouched at the entry, peering around the corner for any sign of movement.

  Hearing approaching footsteps but seeing nothing, she darted for the nearest set of shelves in the unrestricted section, hoping that she wouldn’t be caught. She scanned the shelves as she tried valiantly to slow her breathing, trying to appear as if she had a purpose for being where she was. Plucking a book off the shelf at random, she opened it, pretending to read. “The Tale of Idhrenion and How He Saved the Ornëlassë.”

  Botany. The Ornëlassë were the tall trees in the Southern Forest where the Woodland Elves built their homes. Analindë scanned the page intently; the footsteps drew near, then stopped directly in front of her.

  “Analindë, the afternoon meal is almost past. Go and eat; the books will still be here tomorrow.” She looked up at the elderly librarian; he smiled at her. “Idhrenion, he was a great mage of his time; you would learn much from him. My mother knew him; they studied together in school.” He broke off from his reverie, “Now go and eat; tomorrow will come soon enough.”

  Analindë nodded her head meekly, put the book back on the shelf and thanked the librarian for reminding her of the time. As she passed the second floor, Analindë gazed longingly toward the restricted
section of the earth energies; a main reference desk faced the section. This floor was a lot busier than the third, she sighed. She never would have made it in unnoticed, let alone have enough time to search the shelves. She sighed again and continued down the stairs.

  Bracing herself for the frigid winds outside, Analindë ran across the courtyard taking the outdoor shortcut to the dining hall where the students ate. She scanned the room for any of her friends. They must have already eaten. She settled down at the empty table.

  Still chilled from her dash across the courtyard, she ladled steaming soup into a bowl, then picked it up, letting the bowl warm her hands. The soup was one of her favorites. It was a slightly tart cheese soup filled with chunks of broccoli. She inhaled its fragrance, smiled, and then turned her thoughts to figuring out a plan of attack for the afternoon.

  “Analindë,” someone called out. Her train of thought came to a screeching halt as ideas unraveled, flitting away. She looked up. Pedar and Maliel sat two tables over. “Come join us; we’ll make room, and we have news.”

  She hurried over to their table, slightly annoyed but pleased to see her friends. As she settled down at the table, Analindë studied Pedar. He’d fully recovered from his adventure with the broomstick as, bruises had faded, bandages were gone. He also seemed to be in good humor; things must be going along better for his family.

  “We missed you in class,” Maliel began.

  Stars! Analindë fidgeted with the ring on her finger and cleared her throat. “There was work I needed to do in the library.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible! All morning?”

  Pedar cut in, “You’ll never guess what we found out today!” He looked happy; she was grateful for the reprieve.

  At his expectant silence Analindë asked, “You aren’t really going to make me guess, are you?”

  He grinned, “Well, I suppose I can just tell you, but where is the fun in that? Are you sure you don’t want to–”