Chapter One
Memories of fire, and screaming; the beautiful eyes of my mother streaming with tears, the ringing clash of steel; these recollections plague my dream. My tribe is running, terrified- our caravans on fire, the purple and pink blasts of lightning from our Ovayte eerily illuminating the dark forest, our head hunter shouting orders at the other hunters, the cries of frightened families. I lie awake, now, in this cursed tower, remembering the fear and the heat and the running… running… running through the dark woods of my memories, clutching for mother’s skirts. Shaking now, but awake, I take a deep breath and roll over, watching as the robes I left on my chair turn back into robes again. It is now dead quiet in the dormitories, only the occasional scuffling of some distant mouse rustling among the parchments. I know that right outside my chamber is a Hellebardier guard, though I cannot see or hear him. Maybe it is Corbin again. From my frequent escape attempts, I am kept under guard at all times. I try to go back to sleep, focusing on the remembered faces of my mother, and my father. My mother with her gentle eyes and soft smile, my father with his quick wit and merry laugh... the ache of loneliness tries to deny me further rest, but I finally manage to slip back into the timeless void of sleep.
A ringing bell awakens all the apprentices, and a great rustling and stirring fills the tower dormitories. Yawning and stretching, school-age mages of both races begin to file toward the main hall; some going for breakfast, some with early studies, and even the very few, like me, that are escorted by a guard to our classes. After hurriedly pulling a robe over my head, I grab my stack of books and head out. As expected, it is Corbin standing at attention by my door.
"Good morning, Corbin."
His eyes, forever looking away or cast down, seem to avoid me more than usual. "I am to take you to the Meeting Hall this morning; the Council requires your presence, Mistress Lyrah."
"No need for formality, please, just Lyrah. But... what would the Council want with me?"I wonder why the break from the usual morning routine.
"Something to do with an Ennish emissary that arrived last night. He wished to meet with the Council." My heart leapt in my chest. My tribe! They were trying to get me back! Suddenly the morning takes on a new zest.
In my enthusiasm, I deliberately ignore the ever-increasing discomfort Corbin seems to be under. From the corner of my attention I notice him flinch away at rare expression of joy. "Ennish? Here? For me?! What are we waiting for?" I feel as if I will burst into flames if Corbin does not hurry up.
I found I had gone from hot to cold and back to hot again by the time we reach the Council's chamber. It was a huge, cavernous room, staunchly clean compared to the dust and neglected clutter of the dorms and classrooms; with a large, imposing table circled by padded, high backed chairs stands in the center. A number of men and two women are seated at the table, all of them wearing the robes of the expert Magi. There is a Sacellum representative seated at the head of the table, one of the 'Mothers', in her purple and gold silk robes. And... there was Agwin, our head hunter! My already erratic heart leaps when I see his familiar face, though it seems more lined and careworn than I had remembered. He looks at me and his eyes soften, but he makes no comment.
Javol, the High Magi, rises from his seat as we enter. "Ahhh, here she is. Lyrah my girl, so good to see you this morning." Despite my reputation as a reprobate, the High Magi has always been very kind to me. "I believe you know our guest, Sir Agwin?"
"Yes, I do" in my excitement I almost forget my manners... “High Magi, sir.” I bow my head to Agwin briefly, and Agwin nods back with a warm smile.
"Sir Agwin has come to request that you be released to your tribe, as your family has been reunited."
I feel as though the room has just lost it’s floor. "My father..."
"He is fine, mo chroí," Agwin's deep, bass voice seems to fill the empty spaces above us. "We have tried to reach you since reuniting with your mother. Tugaim an grá mo chroí duit,” the words of our own language tickle the depths of my earliest memories- but Agwin, for the sake of our non-Ennish listeners, adds “…they send you their love.”
The shrill voice of the Sacellum Mother suddenly breaks in, her piercing screech like the call of a predatory bird, sharp and relentless against the mountain rumble of his deep bass voice. "And what would happen to ‘our’ apprentice once she is released to the tribe? How will her powers be contained? How will she be controlled as she needs be?“ Managing to both glare and look superior, she put these shrill demands to Agwin.
Agwin replies smoothly, "Lyrah will be our fáithe, our Ovayte. She will be trained as all Ovaytes are." Although his reply is to the Mother’s inquiry, his eyes remain on me.
"To be cursed with magic should not merit the sanction of more power, the only good purpose that magic can be put, is to be used serve the Creator and His chosen representatives. And so to this wayward child, who has caused us much grief, you would release her back to the tribe? You would reward her rebellion with even more position and power?" She now turns her protest to the High Magi, who glances at me gravely.
But Javol’s reponse to the Mother is silky, “This is not a reward, Mother Fenhall, but rather a restoration. This is not about gifts or punishment. Lyrah was never meant to come to the Council of Magi, she belongs with her tribe."
"The Creator brought her to us for a reason, High Magi Javol, and I would not second guess His motives. Perhaps He knew the tyrannical nature of this child, and that is why He saw fit to have her brought to this Council. No, I do not think she should be released back into her tribe."
A black wave of rage washes over and threatens to drown me; I can only stand there, helpless as my fate is decided. Feeling my hands shake, I clench them into fists inside of my sleeves. I glance to Agwin, who has turned his cold, hard gaze to the Mother. Undaunted by our reaction, the Sacellum Mother continues.... "Furthermore, I do not think the Ennish are as well-equipped as we to deal with so much power in one so young and rebellious, so it is in the best interests of both the Ennish and the Sacellum and the Council of Mages that I deny this transfer."
Javol squeaks out the beginnings of a protest, but the Mother interrupts. "The Grand Ashipu Himself has sanctioned me with the responsibility of keeping order in the Council of the Magi. It is by the order of the Grand Ashipu himself that I make this decision. Do you wish to contend this?" Javol pales visibly; he drops his eyes and remains silent. Agwin's lips have been drawn in tight. His eyes are now distant, and deadly.
The Mother says loftily, "You have received your answer. Lyrah will stay with the Council of Magi and her relic will remain with the Sacellum. The Father blesses us all with His mercy and wisdom." Peering down her upturned nose, she holds Agwin in a look of contempt.
Agwin refuses answer, and casts one last, pitying look at mebefore storming from the Council Hall.
In a daze, I can only stand there. I cannot believe that even after an emissary from my own tribe has requested my release, the Sacellum still refuses to let me go. Javol looks miserable, defeated; while the other magi sit in silence, their apprehensive eyes on the Mother.
"Corbin, you may escort Lyrah to breakfast, now; and then to her classes,'' she orders crisply, and in a flounce of robes she leaves the chamber.
I continue to simply stand there, frozen, unable to comprehend all I have just heard and seen. Corbin tugs on my sleeve, taking my arm and turning me toward the door when I do not respond. Lost, I allow him to lead me from the room. I walk back through the noisy corridors in a haze; freedom came knocking - and denied. I was to be the tribe’s Ovayte! But instead I am a prisoner here, in this cursed human fortress, this prison for mage children. The desire to get back to my tribe ached within me stronger than ever. And my father, alive! My mother must have been so happy to see him again. She cried every night while we were in Hamlet, but when I would ask why she would not say, just wipe her eyes and say it was nothing, not to worry. But I knew she was missing father, and was scared and lonely without him.
My mother and I were separated from our tribe one winter when a large, roving band of bandits had attacked our caravans, and some of our people were taken as slaves. This is a frequent threat to the Ennish, and there is always a market for slaves. Occasionally humans are enslaved as well, but the Ennish are preyed on the most to fulfill the slave market.
But the slavers did not catch mother and I; we dashed and hid and dashed again like rabbits from the hounds, until we found the village of Hamlet. My mother looked for an Apothecary where she found work there quickly, her knowledge of herbs and healing lore would be invaluable to the humans in the town. But she always sought word of any Ennish tribes, and once an Ennish hunter from another tribe was passing through, she clung to him and begged him bring the tribe news of us. That had been almost a year before they took me, and the last contact I had with my mother and anything Ennish. That bully boy of the town, the one who went about hitting and punching all the little kids, he called my mother a bad name and laughed at us, and I became very angry at him and I cast a spell, just a little one, which sealed his lips together. It was not long before we heard the terrifying rap of the Hellebardiers on the Apothecary door, come to take me away. My mother begged with them, pleading and crying in her limited human vocabulary to attempt to explain how we were only trying to get back to our tribe, but they did not listen or care, they had their ‘orders’. My mother knew what they did to mages, how they were mutilated and imprisoned, how they were never allowed to be free to have a family or even see their parents ever again. Oh, how I had tried to fight them. In fact, I put up such a struggle that may be why they are so keen to keep me, as the memory was burned, literally, into the memory of those who came for me that night. And so, for eight, long years I have been imprisoned here, I have tried nothing but to escape since. This is how I acquired my shy, quiet escort.
Without realizing it, I am standing before the entrance to the eating hall, staring forward blankly at the chaotic seething of students and some soldiers leaving and coming in for breakfast. Corbin is speaking to me, practically shouting now, but I only realize this dully, and turn my dazed attention to him. “Lyrah... Lyrah!"
Glassy eyed, I waver before him. "Lyrah, I want you to know…” he stumbles, clumsily, “I think it’s wrong. They should let you go back to your tribe. I’m... sorry. It’s not right.''
I suddenly realize how kindly Corbin's face is, nice even for a human's face, and feel a sudden surge of affection for him. Hellebardier guard or not, he has always been kind to me, more so than any of the other guards. "Thank you, Corbin. That means a lot to me.” His sincere concern broke me from the numb spell I am under. But now I wanted action. I knew I could not endanger Corbin, or use magic on him in any way; yet, I will have to lose my guard at some point, since escape was more important now than ever. Before, I have only escaped to be recaptured easily, thanks to their possession of my relic, and due to my predictable tendency of returning to my mother in Hamlet, as has already happened three times. I consider now that I must find my relic and destroy it, if I want to sure of my escape. If I can only make it to the woods, to my tribe, to the Ennish....
"...After your Internment, and then perhaps you can visit them, after you have made a Magi of the Council," Corbin was saying, though I am not listening. I smile benignly at Corbin, but my thoughts are already churning on new escape plans.
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