Pink light forced Candor’s eyes open, and she blinked, staring up at dust moats that swirled below an ornately decorated ceiling. She turned her head, noting the stiffness in her neck. As she stretched, Candor noticed the tautness in her whole body, as if someone had dunked her in honey and frozen her. As she tested her limbs, Candor was surprised to feel that her shoulder no longer hurt. She smiled, luxuriating in the free movement again. Candor looked down at her hands and yelped. One was completely black and blue, bruising covering all available skin. She slid the sleeve of the dressing gown she was wearing back, startled to find her entire arm the same purplish color. She frowned. It did not hurt.
“We magnified your swelling,” a voice said, and Candor jumped. She had heard no one enter or move in the room. “So you would heal more quickly.” A woman approached the end of Candor’s bed. “That was quite a fall.”
“Did I hit the ground?” Candor asked stupidly.
The woman nodded gravely. “Few things you can cheat, and gravity is one.”
“That’s too bad.” Candor swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noting that the gown ran all the way to the floor. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”
“You can.” The woman answered, smiling. “Though only for a small while.”
Incensed, Candor turned to look at the woman more fully. That was an answer that rang familiar, and Candor knew both her mother and Thorn to have offered similarly unhelpful explanations.
“Who are you?” Candor asked.
“I was Merigold.” The woman said. Her dark hair bore traces of silver, though her face looked quite young. “I am a witch here; I focus on healing and work mostly to teach it. Though occasionally,” Merigold looked amused, “I get to practice it.”
Candor grimaced. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” Merigold’s voice had an almost translucent pattern to it, as if it were an echo Candor heard, not words from someone’s mouth. “And welcome also,” Merigold stepped back as Candor stood, “to the Citadel.”
A few moments later, Candor was dressed in her tunic once more, swordless, and instructed to take a spiral staircase down to the atrium, where, Merigold informed her, there would be food.
Candor’s stomach propelled her down the stairs, but she was careful not to trip. She did not need the other side of her body rendered a bruise. As Candor descended, she heard spates of individual conversation, her hearing sharpened since she had fallen. Curious, Candor stopped for a moment, ignoring her stomach, curious at how far she could hear. She closed her eyes. A woman’s voice spoke of the “way she threw her sword, have you seen anything in all the time—” Candor lost the voice as a male voice from a different conversation drew her attention, “he should not have risked the group like that, the witches will discover us—”
“Are you lost?” A voice, much louder than the rest, startled Candor from her reverie, and her eyes snapped open. Her hand groped for her sword, only to remember she was weaponless, and she took three quick steps up to her rear, catlike.
A young woman stood in front of Candor, unsurprised by her reaction. Her bright yellow hair bobbed nearly to her waist, and her blue eyes were wary. “I am Tealia.”
“Candor.” Candor offered her the gesture of respect, more out of habit than anything.
Tealia smiled. “We don’t do that here, Durevinian.” She moved her body so as to invite Candor down the stairs. “We do not work by rank here.”
That sounds like a mess, Candor thought to herself, but was nonetheless intrigued. Even though her village had run on goodwill and cooperation, its members still bore rank, elders mattered, age invited respect. Candor was curious to see how such a mélange would work, especially when students were better at majik than others.
As all this ran through her head, Candor tried to smile and followed Tealia down the remaining stairs. She found herself in a large atrium, the walls wide, ceilings tall, and all covered with faded murals. It was a sensory overload, as, Candor suspected, it was intended to be. In the center of the spacious room, a round table sat. Its surface was polished, and it nearly reflected the colors of the hall. For its size, it seemed out of place; there was too much space around it, too few additional tables for this to be the only furniture in the room. Candor wondered if once the hall had been filled with tables, with initiates, waiting to learn to be witches. The thought made her sad, as had many encounters on the island. Candor was beginning to find that she did not care for the pervasive melancholia.
Around the table sat near to thirty people. Many, Candor remembered their faces from the battle on top of the mountain, were the students who had fanned out behind the witch. Candor did not recognize all the faces, however, and as she and Tealia entered the hall, the room fell silent, each person turned to her expectantly. Most faces, Candor was surprised to see, were guarded. They did not seem unhappy to discover her approach, but neither did they seem thrilled. A few showed outright hostility, and one, Candor found his face, showed nothing at all.
“Please,” Candor started as the Lola-like voice spoke from the far side of the curve. “Be seated.”
Tealia and Candor took open seats around the table, Tealia’s chair scraping along the floor. Candor lifted hers and floated into it, still marveling at the absence of pain in her shoulder. It had not taken her long to grow accustomed to the pain, and now that she found herself whole again, she reslished her freedom. Out of the corner of her eye, Candor noticed the young man she had fought watching her. She met his eyes, holding his gaze before he jerked away, irritated. Candor lifted her chin.
“Welcome to our newest initiate.” The woman, who was clearly the leader of the Citadel, gestured to Candor. So much for no rank, Candor thought to herself. “What is your name?”
“I am Candor.” Candor said evenly.
“But what is your name?” The woman asked. The members at the table stirred, uncomfortable.
Candor, unsure of the answer, though the meaning of the question flitting between her memories, looked straight at the woman and repeated, “I am Candor.”
The woman held her gaze for a moment, even as the young man had, before considering the rest of the table. “Welcome, Candor.”
The rustle of the students fell away, leaving the large silence to billow once more in the nearly empty atrium.
“It has been a long while since we have been graced with a new student.” The woman spoke over fingertips pressed together. She did not sound overly cheerful about the prospect. “The trials were the beginning. You have managed to cross the sea, scale the mountain, and survive a battle by your own strength, willpower, and commitment alone.” The woman looked at Candor, who suddenly felt very warm under her tunic. I didn’t cross the sea alone, she thought to herself, but kept still.
“That is the bare minimum of what will be required of you here.” The woman nodded importantly. “You will learn to focus your mind, open your limits, expand into the flow of all things.” She focused on Candor once more. “This drives the weak to madness.”
Too right it does, Candor thougth to herself. She thoroughly enjoyed the trips outside her mind that allowed her to speak with the trees and the earth and the air, but she did wonder what would happen if she allowed her mind to remain entirely open like that.
“—I am Douine.” The woman finished. Candor realized she had lost track of the introduction and struggled to refocus. “This is Tabor, Carza, Merigold—” Candor’s head flicked around to see that Merigold had, in fact, joined them. Candor had not heard her enter. “Farn, and Blyth.” Douine finished. “We are the last of the first witches of Icaria, though we aim to produce more.”
Douine looked around the table, stopping once more on Candor. “The nuns are no more.” She said quietly. “Our compatriots all vanished in the fall; we are the last of the old order. I hope you will take time here, to learn properly with us, that we may turn you back to the world a witch, well intentioned.”
Candor wondered if any witches had escaped the fall, if any still walked in Icaria.
“Each witch has had many years to perfect a craft, a piece of majik that they will attempt to teach you. Once, an initiate had to master all majik before they departed. Now, we must specialize, for the numbers are not what they once were, nor are the days.”
Again, the students shifted, and Candor began to feel as though she were missing something important between the pretty history lesson. She glanced at the young man again, who was studying the table, focusing on its surface.
Intrigued by the potential for training, Candor listened to Douine list off the instructors’ subjets. Each nodded as Douine introduced them. “Merigold teaches healing of all kinds. Tabor teaches engagement with the elements. Carza instructs on working with the first language itself, Farn teaches engagement with focus, meditation, and the future, and Blyth—helps.” Douine finished with a hitch in her voice that belied her earlier smoothness. Candor noted that change, and looked around the table, trying to find Blyth. It wasn’t hard to identify the man; he sat nearly opposite to Douine, his face scarred almost beyond recognition of his features. His eyes sat deep within his face, hairless, the results of what seemed to be a great burn. Most of the students averted their gazes, but Candor stared at the man, fascinated. He stared back: eyes friendly.
“I do what I can.” He spoke, his voice deep and warm. His damaged lips curled up into a smile, and Candor found herself smiling shyly back. Of the members of the Citadel, Blyth was the only one who had felt inviting.
“Yes.” Douine seemed to have returned to herself. Her voice brisk once more, she clapped her hands, and the students stood as one, Candor trailing only slightly. Her neighbors glanced at her oddly. Candor felt rather smug, for once grateful for her ability to anticipate and act more quickly than others.
In a line, the group filed around the table winding out of the atrium, past the end of the staircase, and through another large doorway to what appeared to be a kitchen. In harmony, the students all fell in on a task, some choosing foods from pantries, some beginning to chop, some lighting fires, quite quickly, Candor noted.
“You can join me.” Tealia touched Candor’s elbow and guided her to a wooden block and handed her a knife. “We cook together here, no matter how long you’ve been a student.”
Candor nodded and took the utensil. As other students began handing her fruits and vegetables, Candor began to chop, finding nostalgia in simplicity. She thought of cooking with Mo and Lola and quickly stamped out that thought as her heart twinged.
Candor’s mind swirled as questions begat questions, and she struggled with prioritizing what she wanted to know first. As she chopped, Candor glanced around the room. Little buzz accompanied the work. Eyes did not rise from their task, but as Candor twisted around as subtly as she could, she noticed the young man with whom she had fought, glancing down quickly as their eyes met briefly.
Candor turned back to her vegetables, marveling at the harvest in front of her. Quickly, much more quickly than the meal preparations had ever taken in the village, the students gathered the dishes and marched back to the atrium. Someone had placed plates and flatware around the table while they had been cooking. Dishes set, the students sat back in their chairs and began passing the food around.
Candor wondered what time it was. It did not feel like midday, but then, she reasoned, time did not seem to flow as it should on the island.
“Candor,” Douine’s voice spoke through the clinking flatware. Candor jumped; she had not noticed the woman enter or sit. Candor glanced around the table; all the instructors had joined silently. “Tell us about yourself.”
Candor swallowed before answering. She didn’t think food had ever tasted so good.
“I am from the north.” She explained.
“Durevin?”
“No. I’ve never been.”
Tealia glanced at her, quietly noting that discrepancy.
“What is your family name?” Farn asked.
“I don’t have one.” Candor allowed a bit of the angst she had been suppressing about the identity of her parents seep into her voice. Perhaps if they pitied her, they would not inquire any further. Candor was uninclined to answer more questions before she garnered answers of her own. She’d had enough of that with Thorn.
“You are not alone in that.” Farn’s cold voice belied a curiosity. Despite the stated normality, Candor thought acidly.
“Where in the north are you from?” Carza asked. Candor noticed his accent a lighter version of Thorn’s.
“I am from outside the black teeth.” Candor took another bite to assuage the questions.
“You are Ankori?” Carza raised an eyebrow. “You do not look it.”
“No.” Candor did not offer any additional information. “Where are you from?”
If Carza were surprised at her shift, he did not show it. “I too, am from the teeth.”
From the teeth, Candor wondered, or from outside the teeth? The one would imply an age at least of Thorn, the other would imply a neighbor. Candor bit her tongue. She would not betray her situation with questions.
“What drew you to the Citadel?” Tabor asked. His hair hung in long dreadlocks down his back.
Candor’s mind raced. “I learned of it through books in my village. I was intrigued.”
“Your village had books?” Farn asked. Her voice was light and thin as an icicle and just as cold.
Candor nodded. “The village leaders had a small library. I did not learn much history, but I learned about this place. I wanted to learn more.”
“So, you travelled hundreds of span southward, built a boat, risked drowning, and braved the trials just to learn about the Citadel?” Farn’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Candor bristled but allowed a lazy smile to drift across her face. “Precisely. I look forward to learning from you.”
Farn clicked her tongue but did not speak again.
“What do you hope to learn?” Blyth asked, his voice rumbling through the room. The atrium grew so quiet a pin could have been heard dropping to the floor.
Candor considered. She did not want to offer a flippant answer to Blyth; something deep inside her wanted to please him.
“I search for some truths.” Candor began slowly. “I search for some power. And, more broadly, I search for some reasons.”
Blyth held her gaze for a moment, before smiling. “Very well.”
The tension broken, the students returned to eating and no one posed anymore questions to Candor. Grateful for the reprieve, but well aware her interrogation was far from over, Candor wolfed her food down, appreciating the seasoning on the meat and the freshness of the vegetables.
Once the meal had finished, the students seized the dishes and marched back into the kitchen. Candor was amazed to find that water gushed from small spigots in the walls, pouring into little basins.
“Not majik.” A student noticed Candor observing the plumbing.
Candor smiled shyly and nodded. “Does it work with a siphon?”
“Similar to the wash basins.” The student scrubbed a plate. “I’m Typher.”
“Nice to meet you.” Candor scrutinized the young man. He was utterly unremarkable, with dark hair, grey eyes, and full lips. His bangs fell across his face as he returned to scrubbing.
“You’re from the north then?” Typher asked.
“Yes.” Candor stuck her hands into the water and took a plate from the man. “And you?”
“I’m from the south.” Typher passed her some forks. “I’m Niran.”
“Oh.” Said Candor politely. She tried to remember if Thorn or Lola had ever mentioned the name.
“We’re one of the two fighting factions.” Typher’s voice tinged with something hard. “I’m certain you’ve heard of us. We backward clans of the south, fighting amongst each other for all eternity.”
“Oh.” Candor’s tone changed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever learned your names.”
“What education did you have?” Typher looked up, intrigued. “The recent additions to the Citadel are all children of wealth, educated and trained to pass the trials.”
“Are they?” Candor was surprised. “From Durevin and Ome Chaer?”
“Aye, for the most part.” Typher paused for a moment to consider Candor. “We’ve been here for ages, though. We’ve not had a new initiate for a long time.”
“Well,” said Candor, “I’m pretty sure your factions are still fighting.”
Typher’s eyes widened for a moment, as if he were unsure whether to laugh or be angry. Finally, he chuckled. “You are bold.”
“You have to be.” Candor muttered, turning back to the dishes. She found the banter enjoyable, though she remained on her guard. Though she had not known what to expect from the Citadel, this was not it.
As the students finished their cleaning, Tealia approached Candor and bid her to follow. Candor waved to Typher and stepped after Tealia, her blond hair shining in the light outside the kitchen. Tealia led Candor across a courtyard ringed with columns. Candor could hear the sea, and as they descended the small staircase on the far side of the square, Candor gasped. Splayed before them lay the mountain and the shore, the ocean drifting as far as they could see.
“This is stunning.” Candor murmured.
Tealia finally cracked a small smile. “This is the treasure of Icaria.” She said nothing more.
Candor took another long look at the view, before following Tealia once more to a terrace cut into the side of the mountain. Candor wondered how far the structures of the Citadel stretched, and how she had failed to see them from the beach. All the stone was bright white, and it gleamed in the sun. Though the murals of its interior were faded, the exterior still flirted with the light, sparkling and throwing man-made shadows off the shoulders of the island.
Tealia strode across another courtyard, looping through a few open-air corridors before arriving at a small door cut into a wall.
“It’s marble.” Tealia gestured to the room. “The stone.”
Candor nodded in thanks.
“I’m guessing you’ve not seen it before.”
“I haven’t.” Candor shrugged. “I’ve seen much and know little.”
“That is a good thing to know about oneself.” Tealia opened the door and stepped into the room. “These will be your living quarters. Your pack is there.” The woman pointed to Candor’s ruck.
Candor felt a surge of relief as she saw it, which quickly transformed into anger. She held her tongue.
“Thank you, Tealia.”
“When you are here, you address students by their first name.” Tealia spoke as if she had not heard Candor. “You address the witches with their honorary. Douine-sana.”
“Thank you.” Candor spoke again.
Tealia looked at her sharply, before relaxing. “I cannot hear in my right ear.” She explained. “You must get my attention to speak to me.”
“I will.” Candor smiled.
“Thank you.” More of the tension melted from Tealia’s shoulders. “That should be your first lesson.” Tealia looked Candor straight in the eye. “What we learn here can kill you. I was both foolish and unlucky and I lost a piece of myself for it. Be careful. You will not leave until they judge you are ready.”
Tealia turned to go. Candor caught her arm.
“What do you mean by that?” Candor asked hoarsely. “I won’t be able to leave until I’m ready?”
“The witches will not acknowledge you as one of their own until they deem your skills enough. You cannot leave until this is done.”
“What happens if you try?” Candor asked, horror dawning upon her.
“You die.” Tealia answered solemnly. As Candor’s hand slid from her arm, she turned. At the door she said over her shoulder, “we rest today. Tomorrow, we eat at sunrise and begin lessons.”
“Which means what?” Candor called, but Tealia had disappeared.
Incensed, Candor sank onto her bed. It was soft, and the blankets were warm. Candor was impressed. Candor pondered what she should do next. A feeling of being trapped had begun to settle over her, and her heart began to race. She had come here for answers, intending to return to Letti sooner than later. Now, she faced an interminable study, likely followed by more trials. The alternative to this, Candor clenched her teeth, was death.
She stood, walking to the window cut in the far side of her room. It looked out over the mountain, a slightly different angle of the sea. Candor inhaled deeply, and the salty air reassured her. She would find a way off this island, with or without answers.
Quickly, Candor turned, intending to find her indigo sword and a courtyard to practice the Aiadar. It was gone. Candor tore through her pack, placing all her items on the floor. Her indigo blade was not with her belongings. Rage welled in Candor’s heart, and she bit back a scream. That blade was her best connection to Mo, and it was the nicest thing she had ever owned. Strapping a small dagger to her waist, Candor wrenched open her door and stormed into the hallway, the sight of the sea and the breeze doing nothing to calm her frustration.
Candor pounded through the Citadel, seeing not a soul. Where is everyone? Candor thought. She wound through corridors, through courtyards, all cut into the side of the mountain. As she walked, she calmed. The school was too interesting for Candor to remain angry for long. Large pots, built into the walls and between columns lay empty, dark dirt telling briefly of the flora they once held. Murals dotted some of the more guarded corridors, paint so faded in places that Candor couldn’t tell what they depicted. Marble chipped off the tops of columns and from the windows between the corridors. The tiles of the courtyards rose and fell unevenly, as if the earth had tried and failed to cast them off. Candor noticed inlays every so often, whatever had once filled them stripped. It felt desolate, empty, remnants of something great long lost.
Finally, as Candor’s steps grew shorter, her pace slower, she stumbled upon a garden. Like the rest of the school, the plot sunk into the mountain, stretching around its side like a ribbon around a tree. Its rows bent around the island’s curves, switching back and forth as it descended the incline. Candor stepped out of the marble, marvelling at the precision of the sowing. Fruits lay heavy on vines, red tomatoes, and large peppers. Candor wandered throught the paths, enjoying the familiarity of the discipline. She thought of Letti spilling peas on the ground and laughed to herself. She hoped Letti was ok. Thorn will take care of her, Candor thought, though another small voice spoke bitterly, as long as he doesn’t try to take her blood.
“Hello.”
Candor whirled, hand going to her sword, before sliding up to her dagger. The young man who had volunteered for her final trial stood a few lengths away. Candor had been so caught up in her homesickness, she had failed to notice his approach.
“Hello.” Candor controlled her breathing.
The man’s eyes smiled in that odd way that did not reach his mouth, as though he were enjoying a joke she could not possibly understand. It was compelling. Candor was immediately wary.
“My name is Choah.” The young man offered no gesture to accompany his introduction. “You are good with a sword.”
Candor, unsure of what to make of the man, blushed. “My bruises would tell another story.” She struggled to remain composed. What is this madness? Candor chastised herself.
“They would have healed you completely.” Choah rocked back on his heels. “But they had to help me recover too.”
Only then did Candor notice that one of Choah’s hands was entirely bruised as well. He had hidden it under his other hand, his arms covered by a loose, yellow tunic. The collar masked his neck.
“You gave me no choice.” Candor fought the instinct to apologize, until now a foreign impulse.
“Indeed.” Choah sounded amused. “You were not meant to survive.”
Candor did not reply.
“Where have you trained?” Choah asked, his voice sliding from intense to gentle in the space of a breath.
Perturbed, Candor let a brittle smile play across her face. “The north.”
Choah did not reply, and the moment of silence grew too long, awkward.
“I’ll discover eventually.” Choah smiled warmly, before gesturing at the plants. “Do you know these?”
Noncomittal, Candor watched as Choah stepped forward and turning over a leaf on a plant next to her. She could feel the warmth of his body as he explained the veins of the leaf carried water to its tissue. She nodded as he walked her through the garden, explaining various properties of plants she knew already. Though he never touched her, the young man stood so near to her any spare movement would have brought her skin into contact with his. Candor was careful to keep a hairsbreadth between them, unclear on what game he was playing. He maintained a steady stream of instruction. While irritated that he thought he knew more than she, Candor was just as loathe to offer him any more insight to her wealth of knowledge. Little did she know of Icaria’s history, but Candor was well versed in plants and their properties.
As Choah instructed her, they walked further down the mountain, away from the marble of the Citadel. He began to ask her questions, small questions, slid between the pieces of knowledge he felt he was imparting. Candor remained vague but felt herself drawn to answer more fully. Finally, as Choah stepped behind her and asked after her family, Candor whirled.
“Stop.” Her voice was cold, and Choah drew back as if stung. “I know you used majik during our fight. Do not employ it now.”
Choah’s face closed, and he took a step back. The air felt colder for his distance, but Candor’s disappointment was marred with her anger. She allowed her mind to open, feeling the plants around them, learning their names and introducing herself. With a brief burst of will, Candor thrust her mind against Choah’s, finding deep satisfaction in the way his face paled.
Withdrawing inside herself, Candor felt slightly fatigued, but regained her strength momentarily. Chaoh, on the other hand, seemed to have grown gaunt.
“I sincerely apologize.” Chaoh regained some of his composure. “I promise not to do it again.”
“Swear it.” Candor said. “Say the following.” Candor repeated the oath Cairlaen had tricked her into. She modified the ending, avoiding the words of death on her lips she had learned from Cairlaen.
Choah, now failing to hide his irritation, found himself with no other option and repeated the words. Pleased, Candor thanked him. Another long moment of silence grew between them, as Choah considered his new opponent with frank curiosity. His face had lost its stoicism. Candor, for her part, had nothing more to say and waited for the young man to make a move.
“Would you like to see the library?” Choah finally asked.
“Yes.” Candor’s stomach flipped.
Choah turned and walked back up the paths, not checking over his shoulder to see if Candor was following. Swiftly, he marched through the corridors, confident in his path. Candor wondered if she would stay here long enough to know these halls so well. She eclipsed that thought, focusing instead on her excitement at the potential for learning from a library not run by a Fae-killer.
All at once, Candor recognized the spiral staircase and the doors to the atrium and kitchen. A third set of doors, which Candor had not noticed earlier, sat behind the staircase, between the two rooms she had visited. She felt a little silly for having missed them at her introduction.
Choah opened one of the doors, pushing it open with more force than Candor would have expected necessary. Candor followed him inside. Her breath caught; the room was as large, or larger at least, than the atrium, with shelves from floor to ceiling, lined with books.
“Where should I start?” Candor forgot to guard herself.
“That depends on what you know.” Choah turned to face Candor. “What would you like to learn?”
“Everything.” Candor breathed.
“Carza runs the library.” Choah pointed. “I suggest you start with him. His office is there.”
Candor nodded, and Choah turned. “Until next time, Candor.” He had donned his playful eyes once more, having recovered from their bout in the garden.
Candor felt her stomach drop faintly and nodded. As Chaoh left, Candor felt a slight pang, and wished for the briefest of moments that he had stayed.
Shaking her head, Candor turned to face the library, alone once more.
~.~
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