Candor leaned over the long counter that ran through the center of the library. Between it, a few students pored over stacks of books, noting their spines, and placing them in new piles.
A flash of dark hair peaked out from behind one of the papered mounds, and Candor recognized the student.
“Typher, Typher.” Candor tried to keep her voice low. The air in the library, while light, was clearly thick with expectation, quiet.
Typher looked up, but as Candor was hidden behind his monstrous pile of tomes, he could not see her. She slunk around to the far side of the counter. Typher, Candor could see, was sitting on a well-worn stool, doing what looked to be some cataloguing.
“Hello Candor.” Typher said pleasantly. “I see you’ve found the library.”
Candor nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
“Bigger than your village’s then?” Typher winked.
Candor made sure to keep her face blank. “I’m looking for any kinds of books that would allow me to build a foundation before class tomorrow. Anything that would let me, well, get ahead.” Candor finished, blushing slightly. She did not like feeling vulnerable and asking for aid was perhaps her greatest pet peeve. Needs must, Candor thought to herself with a sigh.
Typher leaned back slightly, a suspicious look on his unremarkable face. “What will you be studying tomorrow?”
“I have no idea.” Candor huffed. “I can’t get a straight answer from anyone in here.”
“We’re not trained to give humans straight answers.” Tyoher murmered.
That explains a lot, thought Candor acidly. “And why not?”
“Normal humans can’t really understand what we do.”
“So, you don’t bother trying?” Candor was astounded. “Humans can surprise you.”
“Spoken like someone who isn’t a human.”
“You placed yourself outside that identity first, I was simply mirroring your language.” Candor sniffed. She had not come here to trade semantics. “I would like not to look a fool tomorrow.”
“A fair desire.” Typher straightened his pile of books and gestured to another student. “Can you file these for me?”
The man, who looked to be in his late thirties, nodded, with a curious look at Candor.
Typher hopped up on the counter and swung his legs over the edge. “I don’t know whose class you will be in tomorrow, so we need to speak with a witch. Then I can help you.”
“Twins.” Candor muttered. She had hoped to avoid the witches as much as possible, despite the high likelihood that the answers she had ventured here for laid squarely in their memory.
“What?” Typher asked absentmindedly.
“Nothing.” Candor muttered. “What were you cataloguing?”
“Books.” Typher laughed. “When we look through books, we don’t always return them. Students are expected to take time if they see a stack to catalogue and replace books.”
“Don’t some take advantage of this?”
“Aye.” The Niran shrugged. “The witches see it all though; those who are not inclined to help others are less likely to ever leave the island.”
“Seems a trusting system.” Candor remarked. A foolish system, she thought to herself.
“Witches should be able to trust each other implicitly.” Typher replied. “This is how we fell when the mad king manipulated us.”
“You know of the mad king?” Candor asked too quickly.
Typher glanced at her. “Aye. You do not? That is perhaps the best-known story in Icaria, Candor. That is our foundation. Even the Niran and Zondarian know of the mad king.”
“I had an unorthodox education.” Candor tried to control herself. “What do you know of him?”
“Same as everyone really.” Typher shrugged as they wound their way deeper into the ever-expanding shelves of books. “He was the son of a weak king who saw too much of the world and thought himself a god. He tried to take what was not his, and he failed, throwing the world into chaos.”
“A succinct history.” Candor tried to be patient. “How long have we been in this chaos?”
Typher’s eyes rolled down to observe his new companion once again. “A few centuries. With the witches destroyed and Durevin and Ome Chaer unravelled, there was a period where time didn’t matter, and the world simply tried to survive. It’s been several generations. I also don’t know how long it’s been since I arrived.”
Candor sucked in her breath. “When did you arrive?”
“By the Niran calendar, AD 112.”
"And in standard calendar time?" Candor asked, this date meanaing nothing to her.
“Somewhere around 2C200.” Typher paused, before shrugging. “I didn’t hold much with the standard calendar.”
Candor’s stomach dropped. “That would make you nearly a hundred years old.”
“Aye.” Typher looked somewhat surprised, but he shook it off. “The most recent arrival is Choah. I couldn’t tell you when he arrived in the year scheme, however.”
“I’ll ask him.” Candor said faintly. “Why does time work so oddly here?”
“That,” Typher said, drawing close to a large door nestled between two shelves, “is something you should ask Carza.”
Candor had wondered when her questions would be cut. She thanked Typher. “Perhaps I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Typher inclined his head before trotting off in the direction they’d come. Candor squared her shoulders and considered the large door before her. It was ornate, like most other pieces of the Citadel. Around its frame ran carvings, animals in flight and fight, humans in pursuit. It was not a cheerful story. The dark wood was foreboding, but Candor raise a fist and knocked three times.
“Enter.” A voice bade, and Candor turned the bronze knob.
More books lined the room, but no furniture occupied space in the chamber. A small rug sat on the floor, and on it, Carza knelt. His eyes closed, he smiled slightly.
“Welcome, Candor.”
Candor closed the door.
“Please, join me.”
Again, Candor was reminded of Thorn’s accent as she knelt in front of the man. Something felt odd, Candor realized as she tried to focus on the witch. It felt as though there were no one else in the room; no air displaced as Carza spoke, no warmth radiated from him. If she had not seen his form in front of her, Candor would not have known she had a neighbor.
“Thank you Carza-sana.”
“Don’t do that.” Carza’s eyes flew open, and Candor was amazed at their color. She had not noticed their greenness at the dinner table, but now, being so close, she was astounded by their hue. “I do not take the term of respect.”
Candor inclined her head, but she did not apologize.
“Why have you come to visit me.” Carza asked.
“I—” Candor stopped.
“You have come to visit me because you have nowhere to start grounding your questions, and you don’t know what questions to ask.” Carza surmised.
Candor nodded, grateful.
“I can tell you little and much, but I would prefer to do it over many years.” Carza unfolded himself sinuously, and once more Candor was struck by how silent the witches were. She did not remember Thorn being this quiet. Indeed, Candor restrained a snort, she remembered several nights of thunderous snoring.
Candor did not respond right away; she did not intend to inform any of the students, let alone the witches, that she sought to learn as quickly as she could to escape the island.
“I wish to begin my education with vigor.” Candor finally said. “I wish to read before my first classes tomorrow, so as not to look a fool.”
“There are sometimes where it is best to look a fool.” Carza said gently. “This allows us to learn. Fools are only made by those who do not understand it is right to fail.”
“And you trust each student here to know that lesson?” Candor found the naïvete of the Citadel concerning.
“I do not.” Carza’s voice snapped like a metal trap. He seemed tempted to say more but restrained himself. “So, I will guide you with the few hours you have left today that you might present well tomorrow.”
Candor smiled. “Thank you.”
Carza did not return her smile, but his eyes lightened. “You are not from royalty.”
Candor shook her head.
“And you are young.”
“Aye.” Candor did not know where Carza intended this conversation to go.
“Do you know where you’re from?” Carza’s eyes pierce into Candor’s. “Do you know your origins?”
Candor considered the man. Clearly, he knew she had an unusual bloodline. “I didn’t know my parents.” Candor finally said.
Carza waivered for a moment before letting the matter drop. Candor felt a wave of relief.
“You must understand,” Carza leaned forward to change the subject, “That this is not the Citadel of old.
The students here, especially the newest, are from families of wealth. They are from families who wish to see old majik in their repertoire of power. We aim to teach them majik, of course, but we also aim to teach them conscience.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Candor asked.
“I tell you this because you are different, and you are both unfamiliar with the rituals and nuances of court, for which you will need to be on your guard, and you must understand why we instruct without hierarchy.”
“I cannot imagine hierarchy does not exist here, Carza.” Candor bit her tongue before adding the honorific.
“Indeed, it does.” Carza shrugged. “As it does in any setting where there is more than one being.
However, by instructing as a group, we hope to instill a sense of respect and worth for those who are not to the level as others.”
Candor snorted, before remembering she was supposed to be respectful. “When was the last time you turned out a witch?”
Carza sighed. “I know you do not see our methods as useful or effective. We are but a shadow of what we once were. The last witch we offered the world, we sent out near to fifty years ago. I have not an idea of where she went.”
Candor sat quietly for a moment, contemplating this information. “So, there are witches yet in the world.”
“There are.” Carza nodded. “Few, very few, but they exist, and they should be easing the lives of other humans. That was our original purpose after all.”
“That was corrupted quickly, however, was it not?” Candor asked, curious.
“You have a spotty knowledge of history.” Carza looked at her with interest. “Yes. Witches, especially early witches, found their education lacking in moral philosophy and oft used their powers for gathering power. They did not ever seek to take the throne, however.” Carza spoke as if this absolved the witches of any other sins.
Candor did not bother to answer. “What will I study tomorrow?”
Happy enough to change the subject, Carza turned to his bookshelves.
“You will begin with healing and language with Merigold and myself. And Blyth has requested to meet with you.” Carza peered over his shoulder to see Candor’s reaction.
“You suppose this should bother me.” Candor probed her teacher.
“Most are frightened to meet with Blyth.”
“He seems the friendliest of you all, if I am honest.” Candor shrugged. “I would imagine most fear what he represents. The pain that can come with dealing with majik.”
“You are correct.” Carza pointed at the spine of a book. “Take this one.”
Candor did as she was told.
“And this one. And this one.” Carza pointed to two more books. “These should prepare you for tomorrow.”
“Do we not all take all classes?” Candor asked. “Why am I beginning with these?”
“You ask many questions and offer few answers.” Carza’s eyes closed briefly. “Each witch teaches for a few hours a day. It is up to the student to choose which classes to attend. Some choose to study for years with one witch before pursuing another subject. Some choose to study multiple at a time. It matters not when the endstate is the same.”
Candor nodded, while questioning yet again, the methods of this institute.
“I know it seems like chaos to you now.” Carza smiled gently. “But it will make sense to you as time passes.”
Candor’s stomach dropped, and the terrible dread crept back into her heart. “Thank you for your advice, Carza.”
“I suggest you begin to study.” Carza had a knowing look on his face as Candor turned to leave. “The more quickly you learn, the more quickly you are free.”
Candor did not reply but waited for the door to close before she took off through the shelves. Hoping to find her room without too much wandering in the ruins, Candor pored over her conversation with Carza. She desperately wished Letti were with her to discuss her last few days, but Letti and Thorn were gone, and Candor was left to make sense of a new kind of danger. Politics, Candor thought disgustedly, should never tangle with majik.
For the first time, Candor felt grateful for her Fae blood. This was never the way of the Fae, Cadnor thought. She appreciated what the witches were trying to do here, but Candor worried their efforts were in vain. Still, she thought, what is there to do here but learn?
After a few wrong turns, Candor found herself outside the door to her bedroom, but before she entered, she stilled. Someone was already inside; she could hear it. A small creak of the bed, a whisper of air breathing out of their lungs.
As quietly as she could, Candor placed her books on the ground and snatched her dagger from her side. Considering the situation for a moment, Candor pushed the door open gently, tugging it up a bit from the ground so it wouldn’t scrape.
A woman sat on Candor’s bed with dark silky hair and eyes like midnight. She whirled around as Candor cleared her throat.
“Candor.” The woman’s voice was breathy from her fright.
“Yes.” Candor sheathed her knife. The woman was not a threat, simply an intrusion. She stepped back outside to retrieve her books. “May I help you?”
The woman wore a long grey dress, a style different than Taelia’s. Candor wondered idly at the different fashions here; did everyone make their own clothes? Hundreds of years was a long time to maintain the same fabric.
“I was sent to invite you to a meeting tonight.” The woman clasped her hands behind her back. “Be in the angel courtyard as the blue sun crests the far horizon.”
“What does that mean?” Candor asked flatly. “I’ve had enough of riddles. And who is inviting me? I don’t know you.”
The woman tried to maintain her composure, though Candor noted her apprehension.
“We live under two horizons here.” She gestured at the window, and Candor looked, surprised. Sure enough, as Candor looked closely, the line where the sea met the horizon split. A small purple line hovered just above the typical horizon, the small space between the horizons a soft grey.
“And there,” the woman pointed, “is the other sun.”
Candor craned her neck to look at the sky. One half of the sky held the yellow sun, typically placed. Across the sky, however, hovered a light blue ball, almost moonlike, but for its painful glow.
“How did I not see this before?” Candor asked, half to herself.
“You were not looking for it.” The girl answered, her voice growing stronger. “There are many things in the world we do not see because we are not looking. This is how we hide ourselves.”
“Hide ourselves from what?” Candor asked.
The woman did not respond. “When the blue sun crests the far horizon.” She repeated ominously.
Before Candor could summon the words for another question, the woman had darted out the door, leaving Candor without her name and without an answer.
Grumbling to herself, Candor shut the door and ran through her possessions, ensuring nothing else had been taken. Items intact, Candor sank onto her bed and noted the titles that Carza had offered her.
Healing from the Inside Out: a practical guide to majikal application of bodily medicines
Candor flipped the book open. Pages upon pages of diagrams showed the anatomy of the human, while tiny font littered the pages. Candor read a few lines about how to focus on a particular piece of tendon to make it behave in an oscillating manner before shutting the book.
No wonder they’re here forever. Candor thought peevishly. If this is how we have to learn majik. Candor remembered the way Lola had drilled anatomy into her early childhood. She remembered the way Lola would gently show her the insides of the fish they pulled out of the sea. Candor remembered with as much clarity how impatient she had been with Lola. Candor’s stomach clenched. Instead, Candor wrenched her mind to a new topic. She thought of the way her mind opened to the world around her, how things offered her their names and how, she knew, if she asked them with their names, they would do whatever she desired.
Candor picked up the second book.
A compendium of the first language
Slightly more excited, Candor tugged open the cover to find lists upon lists of words and their many, varied meanings. Candor read a few and tried to pronounce them based on the book’s suggestion but did not feel the same energy running through her as when she faced another piece of the world and spoke with it. Candor shut that book as well, sighing. Is this really what majik is to humans? This is what Thorn refused to teach me?
The last book was smaller than the other two.
A short treatise on prophecy
Intrigued, Candor tucked her legs under her and opened the book.
Of the majikal vestiges in the world, none is more revered nor misunderstood as prophecy. Soothsayers abound, but unless one finds a Fae Teller, one is supremely unlikely to receive a real glimpse into the future. The greatest of the prophecy givers are the Sakjeden. Said to be the original grove of Sakjerst, these trees offer both general and personal prophecies to those who seek them. Please see chapter 12 for more information on these beings.
Candor frowned. Why had Carza given her a book about prophecies? Before she delved into the overly conspiratorial, Candor flipped through the book, noting passages on human soothsayers, Fae Tellers, and finally, the Sakjeden.
Assumed to be created by Sakjerst, if not Anaia herself, the Sakjeden are perhaps the oldest beings in the land beyond the Fae. Noted for their incredible intelligence and their ability to glimpse pieces of the future, the Sakjeden were nearly worshipped in the first age of Icaria during the Pax Humanae. While many have speculated as to the method by which the Sakjeden cast their prophecies, no one, not even members of the grove, understand how they come to know the future. It is thus that many assume the trees are creations of the early gods.
Included in this chapter are some of the more influential trees and their prophecies, but none is more significant than that of the mad king.
Candor frowned. She had learned little about the timeline of her land, but in the modicum she had garnered, it surprised her that there was a book that detailed the years since the mad king’s fall. After all her conversations, Candor had assumed scholarship had nearly stopped since the end of the peace. Candor flipped back to the cover to search for an author. Myeira Aslanti. Candor shuddered, recognizing the name. It had to have been a relative of Zorca’s. Her stomach gave an odd tug, and Candor read on.
During his travels as a young man, the mad king discovered the Sakjeden and declined a prophecy. Driven mad by his wonder, he returned just as he was supposed to take the throne. As he asked for a personal prophesy from Umesh, oldest of the grove, a sapling spoke instead, offering a general prophecy. Taking this to be his own prophecy, the mad king left, despite pleas from Umesh and the grove to wait, for this general prophecy could apply to him, or it could not.
Undaunted, the king grew frightened at its possibilities. He consulted his witches, one who cautioned him against acting upon it, one who counseled him to act. He chose the latter path, and Icaria has paid the price. A fuller history of that particular incident can be found below.
Candor looked up. This was not new information. Thorn had informed her the mad king’s history. Wait, Candor looked back at the page. Thorn did not mention two witches, Candor thought. She touched the page. It should not have struck her as odd that Icaria’s king possessed two witches in his court. He was, after all, extremely powerful, and he would have managed quite a lot. Two majikians would have behooved the kingdom.
Still, Candor frowned, it gnawed at her. She wondered what happened to them; had they become wraiths? Did he only have two? Or did—
Candor’s eyes flickered to a movement outside her window. A tiny bird fluttered just outside the marble. Its wings beat too fast for her to see them without focusing. Its stomach red, it cocked its head at her, as if waiting for something.
Candor shook her own head. “I have nothing for you.”
The bird did not leave. Slowly, Candor tried to open her mind. She considered every piece of the bird, its wings, the feathers on its wings, the specks on its beak, the air between its thrumming. She saw the way the bird moved through the slight breeze, the way it shadowed the stone in her room, and she called to it, asking its name.
The bird squeaked, delighted, and flew into the room. Candor held out her hand and it alit, staring up at her.
Quickly, a flash of images ran through Candor’s mind, a shell, a sticky liquid, two men with swords, a woman singing, the sound of the sea.
Candor thanked the bird and tried to offer her name. Immediately, her mind snapped closed, and she gasped at the pain of it. Never before had Candor been unable to maintain her openness with the world once she’d crossed into the space. The tiny bird looked sad and flew up to meet Candor’s forehead. It rubbed her gently, a gesture of affection, before departing without a backwards glance.
Candor found her heart aching for the company. The little bird had felt more like a friend than had anyone yet at the Citadel. She rubbed her temples, feeling the sting of the world closing in on her mind.
Slowly, Candor opened her eyes and peered around the room. Carefully, she considered the stone, the shadows, the whisp of air from the window. She opened her mind and asked the names of everything there that she could see, feel, hear. They offered their names as easily as had the little bird. Candor found the room brighter, the light a little sharper, the colors a bit more vivid. She stood, careful to maintain the posing of her mind, and walked around the room, trailing her fingertips over the material of the world around her. As slowly as possible, Candor tried to search for her name, Candor would not rise to her tongue, as, Candor came to understand, this was not the name of her existence. She pushed a little harder, something deep in her mind began to flicker, like a black flame. Eagerly, Candor leapt towards, it, only to find herself in fetal position on the floor, wracked with pain across her body. Her mind had snapped once more back into its learned limits, and it had struck her as if to punish her for leaving its safe embrace. Candor shivered for a few more moments, trying to make sense of what was happening.
With effort, Candor pushed herself away from the ground and stood. All her muscles ached; she felt as though she were back in the teeth after the first few days of hiking. A slight sheen of sweat coated her brow, and Candor felt feverish. The half of her body covered in bruises ached with a new fervor, as if her mental meddling had opened her pain recepticles once more. Candor groaned quietly. She needed the Aiadar.
Standing, Candor left her room, shutting the door behind her. In her exercises, Candor realized she had missed the beginning of twilight. She wondered idly if twilight happened for both suns at the same time.
With a start, Candor remembered the invitation from the woman. In her pain, she had forgotten the interloper. Pausing for a moment, Candor made a decision. Breaking into a slow jog, Candor began to retrace her steps from the day, lingering above or beside any courtyards she came upon. Candor was not yet aware enough of the Citadel’s geography to have any clear idea of where this invitation might have been, but as luck would have it, just as the yellow sun drew near the blue, Candor heard a whisper. It was the kind of low, urgent whisper used when one is worried of being found.
Candor closed her eyes, before snapping them open and breaking into a sprint. Trying to keep her ears on the sound, she darted around a few corners before coming onto a small bridge across a courtyard. On the right side of the space, a small statue grew out of the earth. A tiny human with enormous wings stood in a shimmering, marble dress. Its eyes were closed, and out of its fingertips poured water. Candor frowned; she was certain she had travelled past this lifted corridor yesterday, but she had not seen the turn.
As Candor’s eyes focused, she glimpsed a prick of movement behind the fountain. Several students milled around in long robes, their body language clearly indicating that they were anxious not to be found.
“Where is he?” Someone, perhaps the girl from Candor’s room, hissed.
“He’s coming.” Someone else whispered. “Is she?”
“I gave her the message.” The first voice murmered.
“Here—”
Another set of footsteps stopped short of the group. Candor strained her vision.
“No sign?”
Apparently, the response was negative, as Choah, for that was who the voice belonged to, sighed. “Pity.
Move the stone.”
A slight groaning of marble ensued, and Candor watched the angel move forward ever so slightly, as if
levitating. One by one, the cloaked figures disappeared behind it. Candor held still until she heard the statue settle back to its place before returning to her room.
What, Candor wondered with an increasing sense of foreboding, have I gotten myself into?
Candor woke the next morning ravenous. Her muscles tight, she resolved to practice the Aiadar at some point that day, given her aborted attempt the night before. Dressing quickly, Candor skimmed downstairs and, following the sounds, bounded into the kitchen where a few students had begun to cook. Candor fell into a line of students chopping vegetables. Quickly, the students finished making breakfast and traipsed into the atrium. The smallness of the table struck Candor once more, as each member of the Citadel sat quietly at a place setting.
Candor looked around, noticing the witches were absent. She was about to ask her neighbor where they were, when they fanned out from behind her. Candor jumped, startled, and craned her neck around to see if there was a side door to the room she had not seen.
“I trust your first concious night was illuminating, Candor?” Douine alit between Taelia, and Choah, who, Candor was pleased to see, seemed slightly uncomfortable at the proximity.
“It was enjoyable, thank you Douine-sana.” Candor replied evenly.
Douine’s face twitched slightly, “We no longer use that honorific here, Candor.” Douine looked around the table at the students.
What is the point of tradition, Candor thought to herself, if we don’t use it?
“No matter who is trying to bring it back.” Douine’s voice cracked around the room. Candor’s head snapped up; no student had the decency to look ashamed.
I see, Candor thought grimly, this was a hazing ritual. Candor looked right at Taelia and smiled beatifically. Taelia did not blanch, but Candor appreciated the slight tightening around her mouth.
The room fell silent as the members of the Citadel fell upon their food. Candor occupied herself with a growing dread about her peer’s morality. Is everything a trial here? She thought. She wondered how much of her experience here she would be able to trust as a memory. What is real when the world does not exist as it should?
When the meal was finished, Candor helped clean up before trying to find Typher. Unable to to locate the dark-haired student, Candor followed the shine of blonde hair out of the kitchen.
“Taelia.” Candor said politely.
Taelia turned, her body indicating her expectation for a fight.
“Where might I find Merigold’s class?” Candor asked.
Caught halfway between a fast retort and Candor’s question, Taelia seemed nearly to run into a wall as she changed tracks quickly.
“The infirmary.” Taelia answered. “Where you first woke.”
“Thank you.” Without another word, Candor turned on her heel and marched back to her room. She did not bother gathering anything, as she had nothing with which to take notes. She didn’t flip open the books that Carza had gifted her yesterday either; Candor was certain this was not the way she would learn majik. As quickly as she could, Candor ran through a small portion of the Aiadar, cramped by the size of her chamber.
With one last glance out the window to see if her new friend had returned, Candor turned, sighed, and made her way back to the long spiral staircase that descended to the main foyer. She climbed it briskly, though with no small amount of trepidation. Candor did not like feeling the fool, and she had had quite enough of that in the first two days here already.
It is as if they don’t know me as Fae. Candor stopped, foot middair. The students didn’t know her as Fae. In the short time since she had discovered her identity, Candor had grown accustomed to recognition, even if it were imagined. None of these students, despite the ages from which they came in Icaria, seemed to recognize that she was Fae.
Or perhaps they do, Candor thought bitterly, and they are merely biding their time. The games are simply a taste. But Candor shook this thought off. She did not wish to become paranoid; she remembered her irritation with Thorn over this very topic. I cannot distrust the world.
Stepping onto the second floor, Candor made her way to the line of beds she had exited just yesterday. No one had yet arrived. Candor, seeing a bit more space, walked into a few more poses of the Aidar, before stopping. No need for anyone to question what she was doing.
“You know the Aiadar?” Merigold’s voice sounded from behind Candor, and she jumped so hard she almost fell over.
“How do you do that?” Candor asked suspiciously. “I have better hearing than most, and I never hear you coming?”
“I’m sure you do.” Merigold gave Candor a knowing look. “We’ve walked these halls for a long time. We know where to step.”
Unsatisfied, but unwilling to probe any further, Candor nodded. “I know the Aiadar.” It was foolish to lie.
“It is a great tool.” Merigold said softly. “The nuns first invented it you know. They taught it to many people as a tool for meditation. I wondered if people still practiced it.”
“Aye.” Candor did not know what to say. Every word in this place seemed to drip with nostalgia. Candor did not appreciate its weight.
“What are we learning today?” Candor asked.
Merigold snapped out of her reverie and smiled. “We will be focusing on the healing of a fish.”
“Oh?” Candor asked, intrigued. “Why a fish?”
“Because,” Merigold answered as she swept out of the room. “It is easier than a human and harder than a mollusk, and because,” Merigold stopped short, prompting Candor to do the same, “I don’t think you will have the introductory issues that your classmates had to endure.” Merigold offered Candor one more searching look before turning again and disappearing out of the inrirmary.
Frozen for a brief moment, Candor exhaled. Well, the witches know, if not the students. Her status as Fae was not lost on the entire Citadel.
Candor followed Merigold across a small hallway into another room filled with tall desks neatly arranged side by side.
Candor recognized a few faces in the ground, her stomach lurching at one. Candor wound her way to an empty desk, hoping the other students’ eyes would follow Merigold instead. No such luck. Candor grew irritated. I am not the test subject here.
Merigold clicked her tongue, and the students turned back to face her. She stood in the center of the room, behind a desk. On the desk, a small yellow fish sat in a bowl of water.
“Choah,” Merigold called forward the young man.
Candor watched him swish to the front of the class, his linen tunic sliding quietly over his trousers. Candor noticed his breathing hitched, just for a moment, as he passed by the second row of desks. Candor strove to ignore the coincidental delight that bloomed for the slightest of moments in her stomach.
As Choah reached the desk, he moved swiftly. He grasped the fish in his left hand, threw it ot the table, and skewered it in place with a long thin knife.
None of the other students looked at all appaled, but Candor gasped.
Choah turned to look at her with a heavy smirk, before sidling back to his table. Whatever playful tickling had massaged her stomach not moments before had vanished, leaving a pit of horror and revulsion.
“Candor.” Merigold called, as if from a long tunnel.
Candor looked at the witch.
“Candor come here.” Merigold beckoned.
Slowly, Candor moved to the table with the flopping fish. She could hear its gasps, the slight sound of the metal moving against its flesh. Candor thought she would throw up.
“I want you to heal him.” Merigold said gently. “I will give you the words.”
Candor rounded on her teacher in absolute horror. “You struck him for me to learn?” Candor asked.
“It’s a fish, Candor.” Choah’s voice drawled from the back of the room.
Several students tittered. Candor turned quickly, retort on her tongue, before catching his grin and thinking better of it.
Quickly, she turned back to Merigold. “Tell me what I need to say.”
Merigold outlined the words, as Candor began to open her mind. As she did so, she felt the pain of the fish in front of her. She felt its gasps, its utter confusion, and Candor felt her heart contract. She gritted her teeth as tears began to run down her cheeks. From far away, Candor heard Merigold explaining where to apply her focus, how to use the words.
Gently, Candor retracted the metal spike from the fish. Blood began to poor from its tiny body, and Candor could feel its life ebbing impossibly quickly. Within moments, it would be dead.
In a split-second decision, Candor ignored Merigold’s advice, her words. Candor instead focused on the fish itself and asked for permission. She felt the way the fish’s muscles moved together, she felt where they were severed. Candor focused on the fish’s mind, trying to calm it even as she worked through every fiber in its perforation. The fish stilled. Candor expanded her mind further and asked the water to join her. Slowly, the water from the bowl rose and, with gentle coaxing from Candor, wound its way through the air to settle around the fish’s mouth and gills. Satisfied that the fish was as comfortable as it could be, Candor turned the rest of her mind to the task of healing the hole. She focused, she asked, she waited, unsure if she were speaking out loud, unsure how much time had passed.
Finally, Candor felt the fish relax, its energy cooled once more. Candor returned the water and fish to the bowl, before slowly retracting her mind. As she did so, Candor felt the world go a bit grey; she had spent so much time in her expanded consciousness that she forgot how muted the colors were when she was in her normal state. Her hands shook as she took the bowl in her hands. As she turned to face Merigold, a wave of exhaustion hit her. Candor paused, willing herself to breathe. A few moments passed, and Candor recovered herself. She remembered healing Letti in the Kotemor and shared a grim moment of satisfaction with herself. She was strong.
“Why did you do that?” Candor asked Merigold, her voice hard. She looked up at the good-natured witch, only to see that the woman’s face had closed completely. The witch’s eyes were inscrutable, her lips pursed. Candor repeated her question. “Why would you kill him to teach me?”
“Pressure is the best way to learn.” Merigold’s voice sounded brittle.
“And if a student cannot save him?” Candor’s voice cracked at her teacher, who flinched.
“Then a fish dies.” Choah spoke again from the back of the room.
Candor rounded on him. “You treat life cavalierly, Choah.” She met his eyes, and he sat back in his chair, winded.
Candor returned to her desk, careful not to trip. She set the fish on her desk and looked around the room. With Choah being the only exception, the students considered her with expressions that ranged from fury to fear.
Candor did not care. She had seen enough of this place to know that this was not how she wished to learn majik. This, Candor thought to herself, is why Thorn is the way he is.
“How else,” Choah couldn’t seem to let Candor stew in her rage, “Do you propose we learn healing majik.”
Candor’s ire flared, and she found the edges of her vision wavering slightly, as if her mind strove by itself to enter into its limitless state. She maintained her control.
Slowly, Candor walked back to the desk on which the fish’s blood still lay. Slowly, she picked up the thin knife, and slowly, she walked back to face Choah.
His face remained amused. Candor lifted the knife so he could see it; a brief flash of fear flew through his eyes, just enough for Candor to be satisfied.
Quick as a flash, she brought the knife up through her left forearm, severing several tendons and an artery.
Candor gasped in spite of herself but gritted her teeth.
“Here.” She threw the knife onto Choah’s table and laid her arm in front of him. She planted her feet so she would not pass out, should he fail to heal her. “Heal me.”
Choah, Candor was pleased to see, seemed for a moment, utterly unsure of himself. He glanced at Merigold, who had joined the two in the back of the room.
“Can’t do it?” Candor asked. The pain had taken on a burning feeling, as if the knife had left something in her system.
“I can do it.” Choah’s gaze hardened, and he placed both hands over Candor’s arm. Her blood welled between his fingers, staining his hands red. The pressure was nearly pleasurable, and Candor struggled not to sigh with relief.
Merigold watched closely, as Choah began to mutter. Unable to control her mind, Candor slipped back into her limitless state, the room growing brighter, the colors more vivid. Candor heard every piece of Choah’s incantation and noted immediately the imperfections though she would not have been able to explain why. He had the intention of the spell correct, but he employed the language in such a way that bespoke his knowledge of it as secondhand. He was not fluent, though he was close.
Candor waited for him to ask for her name, even as she had asked the creatures and the pieces of the world with whom she had come in contact. He did not. Candor felt the sliced pieces of her arm begin to return to their severed ends, and she struggled not to scream. For a few moments, Candor felt a brief relief as the pain began to subside, but then felt a horrible hole begin to emanate from Choah. Candor watched as the man began to grow gaunt, his face pale.
Candor tried to open her mouth to tell him to stop, but she couldn’t. She looked at Merigold, but Merigold seemed to be helping Choah complete his task. She did not look up.
Choah, for his part, seemed to understand his strength was failing. He looked up, meeting Candor’s eyes. She felt his panic, and in his panic, his inability to sever the energy. Even as her tendons ripped back open, Candor used her own mind to shove Choah’s back into his own body. Merigold, finally aware that something had gone wrong, looked up. Candor slammed her consciousness into Merigold’s as well, causing the witch to stumble backwards.
Candor focused on Choah; color seemed to return the moment Candor had shut off his majik. He looked frightened for the first time since Candor had met him. His bravado gone, Choah looked up at Candor, whose eyes blazed violet in her pain and her triumph.
She looked down at her arm and tried to think of the words to heal it. Carefully, Candor probed the cut, but before she could attempt to heal it, found herself in fetal position on the floor, her mind having snapped itself back to normality.
Shaking, sweating, feverish, and blushing hard, Candor struggled to her feet, her pride badly wounded. Why do I do this? She thought, holding back tears. Am I broken?
Merigold reached out to touch Candor but thought better of it.
“This,” she said gently, “is why we practice on fish.”
“It is not right.” Candor could feel the lump in her throat threatening to curl into sobs. “That fish should not be in pain that I might learn from his death.”
“There is a hierarchy of life.” Merigold tried to explain. “We are but vessels, gifted with different abilities to channel this energy.”
“We do not matter more than that fish.” Candor felt her tears spill over; she did not look at Choah. She could not find the words to explain how true this was. And nobody seemed to understand this truth inherently.
Merigold simply looked at her sadly for a moment, as if she were a child. “Chrayse.” She said softly. Candor heard movement, and a student moved to the table.
“Heal her, please.” Merigold nodded.
Chrayse, a student who looked miraculously like Thorn, bent over Candor, before looking up at her.
“May I touch you?” He asked gently.
Candor nodded, not trusting her voice. She could not appreciate how much that small act of afforded agency meant to her.
Chrayse began to murmer, and Candor felt the same curling feeling of her flesh moving at someone else’s behest begin. She struggled not to shiver. After what felt like an hour, Candor felt the release of a fully healed wound.
“Thank you.” She said quietly, before dropping to the floor in a dead faint.
~.~
Candor woke in a moment of pure déjà vu. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering for a moment why she felt as though she had seen this ceiling before. A curious pattern stood out to her, stars and lines and sporadic dots. In her haze, Candor felt as though they might mean something, some long lost language from marble mouths.
With a second breath, the events of the day drew back into her mind as a clap of thunder, and Candor sat straight up in her bed. She was relieved to see that she had not been changed again and was pleased to note that her arm had healed. She also noticed that her bruising had vanished as well.
Candor swung her legs over the edge of the bed, but before she could stand, Merigold’s voice spoke from behind her.
Candor started, before calming herself. I am going to have to start searching a room before I move, she thought grumpily.
“Where did you train?” Merigold’s voice was hard, and Candor found herself saddened; she had hoped Merigold would remain an ally. Though after the morning with the fish, Candor shuddered, she thought she might not want any allies here at all.
“I didn’t.” Candor stood and faced the witch. Douine, Candor discovered, sat next to Merigold on the far side of the room. She beckoned, and Candor walked over to sit in front of them.
Their posture was more relaxed than Candor would have expected. She felt herself loosen a degree; she had not realized she had been tensing for a battle.
Candor ran through her options. She was running out of ways to avoid offering any information about herself.
“Candor,” Douine said, not unkindly, “what you did was dangerous. You clearly have some knowledge of majik, we expect this from our initiates. Rarely do candidates venture here with no majikal knowledge whatsoever. It is near folly. But we have never, and I mean never, seen a fluency such as yours right out of the trials.”
Candor hesitated, then sighed.
“I am half Fae.”
“Yes.” Douine nodded, “We’re older than you think. We know this. But you should still have had some training. You were clearly not raised Fae, and thus you should not have the intuit to perform as you did.”
Candor shrugged. “At this point, you know as much about me as I do. I didn’t find out I was half-Fae until a few weeks ago. I do not know what I should or should not know. I travelled with a someone who knew majik, someone cursed by the Fae—”
“What was her name?” Douine broke in sharply.
“His name,” Candor gave Douine a puzzled look, “Was Thorn.”
Douine and Merigold’s mouths fell open, and they exchanged a look. “Woden Thorn.” Merigold breathed.
Douine’s lips thinned. “He is not supposed to be teaching majik.”
“He didn’t teach me majik.” Candor only half lied. “No matter how much I asked him. And I was relentless.”
“Hmmpf.” Douine huffed. “That is good.”
They lapsed into silence.
“Tell me about your parents.” Douine finally broke the silence.
Candor shrugged. “I was adopted. Raised by two mothers. Molarné and Lolara—” Candor stopped.
Douine and Merigold’s faces had paled beyond what seemed healthy. “You have trained with a witch.”
“No,” Candor, beginning to understand a truth that she had long kept locked in the back of her mind,
“You misunderstand. I have never learned majik. Everyone has kept it from me.”
“And likely,” Merigold said faintly, “Because they knew what it would do to you.”
“Do to me?” Candor could have stamped her foot. “I have spent my whole life discovering questions and being offered no answers. Do not do this to me, please.”
Neither woman spoke for a moment.
“We need,” Douine began slowly, “to consult. If you can wait, I promise we will try to offer you answers. I assume, now, knowing a few more pieces of your background, that you did not come here to learn to be a witch, but rather, to learn about the world.” Douine wound her hands together in her lap. “Meet us on the last day of the week in the atrium. Until then, I would encourage you to attend classes, but to keep your majik to yourself. You need no more enemies in this world.”
Candor began to ask another question, but Douine held up her hand.
“Blyth is waiting for you.” She said simply. “Follow the path to the end of the garden. Then take the rope up.” Despite her earlier shock, Douine ended with a slightly exasperated tone. “I will see you at the end day meal.”
Candor recognized her dismissal, and as much as she wanted to pepper the witches with more questions, she realized she might actually find answers if she waited.
Biting her tongue, Candor stood, inclined her head, and marched out the far side of the room, stealing one last glance behind her. The witches had vanished.
Candor ruminated about both the witches’ reactions to her mothers’ names and the students’ casual acceptance of taking a life for training. Candor wondered why she was so struck by the fish. She had killed before. She had fished and clammed and eaten meat her entire life. She had killed in the black teeth, and she had killed soldiers.
And yet, Candor thought as she trotted to the gardens, this is different.
Perhaps it was the fact that the fish had to endure pain for someone else. Perhaps it was that she had felt the fear of the fish as it struggled on its little post. Perhaps—
Candor stopped as she reached the end of the garden. She had travelled further down the side of the terraced mountain than she had earlier trod with Choah, and Candor found herself facing a large tower. The tower curved like the neck of a swan, gracefully up and up until it curved into a tiny house. The effect was rather comical, much like a large dandelion sitting on the side of a hill. A long rope hung down from the top of the house; Candor realized there was no way up but to climb.
She almost chuckled, thinking of Douine’s exasperation. Blyth seemed to enjoy his status as oddity in the school.
Candor grasped the rope, feeling its weight, and crossed its tail between her feet. Holding the rope with her upper body, Candor scrunched her legs up and took clamped the rope between her shins. She squatted, and like an inchworm, Candor climbed northward.
At the top, Candor stepped off the rope, noting the specificity of where it hung. She cleaned her boots on the little mats that sat on the short porch in front of the curved door. The entire structure felt circular, its curves a soothing compliment to the staggered terrace of the gardens.
Before Candor could knock on the door, a voice sounded out the windows.
“Come in, Candor.”
Candor opened the door and walked in, careful to keep her feet from making noise. The room, despite the house’s outward appearance, boasted corners and felt much like a normal cottage. Candor noticed the little doors in each corner, presumably attending to a space between the external sphere and the internal cabin.
“I see you like my architecture.” Blyth stood near the far window, holding a small glass with dark liquid.
Candor was once again struck by the warmth of his voice. She wondered what his face had looked like before he had changed.
“I can show you,” Blyth turned to her, his eyes clear. “If you like.”
“Show me what?” Candor asked.
“What I looked like.” Blyth smiled gently. “Most people want to know. And they want to know what happened.”
“Would you like to tell me?” Candor asked.
Blyth blinked.
“I can’t imagine it is a pleasant story for you to constantly recount to interested students.” Candor shrugged. “I would be honored to hear if you’d like to tell me. But I do not have to know.”
Blyth took a moment, before smiling with an entirely different kind of warmth. “I think,” he said slowly, “We can move on to more interesting topics.”
Candor inclined her head.
“You are Fae.” Blyth walked to a small table and poured a second glass of the dark liquid. “Maele.” He said. “I brew it myself.”
“Thank you.” Candor took the drink and sniffed it, but she did not drink. Blyth did not remark on it.
“I am half Fae.” Candor nodded. “I was adopted at birth.”
“By Molarné and Lolara, a witch and a nun.” Blyth stroked his ruined chin.
There it was, in the open. Candor felt the air leave her lungs. She had known, in her heart of hearts, that Mo and Lola were what the witches had affirmed. She had simply not wished to confront it. For all her searching for answers, this was not an answer she had wished to be true.
Blyth watched Candor carefully. “You are not pleased with their identities.” He did not phrase this as a question.
“I am surprised.” Candor replied just as carefully. “I came here to learn, and I am learning many things.”
“A diplomatic answer.” Blyth sort of shrugged, as if irritated. “You hide too much from those who would help you.”
“I have trusted people who have taken advantange of me.” Candor shot back. After a hesitation, she briefly explained how Thorn took her blood during the ghosteater’s ceremony.
“He should not have done that.” Blyth acknowledged. “But he acted to the best of his ability in a situation in which he thought he would have more control. He has always been protective.”
Candor snorted. “Do you all know each other?”
“There are few of us left.” Blyth’s voice grew even lower. “There are some that we did not know were still alive.”
“My mothers.” Candor surmised.
“Indeed.”
The two individuals paused as if to take the sum of each other.
“You take issue with our teaching methods.” Blyth finally said. “I heard what you did with the fish.”
Candor bristled. “I do not think it worthwhile to play with a life for the purpose of learning majik.”
“How else would you learn?”
“A negative answer to a problem does not imply the original action is justified.” Candor retorted. “I do not know. I am not an expert witch. It strikes me as callous and unnecessary. It seems like it teaches those who would wield incredible power poor morals.”
There it was. Candor realized the ease with which these students, their numbness to the pain of such a small thing frightened her. This was not the way she had been raised.
“You are Fae.” Blyth said simply. “You will relate to the world differently.”
Candor didn’t respond, though she felt as though she had been punched in her gut.
~.~
“It is a well taken criticism.” Blyth sighed, the tension loosening in the room. “It is, however, an effective way to apply pressure to developing minds.”
Candor did not reply. “You teach these people that fish do not matter as much as they do. That is a slippery lesson to impart.”
“Would you recommend including a moral philosophy class?” Blyth asked, his lips quirking up into a sardonic smile.
Candor, feeling mocked, struggled to control her temper. She could not understand why this was such a difficult concept to consider.
“Imparting empathy,” she gritted, “Is never a wasted lesson.”
“Spoken in semantics, like a true witch.” Blyth nodded approvingly. “Do you understand how majik works?” Blyth switched topics quickly.
Candor shrugged. “Not enough.”
“Then I will tell you, as succinctly as possible. You will have one question to ask at the end of this, and only one question.” Blyth touched the end of his ruined nose. “Make sure it is the right one.”
Candor nodded.
“Majik is the energy between all things. It is the line of time that watches all material exist. When you ‘do’ majik, you are tugging on the relationship between these two things. You effectively pull things out of time, meddle with them, bend them to your will, and replace them in time.” Blyth took a sip of his Maele.
“The first language of all things allows we who execute this majik to manipulate the existence of other things, and that is because it is true. This language is both the first and the last boundary of all things; this is what Fae know and the language they speak. This language flows through them in a way that it does not for humans. If you noticed, the book Carza gave you allowed you to learn many of the words of this language, but it did not resonate with you because they were not true. They were not offered to you or learned in a true way.”
What does a true way mean? Candor wondered, but she did not ask. She would not waste her question.
“Majik is secreted away in the land, stronger in certain pockets than others, stronger in certain beings than others. As is the case with anything.”
Blyth fixed Candor with a piercing stare. “Do you know why Choah could not heal you today?”
Candor thought hard for a moment. She had contemplated this complication on the way to Blythe’s home. “Because I forced him to take an oath.”
“Precisely.” Blyth nodded briskly. “Your oath ensured he would not practice any majik against you. Not simply harmful majik. It was a powerful piece of majik, but it lost you a potential ally.”
Candor felt herself blush.
“I am not sure he realizes it, for the words you used in the oath were not words that a typical witch would learn unless they had studied with the Fae. I would assume you learned this from Thorn or from a Fae itself.”
Candor nodded.
“I thought so.” Blyth rubbed his wrist. “You have much yet to learn, and you will learn some here, but there is little we can teach you that will be effective if you do not learn to control your mind. You slip into your extension easily and occasionally without warning. It feels limitless. This is the natural state of the Fae; you did not grow from childhood like this. It will be challenging to relearn the way to exist within the world, but—” Blyth stopped suddenly, as if worried he had said too much. “But this is the way you will need to learn to live.” He finished slowly.
Candor, puzzled, wondered why he had phrased his concluding sentence as such. It was clearly not the way he had intended to finish the sentence when he had started it.
“I hope you learn from us what you can, and I hope you find what you are looking for. I will help you learn if you wish.” Blyth ended with a slight bow as if to indicate he were at her service.
Candor nodded. She had her question.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Blyth smiled slightly. “Because no one else will tell you this in so many words. I want you to be on your guard. You have been here a short time, but you have already seen much. You have seen some of the flaws in our system, and you have seen the way these people act. Power is a dangerous thing, Candor Haelfin. You would be wise to wield it when it is only absolutely necessary.”
Candor nodded.
“Now go.” Blyth shooed her; Candor noticed the skin on his fingers had fused two of them together. “I will see you at the end of the week.”
Acting on her second dismissal of the day, Candor turned and exited, catching a last glimpse of the man as she shut the door. He was watching her.
Quickly, Candor slid down the rope, careful not to garner any more injuries.
Only after she began her march back up the mountain did Candor consider that Douine and Merigold could not possibly have informed Blyth of her mothers’ names.
~.~
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