Candor returned to her room after a short meal, utterly spent. As she opened the door, she froze. Something was different than she had left it. Glancing around the room, Candor focused on the little bowl on her nightstand.
It was the fish from class. It stared up at her warmly as she approached its home. Carefully, Candor extended her mind to the fish. It swam in a fast circle, and Candor felt some of her emotional fatigue ebb. She wondered who had left him here.
Candor pulled off her boots and stretched. I really need to practice the Aiadar tomorrow, she groused to herself. Her muscles itched. After so much time bearing physical activity, Candor found the rest particularly irksome. Never had she taken so much time between exertions. She resolved to find a way to spar in the next few days.
Her mind abuzz, Candor slept fitfully, her dreams full of dark images of her mothers, their faces half in shadow. She awoke stiff and tired to traipse down to the atrium for breakfast.
The meal was as subdued as the dinner the night prior. Secrets were impossible to keep in such a small student body, and Candor’s efforts in the healing class had not gone unnoticed. Only a few small murmurs broke the great silence, and Candor was more than happy to escape the kitchens after she finished the washing.
Unsure where to go or what to do, Candor retreated to the library, hoping to find some guide to her next class. Typher was not at the counter sorting books, nor did Candor see a flash of blonde hair anywhere. Unsatisfied, Candor roamed the halls, noticing the titles of books she had flown by the day before. Hearing a familiar voice, Candor’s ears pricked.
Moving towards the end of the bookshelves, Candor heard Choah whisper something. A woman’s voice responded, and Candor could tell by the tone that this was not a meeting they would like interrupted.
She stepped out to greet them.
“Choah.” Candor inclined her head. Her shaggy, white hair fell across her face, hiding, she hoped, her smirk.
“Candor.” Choah could not suppress his irritation.
When Candor looked up, she discovered him to have loosened his tunic, his bare skin visible beneath it, and his trousers were untied. The woman had turned her back to Candor, but Candor could tell her bodice was loose.
“Did you need something?” Choah asked.
Candor smiled innocently. “I was hoping you might tell me where Farn’s class is this morning.”
“Farn only teaches during midday, and her quarters are in the north tower. If you’re looking for a class this morning, you could stay and learn the first language with Carza.” Choah’s frustration seemed to evaporate in an instant, causing Candor alarm. “Or you could stay and study with us.” It was his turn to smile beatifically.
Struggling to regain the upper hand, Candor returned the smile, though she could feel herself blushing. “Thank you for the invitation. I have more pressing things to do.”
She turned, disappearing behind a shelf. She couldn’t help but peep through the tops of the books to see if they had returned to their ministrations; they had not. Choah’s eyes met Candor’s and she could tell he was grinning.
She gritted her teeth and tried not to stomp away. Despite her advantage, Candor felt she had lost that skirmish. Her heart racing and her hands shaking, Candor stopped for a moment. She felt the adrenaline of a battle course through her, and she frowned. Choah could not have been using majik against her, she had seen to that. So, what was this feeling?
“Will you be joining me today?” Carza’s voice sounded from behind Candor, and she jumped hard enough that she knocked a few books off the shelf.
As she replaced them, she looked up at the witch. His face was closed, no longer as kind as it had been the first time they had met, but neither was it displeased with her.
“I’d be honored.” Candor stood, trying to draw down the double dose of adrenaline in her veins.
“You did not study the books I gave you.” Carza said evenly as they began walking through the library.
“You used skills unbounded, untrained, and dangerous.”
“I acted on impulse.” Candor agreed. “But I stand by my intention.”
Carza sighed. “I cannot fault you for that.” He acknowledged. “But your execution lacked. I would have you study under me, so that you learn externally as well as internally.”
Candor cocked her head.
“You learn the first language intuitively, like any Fae.” Carza explained. “But you are also human, and you should only practice majik when you absolutely need to, lest you lose yourself.”
“What does that mean?” Candor asked, a creeping, bewildered feeling crawling over her heart. “Lose myself?”
“I don’t want you to have to introduce yourself to the world as a method of learning all the names of things. We haven’t even started grammar. That is less intuitive. The oath you made Choah swear was effective because it had been given to you by a Fae who knew the first language. You could likely cobble together an oath, but it might not do what you wished with simple words. You lack nuance, and I cannot have you experiencing this nuance, this learning, so late in your life and in your limitless state. It is not healthy.”
Candor blinked as Carza fell silent. She did not like the idea that she would have to close herself off to learn.
“The words in the book aren’t right.” Candor protested. “They don’t sound right when I say them.”
“Pronunciation matters.” Carza acknowledged. “In time, you will begin to learn how to learn majik without practicing it. You will be able to ingest much more of it that way.”
“Is that how the Fae practice it?” Candor asked.
“The Fae do not practice majik the way humans do.” Carza tried to explain. They had nearly reached the far wall of the library. “The Fae are majikal beings; their entire existence radiates majik. They do not have to cast a spell or weave an incantation to affect something; they practice it much more like you are currently doing. Their grasp of the first language and their power, however, is still much greater than ours.”
“Then how come they were so annihilated during the genocides?” Candor asked.
“It still takes incredible focus.” Carza explained. “And men are cruel and vast in numbers. While the Fae were once numerous, they do not breed like men. Their villages were well hidden, but once found, they could be overrun. And while the Fae require less focus than humans, and are much more able in their martial application, what would you do if you saw a knife at the edge of your friend’s throat?”
Carza shook his head. “The genocides were much less outright war than people think.”
“You speak as if you were there.” Candor strove to keep the accusation from her voice.
“I saw it.” Carza said evasively. “Here we are.” He pushed open another ornate wall that sat in dark contrast to the marble walls.
Candor pushed it open and saw a similar set up to the healing classroom. Students stood at the tables, but as soon as Candor entered, they fell silent, eyes wary.
By now, Candor could recognize every face at the Citadel, even if she didn’t know their names. She was not hopeful for introductions today.
Carza breezed around the room, issuing instructions and directing the students to pull out their study materials.
Candor, having no ink or paper herself simply sat and waited to begin memorization.
“Today we will be revisiting the division between present, past, and future in perception of time and how it affects articulation of verbs.” Carza began, and Candor resolved to find paper and a writing utensil.
She glanced around at the students; for the most part, each wrote with a long quill, but some wrote with sticks of wood wrapped around what appeared to be soft rock. The paper varied from rudimentary, thick pored to nicer parchment. Candor wondered where they procured it all.
Carza was still speaking. “The importance of this particular lesson, as we have discussed is to understand the timelessness of majik’s existence. Since the first language names all things in such a way that acknowledges their ending, as well as their origin, it exists outside of time, and therefore ignores our typical conjugation. It is imperative, however,” Carza stopped, and his gaze swooped over Candor, hovering over her ever so briefly, “that you understand this nuance, for it will elevate your incantations past simple words strung together for their individual meaning alone, bumping into each other like rocks in a stream.”
Candor did not follow entirely, but she got the gist of the lesson. By the end of it, she was itching to try to conjugate herself, but Carza did not issue any practice cases in class. Instead, he marched over to the wall of the room in which a dusty sheet of black rock sat in the wall. On it, he wrote with white chalk several words. He wrote in the common tongue, and next to it, Candor watched him write in flowing swirling script. It seemed like the center of a ripple or the veins of a leaf. Candor could almost sense the meaning of the word, though she could not read it as she read the common tongue. It tickled her brain, tugging on her skin as if she knew the feeling of the words spoken in voice.
“I want you to work on conjugating these verbs. Come back when you feel you are ready for corrections.” Carza waited for the students to file out before turning to exit.
“Candor?”
“Where might I find paper and a quill?” Candor asked. She was in no mood to ask the other students for help.
“We make our own paper and ink here.” Carza informed her. “And you can find a feather and make a quill for yourself.” Carza raised an eyebrow sternly. “I suggest you begin to make friends, Candor. These people will be your life for a long time.”
I think not, Candor thought to herself, but nodded and thanked the witch.
Exiting the classroom, Candor tooled up and down the aisles of the library, hoping to see Typher or Taelia, hoping to avoid Choah. She desperately did not want to introduce herself to another student, place herself in another student’s debt, but as she found no familiar faces, Candor resigned herself to that eventuality.
Walking past the long counter in the center aisle, Candor noticed Choah sitting with another student. His head bent close to hers, his eyes flicked up as she walked by. Candor averted her gaze, but the damage was done. Stones below, Candor swore to herself. She knew he had caught her looking.
Quick footsteps sounded behind Candor as she made her way to the great double doors; she was in no interest to continue to make a fool of herself. She would find paper later.
“Candor.” Choah’s voice called her name softly.
Candor’s skin prickled. He said her name with such authority, as if convinced she would turn around.
She did. “Choah.” Candor felt small.
Choah’s face had lost its usual mocking quality. Candor found she rather liked the softness in this version of his smile. “How did class go?”
“It went well.” Candor did not tell him she needed paper.
“Can I help you with anything?” The briefest trace of acerbity colored his voice, and Candor threw her guard back into place.
“I’ll think of some ways.” Candor smiled before turning on her heal and marching out of the library. Before the door closed, Candor turned to glimpse Choah having returned to the woman whom he was nuzzling. He did not look up.
Candor, angry at herself for reasons inarticulable, trudged through the Citadel, trying to gauge the way to the north tower by the sun alone. She had not seen a tower yet, besides Blyth’s odd little house. It seemed to her, however, that pieces of the Citadel seemed to appear and vanish as they wished. She wondered now that she had found new places, the angel fountain, Blyth’s home, if she could find them again, or if they had once more evaporated from reality.
In a bitter mood, Candor noticed a student ahead of her. As quickly as possible, Candor trotted up to him.
“Pardon me,” she said, trying to keep the politest tone possible, “could you show me the way to the north tower?”
The student, who had jumped at the sound of her voice, turned, and, noticing it was Candor, left his face blank. “Yes, it’s past the angel fountain, through the set of paired corridors, around the far side of the bathing terrace. You can’t miss it once you’re on the other side of the mountain.”
Candor thanked him, unwilling to ask him to expound on his explanation, and tiring quickly of the stoic stance many of the students seemed to have adopted in their interactions with her. I’d almost prefer outright hostility, Candor groused to herself. At least then, I’d get a spar.
Candor broke into a light jog through the Citadel, trying to retrace the steps that had brought her to the angel fountain. Finding it, Candor wound her way further than she had the first time, discovering, as the student had said, two open doorways to parallel hallways. Candor stopped short; one hallway was lighted, it had windows carved into the sides, and it seemed inviting. The other was dark, dingy, with the smell of damp things.
And yet, Candor was irresistibly drawn to it. Something deep inside her belly told her to take the dark hallway. Candor sighed, tightened her dagger, and stepped forward into the dark hall. There were no windows, and the far side did not seem to offer any light. Candor wondered if there were a door at the other end.
Indeed, there was. Candor stumbled upon the far side of the passage, her fingers grasping for a knob. Turning it, Candor found herself on the other side of the halls, no worse for the wear, smelling only slightly of mold.
That was odd, Candor thought, glancing at the lighted hall. The architecture opened quickly to a large, stone terrace inlaid with bright blue stone. The designs were beautiful, if worn, and Candor walked to the far edge of the veranda. The island stretched out before her, the sea far below. Candor noted that she seemed to have climbed several stories as she was walking, but she did not feel as though she had been rising in the Citadel; there were no stairs, no ramps. She simply seemed to have floated towards the heavens. Candor gritted her teeth. Something about that seemed wrong; to defy gravity should require work.
Candor turned to see a long, obelisk of a tower stretching to the side at the far edge of the porch. To her left, Candor finally noticed, were large basins that could clearly fill with water. Candor wondered idly if the students actually bathed here. I would always prefer the sea, Candor thought to herself.
Making her way to the tower, Candor gazed at the far edge of the ocean. The partnered lines ran parallel just above the bright blue water, the horizon and its mate. Candor still did not grasp how or why there were two skies here, but she filed the question away. She had more urgent puzzles that needed untangling.
Candor marched towards the tower, scrutinizing its base for a rope or some similar challenge upon entry. Seeing only a small door, Candor deliberated for a moment on whether to knock, before deciding against it. Twins know the witches don’t announce themselves, Candor thought sardonically.
Candor wound her way up the tower, a small staircase spiraling around the interior of the space. Candor wondered what the witches’ fascination was with living off the ground.
Coming upon a second door, Candor did decide to knock.
“Enter.” A voice as thin as a melting icicle called through the varnished wood.
Candor took a steadying breath before turning the knob. All at once a deep sense of foreboding had crashed upon her, a similar feeling to contemplating taking the lighted hallway, not a few moments earlier. Candor wondered if someone was practicing majik on her.
“Candor.” Farn sat at the far end of the round room, a dark blue dress draping her elegant frame. Her bright red hair hung in plaits down her back, and something seemed to shimmer around her person.
“Farn.” Candor inclined her head. “I am here for your class.”
“Yes,” Farn’s eyes were huge as she ogled Candor. Though her gaze harbored no malice, it was also far from friendly. Candor did not enjoy its weight. “You are early. Please, find a space.”
Candor looked around. This room had no desks around which to congregate. Candor found a shadowed space and stepped into it, noting the absence of corners left few hiding places.
“You want to learn about time?” Farn unwound herself from the chair and moved to stand in front of Candor.
She was curiously close, too close; it took much of Candor’s will not to step back. Farn’s green eyes bored into Candor’s own, and Candor could feel a presence pushing against her mind, as if a hand had alit on her forehead.
Gently, Candor opened her mind to its limitless state, the room growing lighter, the shadows darker.
The presence drew back before throwing itself into Candor’s mind. Candor struggled at first, disliking the feeling against her interior. It felt like biting into something unexpected, not painful exactly, but distasteful. Candor gritted her teeth, but gently welcomed the presence into herself. The presence was small, Candor could perceive, and it was attached to something outside her limitless self.
Candor felt as though she could see the presence, though the room remained the only thing in her view. Candor felt the emotion of the thing shift as it recognized it was no longer attacking. Candor tried to reassure it, that she meant it no harm. She tried to show it the way the sun speckled the checkered floor. Candor thought the dappling was beautiful.
Then, the presence began to squirm; Candor deduced it was trying to escape. She prodded it gently with her own mind, but her attempts at calming it only riled it.
Finally, Candor withdrew all attempts at connection and gently shuffled the presence from her mind. Candor noticed belatedly that Farn’s face had grown into a terrible grimace, her pupils dilated much too far.
“Are you ok?” Candor asked. She gently returned to her normal mind, slightly fatigued, but exhilarated.
Farn, having returned to herself, skittered back, hands in front of her as if she were trying to block a strike.
“What are you playing at?” She hissed.
Candor, for her part, tried to remember that Farn had pressed upon her first.
“I was welcoming you into my mind.” Candor answered stupidly.
“You were attacking me.” Farn’s already high voice grew reedier in her panic.
Candor, utterly nonplussed at the situation, and realizing she was rapidly making yet another new enemy, gaped at her teacher.
“I was trying to comfort you; you were welcome in my mind.” Candor held up her own hands in a gesture of surrender.
“You should not be here.” Farn spat. Her red hair seemed to quiver down her back. “You are a cursed child, belonging to no one.”
That was uncalled for, Candor thought to herself, but her heart contracted slightly. As much as Candor wished the statement was simply a barb, it was a hard truth wielded with spite.
“I am here to learn.” Candor said helplessly.
“No,” Farn shook her head, still breathing hard. “You are here for answers, and that is not the same thing. You are here for your own personal ends. That is not the purpose of a witch.”
Candor snorted. She couldn’t help herself. Farn’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Candor was not threatened; she had just learned her mind was much more formidable than this witch’s.
“You speak not of what you know.” Farn snapped.
“I haven’t spoken at all!” Candor retorted. Her temper flared.
“You will come to deserved ends.” Farn pointed at Candor. “You have the mark of No One, and you will never be loved as you desire.”
Candor had had enough of this. “I’ll see you next class, Farn.”
“Farn-sana.” Farn corrected.
Candor sighed. “Farn-sana. Perhaps next time you can teach me something useful.” Candor left a slight emphasis on the last word before turning and exiting the tower. She did not slam the door. Farn did not need any additional psychological punishment inflicted on her. Tearing down the stairs, Candor heard the bottom door open. She heard his gait as she fled and grabbed Choah by the collar as she exited.
Too surprised to react properly at first, Choah let himself be dragged for a brief moment, before reacting with a block and counter. Candor parried, placing her hand at his throat. Utterly aware of how close their bodies were, an awareness she had never before experienced in a fight, Candor took a deep breath. He smelled like crushed pine and night flowers, and the deep nostalgia of a fall rain.
“I need to spar.” Candor heard herself saying. “Do you know a place.”
Without unwinding himself, or taking her hand from his throat, Choah nodded. Candor felt his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly. He anticipated the fight.
“Follow me.”
Candor hesitated before stepping back carefully. Without asking why Candor no longer wished to attend class, Choah turned and swept out of the Citadel. He led her to another room, a door set into the marble walls much like Candor’s.
“Wait here.” Choah instructed.
Candor, skin still prickly from her recent encounters, and mind flipping in and out of her limitless state, Candor paced the hallway like a caged animal.
When Choah exited the space, he held two swords. He caught Candor mid stride, hands tightly on the sides of her upper arms.
“You need to calm yourself.” Choah’s voice was tranquil, patient but firm.
It took nearly all of Candor’s willpower not to throw the man to the floor, but in her reticence, Candor’s mind snapped back to its normal state. The walls were greyer, the shadows less pronounced, but Candor felt more in control.
“Thanks.” She muttered. She didn’t meet his eyes.
Choah turned and walked slowly, keeping Candor’s pace. He did not say anything, and Candor warmed at his respectful silence. She was in no mood to bandy words.
Choah led her down, through the garden, past Blyth’s odd nest-house, to the entrance of a path leading into the woods that peppered the rest of the island. Candor hesitated ever so slightly and hoped Choah hadn’t noticed. She was not keen on experiencing her trial twice.
“You won’t.” Choah said.
“Won’t what?” Candor asked.
“You won’t see any of what you saw again. You weren’t on this side of the sun.” Choah gestured around as if in explanation. “You see the two horizons, the blue sun. The Citadel exists alongside the time of Icaria. It’s not exactly outside of time, but rather parallel to it. The trials take place on the other side of the horizon. That which you endured does not exist here. You are safe.”
Candor’s stomach unclenched, and she smiled at Choah.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve smiled at me.” Choah chuckled. “It’s nice.”
Candor turned away, flushed. She focused on not tripping over stones, an easier feat for her than it seemed to be for Choah, though he was graceful.
The trees were tall, with some forming small groves before opening wide enough that Candor could see through them easily. The bark was lighter than the trees Candor had walked through for her trials. The leaves were just as wide, with some shading the sun and some letting it through. It spotted the ground at odd intervals, making the forest floor look as if it had puddles of sunshine splashed between its roots.
As the ground evened out, Choah led Candor out to the beach where the white sand met the crashing waves of the sea. Candor breathed out and let out an involuntary giggle of glee.
She had missed the waves. Candor ran to its edge, forgetting Choah for a moment. She stripped off her boots and socks and sunk her feet into the heavy sand.
Candor felt much of her frustration leach out of her. Choah came to stand next to her quietly.
“You are from the sea.” He surmised.
Candor nodded.
“Not a lot of sea in the Kotemor.” He observed quietly.
Candor did not reply. She sighed. The time had come for her guard to draw back up. The reprieve had been nice while it lasted.
“I am more or less a nomad at the moment.” Candor considered. “Or I was. Now I am here.”
“But you started your life in a village.” Choah gazed intently at Candor.
“Aye.” Candor shrugged.” Things change.”
“Indeed.” Choah said, almost to himself.
They lapsed into silence.
“Come here.” Choah finally shifted his feet. “I want to show you something.”
Reluctantly, Candor withdrew her feet from the ocean’s embrace. She followed Choah up the beach, remembering the story of sea stars, feeling the sand grit between her feet. She regretted the loss of her callouses; travelling in boots for so long had made her feet soft. Candor resolved to walk barefoot at the Citadel.
Candor refocused on Choah as he rounded a corner, and the little structure in which Cnador had spent her first night on the island appeared.
“This is the great lighthouse of Bartholomew.” Choah looked excited. “When the Citadel was first built, its inhabitants needed some way to signal incoming ships. Bartholomew, an early witch, lived down here. He would throw up light, pulling from the first moon when a ship appeared on the horizon and guide them to the shore.”
Candor smiled. She found the little building’s origin apt.
“I stayed here.” Candor said proudly, “My first night when the tempest still raged.”
Chaoh’s head snapped to Candor’s face. “What do you mean you stayed here?” He asked sharply.
Candor explained how she had crawled from the ocean with a broken shoulder.
Choah looked at her oddly. “The lighthouse is on this side of the blue sun.” He shook his head. “You should not have been able to see it, let alone step into it.”
Candor shrugged uncomfortably. “It saved my life.”
Choah considered for a moment, before apparently deciding to drop the subject. “Well, did you make it to the rocks?” He asked.
Candor shook her head.
Choah nodded and began walking briskly ahead of her. He led her around the little spit that stuck out during low tide to a huge pile of rocks on the far side of a copse of trees.
“Climbing gets my mind off things.” Choah explained as he began scaling.
Flushed with the delight of a challenge, Candor scurried up the rocks, laughing as she nearly flew by Choah.
At the top, Candor crossed her legs and stared out at the sea. Choah joined her, breathing much more easily than Candor would have expected.
Candor gazed over the ocean, thinking of Letti and Thorn. It felt like months had passed since she’d seen them, though she knew it had only been a few days. She wondered where they were, what they were doing. Candor ached to be with them; Thorn seemed like a good tradeoff now.
“What are you thinking about?” Choah asked. Candor detected a slight edge to his voice, but she could not place what had triggered it.
“Companions.” Candor smiled sadly. “Where are you from, Choah? Who is your family? Did they send you here?”
Choah, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken, looked thoughtful.
“I am from the north as well, but I was not a nomad. I hail from an aristocratic family. An old one.” He smiled sardonically, his mocking manner returned. “As to whether my family sent me, they did not. They have little ambition.”
Candor did not know how to respond. “I imagine you won’t see them again.”
Choah shrugged. “For children of the aristocracy, we don’t see our families much anyway.”
Candor paused for a moment, before commenting, “That’s sad.” She meant it.
“That’s life.” Choah snapped, then struggled to return to himself. “We can’t all be family-less nomads.”
Candor pressed her lips together. “What is your family name?” She asked.
“I thought you wanted to spar.” Choah hopped up, ignoring the question.
Sensing the avoidance, Candor stood as well, dreading the feel of a new sword. When Choah handed it to her, Candor tossed it back and forth between her hands, feeling its weight, its balance, the nature of how it moved through the air.
“You are skilled.” Choah’s voice rang with genuine curiosity.
“You are as well.” Candor swung the blade around and brought it down towards Choah’s neck. He made no move to stop her.
She stopped it a hairsbreadth from the clean angle where his shoulder met his neck. Choah offered a crooked smile. Candor felt her heart skip, and, in a fit of impulse, darted forward and placed her finger in the space her sword had just vacated. The tip of her finger could feel the throb of his blood under his skin.
The world drew close; Candor could feel each sigh of air between them. Her fingers still hovered above his neck, and Choah watched her, carefully.
All at once, the world returned to its regular speed, and Candor stepped back quickly, focusing entirely on the cold metal in her hand. Her heart raced. She ignored it. She separated her mind and her body, willing the latter to control the former. Twirling the sword around her wrist, Candor felt the imbalance between the tip of the blade and the shaft that met the hilt. It was a well-intentioned blade, she thought, keeping emotion from her assessment, but it was not her indigo blade. It was forged by human hands, and, Candor had deduced, her inherited sword was not.
I will find it. Candor thought acidly, before swinging the grey blade over her head towards Choah.
Her strength surprised her; she was not as stiff as she had expected to be. Choah parried lazily and thrust back towards her. Candor danced out of the way, allowing his blade to come close to her ribs. She feinted over his hilt, before tipping her sword up at the last moment, catching him off guard, and drawing the slightest blood from under his chin.
Startled, Choah sashayed back, his face closing. Candor grinned. It had been too long; this was where she belonged. She wielded a sword. She sheathed her body between the air and sea. It strengthened her. It gave her life.
After a few more bouts, Candor allowed Choah to strike a blow to her thigh, careful to catch the flat side of his blade.
“You are excellent.” Candor placed her sword on the ground between them and stretched towards the sky.
“You let me win.” Choah’s mocking tone had returned, and Candor turned towards him, euphoria fading as quickly as a blood fleeing an open wound.
“I did.” Candor nodded. “There is little point in crushing an opponent over and over again during sparring. Neither partner is bettered that way.”
Choah looked as though he wanted to respond but seemed to think better of it. He bit his lip and flopped to the ground.
“I’m sorry.” Candor said. She meant it. She was unsure how to handle Choah’s rapid mood swing.
Whenever Candor and Mo had sparred, even when I sparred with Thorn, Candor thought, she had always felt cleansed, no matter how often she lost. She felt renewed, appropriately tired, but ready. Choah, it seemed, only wanted to win.
Unsure what to say, Candor returned to her sword and picked it up. She wanted to try something. Carefully, Candor opened her mind to its limitless state. Carefully, she began to wind her way through the Aiadar, keeping her focus on the way her blade moved through the air. Her movement was smooth, smoother than she had ever felt before. Giddy, Candor moved faster, slicing through the air, wheeling between the small eddies of breeze Candor could almost see. Finally, Candor stopped, sensing wonder and fear from around her. Taking a moment to draw back into herself, Candor turned, the world lessening in color and light, to find Choah on one knee, observing her.
“You are Fae.” He said.
Candor’s blood ran cold.
“The witches know. They have to.” Choah’s lips moved rigidly, as if he had forgotten for a moment he was speaking aloud. “And they let you stay.”
“I am not here to cause problems.” Candor felt as though she had the air crushed from her lungs for a moment. “I am here to learn.”
“Because you are still young.” Choah shook his head. Wobbling ever so slightly, he stood.
He turned and faced the sea, walking over the large, smooth rock faces. For a moment, Candor thought he was going to throw himself into the watery abyss. Finally, he turned back to her.
“How did you like my blade?” He asked.
“You have returned to yourself.” Candor observed, unnerved at his reaction to her guessed identity.
“Forgive me.” Choah smiled, though his charm could not hide something deeply disturbed behind his eyes. “I helped forge the sword.”
“It is a fine blade.” Candor held the sword so that its edge caught the light. Something etched in the side glittered, but Candor did not have the time to read it before she heard Choah’s feet move ever so slightly.
Candor’s gaze whipped up, and she took an involuntary step into a fighting stance.
“Peace.” Choah held up his hands. Candor noticed he had left his sword behind him on the ground.
“I have missed this.” Candor straightened and offered Choah a shy smile.
“I like when you smile like that.” Choah’s mercurial nature unnerved Candor even as it fascinated her.
Every interaction was unpredictable and wildly engaging. She loathed him for it. She prided herself on control.
“I lost my sword.” She finally said.
“You threw it away.” Choah grinned.
“I did.” Candor shook her head. “And my other sword seems to have been stolen from my things.”
Choah froze. “Really?” He sounded thoughtful.
“I did not lose it to the sea.” Candor said softly.
Choah remained silent for a moment. “Let’s go find it.” In a fit of energy, Choah whirled, snatched his sword from the ground, and began to trot back towards the lighthouse.
“Choah.” Candor, utterly baffled, grabbed her own borrowed weapon and followed Choah over the sand.
“I have an idea where it might be.” Choah explained cheerfully.
“Why?” Candor asked suspiciously. “Did you take it?”
“Nope.” Choah led her back through the forest. “But I think I know who did.”
Candor continued to pester him to no avail. Choah whistled a happy tune as he led Candor through the garden and up through the winding marble of the Citadel.
Finally, Choah stopped abruptly at a dark, wooden door set into a white wall.
“What is this?” Candor asked.
“This is the witches’ office.” Choah explained. “In the corner, there’s a large wardrobe, and inside it, I think you will find what you are looking for.”
Choah gently pressed Candor to face him. She felt the roughness of his palms and was reminded of the smoothness between his neck and shoulder. She shuddered ever so slightly.
“How do you know this?” Candor asked. Her voice hitched slightly, and she flushed.
Choah smirked, confident. “I know lots of things.”
“Always so self-assured.” Candor, recovering herself, rolled her eyes. “This does not—”
“They’re the only ones who could have had access to your bags.” Choah interrupted. “I will create a distraction, and you may enter.” Before Candor could protest, Choah bounded away, sword and sheath in hand.
“I still have your sword.” Candor muttered stupidly. She stepped back from the door, shielding herself behind a large column built into the walls.
Candor waited for a few moments before peering beyond the semi-cylinder of stone. A crash startled her back to her hiding place, her pulse racing. Another huge crash, and Candor heard Farn’s high, frozen voice and Blyth’s warm baritone conversing quickly.
“What in the name of the twins—” Farn asked.
“I don’t know.”
“She’s got something to do with this.” Farn asserted.
“The Fae is not responsible for every foul thing here.” Blyth’s scorn was obvious. Too quickly, too abruptly, their voices vanished, and Candor peered out once more. They had disappeared.
Candor, gut lurching, made note of the short conversation before darting around the column and opening the door as quietly as she could.
True to his word, Choah’s promised wardrobe sat on the far side of the room. Tall and dark, it stood curiously out of place in the bright, white chamber.
Cautiously, Candor approached the piece of furniture. Distrusting the witches completely, Candor sank into her limitless mind, probing the dead wood, the air around it, tracing it with her thoughts.
A tune seemed to ring from it, though it made no sound. Candor ran her mind around the noise, and discovered, surprised, that it was majik.
“Twins above,” Candor breathed, this was what Thorn must have meant by the trace.
The tune grew wilder as Candor approached; it blew like a soft flute through her mind, warning her of its presence.
Gently, Candor reached out to the sound, trying to understand it as she did the wind. She asked it its name, and it did not respond. Frowning, and aware she was running out of time, Candor considered. It did not have a name, so she could not ask it to do her bidding, probably, Candor assessed, because it is already under someone else’s will.
Candor raised a hand, hesitating. Moving her mind purposefully, Candor approached the liquid sound trying to separate it as if she were holding a rock under a waterfall.
Even as the water would split, Candor could feel the tune splintering, joining itself, and leaving a hole for her to reach the wardrobe without encountering the majik.
Quickly, holding her mind steady, Candor opened the large double doors and peered inside. Leaning against the back, further back than Candor would have expected the wardrobe to go, the indigo sword shimmered.
Careful to keep the door cracked, Candor darted into the wardrobe snatching her sword. As she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, Candor sighed and nearly shivered with pleasure. It felt so much better in her hand than any blade she had ever held. Strapping it to her back, Candor turned to go.
As she stepped, Candor felt Farn’s presence approaching the door. She assumed the accompanying mind was Blyth’s, though she had not been so intimately engaged with Blyth’s mind to know for certain.
Gritting her teeth, Candor released the majik she had been holding over the wardrobe, but left the door cracked as little as she dared. Something about the space did not feel right, and Candor worried if she shut herself in, she’d never see the light again.
“He frightens the other students.” Blyth said quietly.
“We should not have let him fight her on the mountain top.” Farn’s voice was curiously strained.
“He volunteered.” Blyth replied. “Nobody here can change those rules. They are as old as the Citadel itself.”
“Then we should have left him below.”
“And explained it to him how?” Douine’s voice joined the mélange, and Candor tried not to jump. She had not heard the door open, nor had she sensed a presence moving. It seemed as if Douine had just appeared.
“No.” Douine continued. “There was nothing to do but let it play the way it did. We cannot help if he takes the interest he does in her. We can but hope she defends herself as best she can.”
Someone snorted. “She is a child.” Merigold. “She knows less of the world than he, and her very existence puts her in danger.”
“Aye.” Douine replied softly. “Which is why we must teach her.”
“We must assess her first.” Farn snapped, the little care in her voice leached out. “And she is not as gentle as you think. She broke into my mind as easily as a wolf breaks into a chicken coop.”
“You attacked her.” Blyth parried her softly. “She does not know yet what she is or how her majik works. And it will work differently for her than it does for us.”
“Then we should not teach her.” Farn snapped back. “No need to sharpen an axe when we fight with swords.”
“A curious comparison.” Carza stepped in. Candor gritted her teeth. It did indeed seem as though all the witches had gathered. How am I ever going to get out? “Especially as she brought with her a Timora.”
“Every nun-blade was supposed to be buried after the fall.” Tabor’s voice was low, but urgent. “There is no feasible way she should have one.”
“She has Molarné’s.” Douine said. “This is no surprise. What is curious is why Molarné would have given it to her. She knew Timorae cannot be wielded by any other than the nun for which it was forged.”
“She can.” Carza said softly. “It is not as if she would not have trained with it. Why carry a nun-blade, knowing her skill with a sword, and not train with it?”
“She didn’t fight with it on the mountain,” said Farn.
“Because the trials had taken her possessions by that point.” Tabor explained. “We have no idea if she has actually wielded it in battle or not.”
“It will fail her in battle.” Douine said softly. “We must warn her.”
“We took it.” Farn dismissed this problem. “This will not befall her, no matter how much I think it should.”
“She has done nothing but wound your pride, Farn.” Carza chastised the witch. “And had you taught her, she might have learned not to repeat her mistake.”
The room fell silent. Candor felt the presences throbbing against her own mind, each a swirling mire of worry, trepidation, and pain.
Candor drew away from them, stung by such strong emotions. One by one, they disappeared from the room, and Candor resumed her splitting of the majik that surrounded her cage.
As quietly and as quickly as she dared, Candor darted back out of the room, sprinting through the corridors, one sword in her hand, one tapping on her back. She looked for Choah in the halls but could not find him. Desperate to avoid any witches while she held her indigo sword, but also uninclined to leave it alone in her room, Candor dithered for a brief moment, before choosing a path. Running to the garden, Candor followed the trail she had just walked with Choah and found a suitable tree.
Carefully, she tied her indigo sword to a branch and marked the tree trunk with a V. Satisfied, Candor returned to the halls of the Citadel, beginning with the kitchen to start her search for Choah. A crash that would have drawn the witches would likely have emanated from one of the three common areas, Candor assessed.
Reaching the kitchen, Candor burst through the doorway to see a few students standing by the hearth on the far side of the room. Char marks littered the floor, as did the remains of what were once dishes.
“What happened?” Candor gasped.
Two students looked up as Candor knelt to help pick up shards of glass.
“The stacks fell.” The male student pointed towards the top of the stone that lined the hearth, and Candor saw the cabinet doors open.
“It happens sometimes.” The young woman explained. “The fire heats the wood, and it swells, popping off its hinges. The force knocks the plates from their positions.”
The young man nodded. “We fix them, but it always gives the witches a fright.” He chuckled. “You’d think they’d learn by now.”
The young woman smiled too. “They always think the worst.”
“Which is not unfair.” Candor muttered.
“I suppose not.” The male student stood, his basket full of shards. “Accidents happen all the same.”
“Accidents.” Candor repeated faintly. “This wasn’t intentional?”
“Intentional?” The woman asked, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Candor felt a dull buzzing fill her mind, and she allowed herself to return to her limitless state, just for a moment.
“Would you like to help us repair these?” The man asked kindly.
Candoor nodded and spent the next few minutes learning the words and commands required for the task.
Only after she had returned to her room, unable to process the events of the day, did Candor think about the implications of the kitchen cacophony. Did Choah actually cause the distraction? Did he make it seem like an accident? Or was the accident simply good timing? Candor’s thoughts wound sluggishly around in her head, and she grew frustrated with herself. Why does it matter? I got my sword. Candor considered her blade, snug against the bark of a tall tree. It matters because you want to trust him, a small voice in Candor’s head whispered, and you know you can’t trust anyone in this place.
Candor slung herself onto her bed, thoroughly dejected, despite the acquisition of her sword. Deciding to think on it all in the morning, Candor allowed herself to sink towards a slumber. It was only on the edge of sleep that Candor remembered that she had not once heard the door open or close during her tenure in the wardrobe.
Funny, thought Candor sleepily, nothing is right here.
~.~
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