Candor woke a few hours later, feeling both remarkably refreshed and also as though her muscles had been struck repeatedly with various blunt instruments. Candor rose and wound through a few of the easier Aiadar poses, before stepping to the window and looking out over the Citadel.
They know I stole my sword, Candor thought to herself. The certainty did nothing to reassure Candor as she searched for a path forward. They stole it first, Candor groused. She did not regret taking her sword back, but neither did this righteous indignation help her form a plan.
Candor sighed and exited her room. She stole across the hallway and made her way to the library. Frustrated with the way she and Choah had left things the night before, and grossly displeased with the way the meeting had gone, Candor felt prickly, prone to fighting if provoked. She knew she should go swing her sword and calm herself down before she did something rash, but she did not have the time nor the patience.
Candor stalked among the shelves, trying to think of a plan.
A strain of a familiar voice caught Candor’s ear, and she crept towards the back of the library where the windows disappeared. Choah was whispering to someone, who was giggling.
Candor gritted her teeth and peered through the books. The scene was a familiar one; Choah tucked around the woman, her arms around his neck.
Candor stepped back and considered. A plan began to form in the shadows of her mind, the recesses of her thoughts.
Crouching, Candor snuck around until she could identify the woman with whom Choah was canoodling.
It was Chrayse, the woman who had healed Candor when she lost her limitless state. Candor grew somewhat guilty as she left the library, but steeled herself to her plan.
Casting her mind out, Candor sought the nearest student not in the library. Finding someone in the kitchen, Candor poked her head in.
“Greetings.” Candor strove to keep her face innocent. The young man looked up. Pity, Candor thought to herself, he was one of the ones who might have trusted me.
Nothing for it, Candor decided. “Do you think you could tell me where Chrayse’s room is?” She asked, keeping her voice light. “I wanted to drop her a book.”
The young man nodded and gave her instructions. Candor left wondering exactly how many people knew where her room was.
Finding the room, Candor cast her mind to check for any majikal defenses but found none. Quickly, Candor stole into the room, checked for something small to steal, found a scarf, and snuck back out. She returned to her room, desperately hoping this ploy would work in her favor. If not, Candor thought darkly, I might be plummeting off the mountain myself.
Candor tucked the scarf under her pillow and tried to sleep once more. So utterly exhausted was she, Candor actually slept through the night. A rarity these days, Candor thought sleepily when she awoke.
Dreading the day, Candor dressed and marched straight to the witches’ office. She hoped they would not mind she skipped breakfast. She had no desire to see any students this morning.
Candor paced, waiting for their return. Finally, Candor saw someone turn the corner and approach the door.
Merigold drew close and gestured for Candor to open the large, black entry, following her into the room. The rest of the witches already sat at the long table. Candor wondered idly how they made it past her after breakfast.
Merigold settled herself into her chair, and the scene from the day before repeated. Stealing herself, Candor sat.
“I have the stolen thing.” Candor began without preamble. “Here.” Candor stood and walked the few steps to place the scarf on the table.
Sitting back down, she waited.
Douine looked back up at Candor, but Farn spoke first.
“This is not what was stolen.” She was dismissive. “You know what was stolen.”
“This might not be what you were expecting, but it is stolen, I assure you.” Candor tossed her hair. “I stole it.”
The room fell silent, Farn’s eyes burning.
“This was not the intention of the test.” Douine finally said.
“You did not specify which stolen thing you wanted.” Candor did not drop her gaze. “You should have been more specific in your test criteria.”
Farn snarled, but it was Douine who spoke. “That is not majik.”
“There is small difference between majik and mayhem.” Candor spoke softly, echoing a softly lighted memory of Lola. “You should not exist in hypocrisy either.”
At a stalemate, Candor met the eyes of the witches in the room. “All I want,” she said slowly, “is to learn why I am here. There are too many mysteries now, for me to unravel. Lola sent me here for a reason. I need to know what she wanted me to learn.”
“Step outside for a moment, Candor.” Douine dismissed her.
Candor did as she was told, closing the door behind her. She waited as moments passed, wishing she could hear the conversation. Not entirely sure what was on the table, why she was being punished and what about her was causing them so much fear, Candor stewed, sinking into her limitless mind and occupying many strings of thought at once. She thought of Choah and his disappointment that she had not stolen the sword. She thought of his warmth and the way his muscles felt between her legs. She thought of her mothers and what they wanted for her, why they hadn’t told her who she was or how to use majik. She thought of Letti and Thorn, and what they had been doing since they left her, if time passed the same way in Icaria as it did at the Citadel.
The door creaked open, startling Candor from her frenetic reverie. Entering, Candor found the witches in the same place she had left them, with Farn looking intensely angry, and Douine looking tired. The men seemed uninterested, and Merigold regarded her with what seemed to be an excess of pity.
“You have earned both answers and punishment.” Douine began. “Some of us believe you deserve more than the following sentence, but seeing as you outsmarted the test, you will not be put off the mountain top.”
Candor felt her chest loosen.
“You are hereby convicted of thievery by your own confession, the punishment for which is fifty lashes administered by a student.” Tabor explained. “The purpose of this is twofold. Your body must endure the pain, and your mind must endure the knowledge that you are forcing a fellow student to cause pain. Understand that your punishment affects those around you, even as your misdeed does.” Tabor finished softly. “And lastly, you must return what you have stolen and apologize.”
Candor sighed. She nodded. “When do I get answers?”
“After you receive your lashes.” Douine said firmly. She stood. “We go now.”
Somewhat surprised, Candor was slightly relieved she would not have to dread the impending event. She stood and exited, leaving the door open for the witches.
“Where is this happening?” Candor asked.
“In the entry hall.” Douine answered. “And you may not heal yourself by majik.”
Candor shrugged, irritated more at the abundance of rules than the expectation of perpetual pain.
“Find the others.” Douine instructed, and the witches whisked off down different corridors.
“You caused us quite a row.” Douine said, voice softening slightly in the absence of her peers. “Farn will come around.”
“I assure you, Douine.” Candor spoke with complete sincerity. “I meant her no harm the day our minds met.”
“I know.” Douine shook her head. “You are so young. Farn should know what a threat feels like, but she was a young witch at the fall, and had little time to live outside this place.”
I hate this place, Candor thought bitterly.
“Don’t hate this place.” Douine chastised gently. “It is simply not the place for you. It was once a place of great power, the greatest minds of the land venturing here to learn and to expose the secrets of the universe. We are brought low, now.”
Candor found herself feeling sorry for the witches, Farn included. She sighed. “I just want to understand where I fit in to all of this.” She gestured.
“I know.” Douine shook her head. “We will offer you what information that we can.” She hesitated then said, “I do not foresee you staying with us long, however.”
Before Candor could ask what that meant, they swept into the hall, already filling with students. Candor spotted Chrayse, Taelia, Typher, but did not see Choah.
The ground rumbled, and Candor stepped back quickly. She looked to Douine, whose hands were outstretched. Slowly, she raised a large stone poll from the ground, the flag stones closing around its base, the rumbling silencing the space. The students crowded forward, and the witches stepped around to flank Douine.
“You have been gathered here today to witness a punishment.” Douine addressed the initiates. “One of your peers has been caught stealing and has admitted such. She will now return the item and apologize.”
Candor sighed internally. Chin high, she stepped forward to Chrayse and handed her the scarf. Stunned, Chrayse looked up at Candor with more betrayal in her eyes than Candor thought warranted.
“Chrayse,” she said in a strong, clear voice. “I apologize for taking your scarf. I have no excuse for it.”
Chrayse clutched the piece of fabric close to her chest as if it were her most precious item. Candor struggled not to roll her eyes. Perhaps it was, Candor thought to herself.
Candor returned to Douine and faced the group. The eyes upon her were now unfriendly, and Candor sought the face of the young man who had given her directions to Chrayse’s room. His face had crumpled, and he looked defeated. Candor felt a pang of guilt strike her heart. She had not meant to let them down. I had no choice. Candor thought harshly.
You could have taken Choah’s sword, a little voice in her head reasoned. You already knew where his room was. Candor ignored the voices in her head, focusing on the task at hand.
“Candor, you will now receive fifty lashes at the hands of another student. Please step forward and lock yourself to the pole.” Douine’s voice echoed through the hall.
Candor did as she was told. Locking the manacles around her own wrists, Candor could have laughed at the poor picture of irony she made.
“Let one who would administer the punishment come forward.” Douine’s voice was hard.
A moment of silence ensued, before Candor heard familiar footsteps make their way towards the witches. “I will do it.” Choah’s voice volunteered him a second time to cause bodily trauma to Candor.
A little thrill shivered through Candor, but as Choah stepped forward to raise her arms she kept her face blank. Roughly, he tore the back of her tunic open and snatched her chest binding off before stepping back. Candor did not see where he had picked up a whip, but she heard the whistle of it through the air as loudly as if it were thunder.
The first lash forced the breath from Candor’s lungs and grew a lump in her throat. I will not cry, Candor thought to herself. The second lash struck, and Candor felt her back as if it were on fire. She slipped into her limitless self, feeling the minds of those around her. They struggled with the sight; she could tell. Many were alit with conflict, though some were entirely enthralled by the spectacle. Candor was fascinated to see that some of the students did not have any defenses on their minds. The only minds with whom Candor had repeatedly engaged were the witches’. They were walled, their consciousnesses bound and intact, as a fist. About half of the students, Candor realized, had never been taught to consider their minds as external forces, never been taught to move them outside themselves. But some had. Candor gasped at this revelation, even as the whip sliced open her back. The pain heightened in this mind, and Candor reached down to grab the front of her tunic between her teeth.
Candor strove to listen to Choah’s mind but drew back quickly. His mind was walled, though Candor could sense the emotional turmoil behind its barriers. How is he defended? Candor thought, momentarily distracted. The lash returned her to the present, quickly.
Candor listened to the witches, feeling their dulled anguish. Farn, Candor was surprised to note, seemed awash in agony at her pain. Slightly gratified at this, Candor felt blood begin to drip down her back. She planted her feet, desperate to remain standing.
Candor came back to herself with a lash to her back and yelped. Scrambling back to her feet, she discovered she had passed out. She wondered how many lashes she had left and felt that tears had slid down her cheeks when she had been unconscious. She grew angry at herself. Her whole body shook. Candor found the unknown number of lashes left almost unbearable. She endured. She looked each witch in the eye, noting which dropped their gaze.
Finally, finally, no more whistles twanged through the air. Candor sagged against the pole, her trousers soaked with blood, the marble under her feet scorched red.
Her vision blurring, she heard Douine dismiss the students, listened to their hesitant footsteps ebbing from the hall. A few moments later, she felt arms around her waist.
“Easy, criya,” Choah’s voice was gentle. “I have you.”
“Take her to the infirmary.” Merigold’s voice crackled out of the encroaching darkness. “I will meet you there. You will need to help me, as I cannot administer majik.”
“Yes, Merigold.” Choah released Candor’s manacles, and she fell back against him.
She uttered a soft scream as her rent-open back struck his chest.
“I can carry you,” Choah said softly, “but it will hurt.”
“I can walk.” Candor growled.
“Not by yourself.” Choah wrapped Candor’s right arm around his shoulder, stretching her back.
Stumbling, and trying not to whimper, Candor leaned on Choah, allowing herself to be pulled towards the infirmary.
“Why did you steal from her?” Choah asked softly.
“You hurt me.” Candor groaned, but she could not finish the sentence, I won’t tell you anything.
“That is why you took the scarf?” Choah sounded surprised.
Candor leaned over and threw up on the stairs. Her legs collapsed.
“Ok.” Choah murmured. Without hesitation, he swept his arms under Candor’s knees and the back of her neck, taking care to avoid her back as much as possible.
Quickly, he ran up the remainder of the stairs, reaching the infirmary and placing her face down on the nearest bed.
“She needs water.” Candor heard Choah say.
“Give it to her.” Merigold’s voice sounded very far away.
Candor felt her chin lift slightly and hands, gentle hands on either side of her face. “You will be ok.” Choah’s voice sounded slightly frightened, but full of care.
Candor smiled. “I am dreaming,” she informed Choah.
“You should keep dreaming, criya.” Choah smoothed Candor’s matted hair away from her face. “Find me when you wake.”
~.~
For once, Candor awoke to pure silence. Once more, she found herself staring at the ceiling of the infirmary, the stars and swirls a mystery of some long-lost artist’s mind. Before moving, Candor cast her mind out to see if anyone was in the room. She was alone.
Carefully, Candor tried to move her body. She gasped; her back felt as though it were cast in fire. As gently as she could, Candor swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes watering from the pain. She could feel each scab tear and as it did, a fresh sting cut through her thoughts.
“You healed more quickly than we thought you would.” Merigold’s voice sounded from behind Candor.
Startled into twisting, Candor whimpered as she fell into a heap onto the bed.
“I’m sorry.” Merigold said.
“How do you do that?” Candor asked, teeth gritted. “I never hear you. I didn’t even hear your mind.”
“I’m sure you will learn soon enough.” Merigold’s voice was not unkind, but neither was it friendly. “There are few enough students who have arrived over the years who learn more than we intend to teach them.” Merigold approached the bed. “I expect you are about to be one.”
“Anyone,” Candor panted, trying to regain control of herself, “from the current cohort?”
Merigold did not answer. “Choah took good care of you. He’s not been attending courses for the three days you were incapacitated.”
“Three days?” Momentarily distracted, Candor looked up aghast. How was I out for three days?”
Merigold considered her, puzzled. “You sustained a massive trauma.”
“Do you know where he is?” Candor asked. She was rather pleased Choah had cared enough to visit. A small memory began to stutter to life in her mind.
“Did he,” Candor began. She struggled to her feet, wincing profusely as she did. “Did he bring me here?”
Merigold nodded. “I do not know where he is, but you are to see no one before you see Farn.”
“Farn?” Candor’s stomach dropped. “Why Farn?”
“She is to give you the answers you seek.” Merigold explained.
Candor snorted, earning a searing reminder from her back. This was going to be a problem.
“There is a bond between you now. Your animosity attracts you like magnets. This is not something I can change, nor Douine. This is the way of old majik. She must offer you what you need, and you must offer her forgiveness. Your conflict cannot maintain.”
Candor was too tired to ask what the semantics really meant. Irritation filled her, then emptied just as quickly. “She is in her chambers?”
Merigold nodded. “I will see you in class tomorrow.”
Candor, somewhat mollified that she would at least be allowed to continue training, shuffled stiffly towards the winding staircase outside the infirmary.
She passed no one as she made her way, excruciatingly slowly, towards Farn’s tower. Candor did not enjoy the thought of facing Farn in such a vulnerable state, but her desire for answers trumped her self-preservation instincts.
Passing the ever-empty basins, Candor watched the north tower loom over her, and she gritted her teeth. She passed through the first doorway and slowly climbed to the witch’s quarters.
She knocked, receiving a prompt “enter.”
Candor turned the knob and hobbled into the room. Farn sat in the same place she had the last time Candor had ventured into her abode. Her red hair hung in sagging whorls around her face, and her green eyes were ringed with dark smudges. She looked almost ill.
“Farn-sana.” Candor looked around to see if there were a chair she could sink into. She felt quite nauseous.
“Candor.” Farn stood and walked a chair over to her guest. “Please. Sit.”
Candor did as she was bade. Her back had descended into a dull throb, and her head was not far behind. “You look terrible.”
Farn snorted. “I could say the same of you.” Her icicle thin voice had subsided, leaving only a hard wall of doubt in its place. “I want you to know, I did not want to be the one to speak with you, any more than I expect you wanted to speak with me.”
Candor neither confirmed nor denied this assertion. “I just want answers.”
“Yes,” Farn nodded, sinking back into her own chair. “I believe I accused you of as much the last time we met here.”
“I did not deny it.” Candor replied.
“No. You have been remarkably genuine in your actions.” Farn shook her head. “I do not like the Fae.”
Candor, surprised at the abrupt turn of the conversation sat forward slightly, ignoring her back. “Why?”
“I once loved someone who was killed by a Fae. Around the time of the fall.” Farn explained. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Fae, who had been hunted for their bodies, fell upon him and his companions and slew them all.” Farn’s mouth worked as if she were trying to swallow something distasteful. “They took it upon themselves to be both judge and executioner.” Farn shook her head. “I never had the chance to say goodbye, nor did I ever find his body.”
“I’m sorry.” Candor meant it. “If it makes you feel any better, I will be hunted to the ends of the earth for who I am.”
Farn shrugged. “It does, to some extent. Though I know you must think less of me for this. I believe in the witch mission, to provide a power balance for the human race.”
“And using Fae dead to yet more improve the odds of the humans who outnumber the Fae is still rendering the power balance equal?” Candor rolled her eyes. “Some things don’t make other things better.”
“Eloquent.” Farn snapped.
“I’ve been asleep for three days and my back doesn’t seem to have any skin left.” Candor muttered. “Be gentle.”
“I will not.” Farn retorted, but she seemed to relent. “I look at you and all I see are the beings who struck my beloved. I have been here too long and seen too little of the world to well know compassion. But,” Farn seemed to deflate. “This is not your fault.”
Candor offered a tired smile. “At last, we agree.”
Farn rolled her eyes. “I know you took the sword.”
“Funny,” Candor retorted, “My sword was stolen from me when I arrived. There must be an epidemic.
But surely, when you catch the thief, you will whip them as you did me.” Candor met Farn’s eyes. “I want to know why I came here.”
Farn sat back, eyes narrowed, expression closed. “You bring many unknowns with you, Candor.” She finally began. “Your existence for one, half-Fae, is already an oddity. To know you were then raised by a witch and a nun, who should be dead or worse, forces us to question our understanding of Icaria right now. Things are clearly changing, and something is coming that we have neither foreseen nor have we the tools to handle.” Farn’s words poured quickly from her mouth.
“You have an oddly fluent grasp of majik, despite your age and your education. I have an idea why your mothers did not teach you majik, and I will explain. Your kind, Haelfin, is incredibly, incredibly rare; not even in the Pax Humana did Fae and humans mix readily. None here know what to expect from you or how to educate you. Like I said, the Citadel was created, and remains, a place to offer humans access to majik to maintain the balance of power.”
“The balance of power that no longer exists.” Candor interrupted.
Farn inclined her head. “We have debated if your power stems from the Fae’s near extinction. Much of the power of the first language is in its self-understanding that it is finite, that things end. This extinction paradox offers it power, and as the Fae are few, they too are more powerful. This might allow you to channel majik more easily. Your mixed blood might create some different channel for majik of which we are not aware. We simply do not know. This is a problem. You are a liability.”
Candor did not enjoy this title. It usually walked hand in hand with expendable.
“I will tell you fairly, I and none of us here have any idea why your mothers were taken, or your village burned. You must look elsewhere for this answer, as I am sure you will.” Farn fell silent, but just as quickly gazed at Candor. “I can tell you that Molarné was not Lolara’s partnered witch.”
Candor felt as though ice slid down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Farn sounded embarassed, “that they were not bound together. They must have met after they left the Citadel.”
“Why would they have stayed together?” Candor asked, nonplussed.
“Did they love each other?” Farn asked softly.
Candor nodded.
“Then there you are.” She shrugged.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“This isn’t a history for which I have any details.” Farn spread her hands in surrender. “I only know that Lolara’s nun was named something that started with an A, Affaile maybe. And I can’t remember who Molarné was bound to. They were very old.”
Candor sat quietly for a moment, absorbing this information. She wasn’t sure how to react; it reassured her in some ways, that her mothers chose to be together. Once more this new information also repelled her from their memory. There was so much they didn’t tell me. Candor’s chest grew warm with anger.
Farn, seemingly compassionate to Candor’s internal struggle, offered a new thought. “I can hazard a guess as to why your mothers did not teach you majik.”
Candor nodded.
“Because Fae exist outside of time as humans do, they do not engage bodily with majik the way we do. It runs through them to sustain them. For humans, it degrades us. This is why witches must also step out of time, lest we ruin our bodies trying to conduct it. New magic is addictive, but it burns the health from humans. It is psychologically addictive, but it also causes an overload on the human system. If you have ever met someone who has imbibed too much new magic, you will understand this.”
Candor thought of Miquen and shuddered, causing her to remember her back was recently flayed.
“For you,” Farn continued, “And again, we don’t know, but we hypothesize that whenever you use majik, it burns the human from your veins. You grow closer to Fae whenever you exercise majik. We do not know what this will do to you in the long run, if you will remain Fae forever, or if it will simply drive you to death earlier.”
Candor felt her body grow cold, then horribly warm. “How can I find this out?”
“You would need to find someone who had met another haelfin. Probably another Fae, considering there are so few witches left.” Farn actually offered Candor a glance filled with pity. “You are safe here; we are all out of time. But when you return to Icaria, I would encourage you not to practice majik until you learn what it might do to you. You must learn to control your mind, use your limitless self only, only when you need.”
Candor felt wretched. “Will you teach me?” She finally asked.
Farn, somewhat surprised, nodded slightly. “We have decided to let you stay, and Douine wanted me to tell you why. When we administered the universe test, you created instead of lashing out, trying to destroy or find us as we trapped you. I have never seen this response. It made a powerful impact on the other witches as well.”
Candor’s mind reeled. There were too many things to consider. She felt a soft buzzing begin in the back of her mind.
“We are a shadow of what we once were, Candor. When I studied here, I felt as though civilization itself flowed from these halls. Your first instinct was not to fight, despite your clear education towards this reaction. It was to pause, reflect. This is what we seek, what we are supposed to seek. You remain, but understand you likely make enemies here.”
Candor’s nausea returned. “I think I need some air.”
“We are done for now anyway.” Farn stood. “When you have questions, return to me and we can talk. I will help you understand history and majik, and I will attempt to help you control your mind. I would encourage you to rest for now.”
Candor stood awkwardly and turned to leave.
“Candor.” Farn’s voice was oddly constricted, “watch for Choah. He is not what he seems.”
~.~
Comments