An Unattainable Magic

A New Arrival

She stood, almost frozen, at the end of the drive; her auburn curls pouring from a loose ponytail sitting at the nape of her neck as the wind whipped around her. She pulled her sage cardigan tighter around her ample frame, looking down at the small, crumpled parchment in her left hand. Taking a deep breath, she hoisted her patchwork bag back onto her shoulder. The sound of her chocolate, leather boots crunching through the inch or so of snow calmed her, and her breathing steadied. The closer she got to the house, the more she realized it was everything she had expected it to be; the ramshackle appearance was made only better by the fact that the building looked more like several small houses crashed together in some sort of wind storm. The front, and main portion, of the building looked like a quaint, country cottage; a large, wooden door with a brass, lion-paw knocker greeted her. 

It did not take more than a second before the door was opened. In the doorway was a large, leathery skinned man with kind, blue eyes. In his salt and pepper dreadlocks were several intricate beads, and there was almost a glow about him. "Ah! I've been expecting you," he boomed. Gesturing for her to come inside, the man stepped out of her way. Inside the cottage was a large, stone fireplace and a beautiful, handcrafted, wood table. The man sat, and the girl took the seat opposite him. "You were quite persistent to come here, young lady," he said with a glimmer in his eyes. "I don't usually take on five students at a time, of which you are much aware. However, with Tristan becoming a master apprentice, I made the choice to allow you to join my junior apprentices." He reached into a large pocket on his shirt and pulled out a pipe, which he lit with a snap of his fingers.

            The young ladies’ eyes lit up with excitement, watching his every movement through the process, wondering how long it would take her to be able to mimic his ability. Her astonishment did not go unnoticed by her new mentor, the greatest Master Warlock in all Ceokia: Paris Graemeyer. "Now," he grumbled, standing from the large table, "let me show you to your new quarters." Paris started towards a set of wrought iron, spiral stairs. Judging by their location, she realized they led to the western most side of the incongruous structure, the side she had previously noted looked like one of the modern sky buildings the young lady had seen when she traveled through Oksey, the capitol city of Ceokia's Western Quarter. Paris's school resided in Owirie, on the South West border of the Western Region. As they climbed the stairs to the third level, the young lady noted several doors, all wildly decorated, lined the hallway. 

            "This is where all my junior apprentices stay," Paris explained. He pointed to each door in turn and made clear to whom each room belonged. "The door with the tree on it belongs to my own niece, who has been with my five years. Her name is Cedar, and the tree changes with both her emotions and the seasons. Next to her room, the door with the snakes, that room belongs to Sinclair. The snakes are charmed to tell riddles, and that's how anyone who is not he himself has to enter the room." He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "He has been with me for four and a half years. The young man on your side of the hallway has been with me for three years," Paris pointed to a door with an enchanted ocean scene; a ship floated calmly on the waters as a light snow fell. "His door also changes with his mood and the weather. His name is Orion."

            As they approached the last door on the left side of the hallway, the young lady noticed her name, etched in beautiful gold lettering. She reached out, and gingerly fingered the letters of her name: 'Absidae'. Smiling an almost sad, half smile, she turned to her new mentor. "Thank you for accepting me, Paris. I know you didn't have to, and I know it's taking on more than you're used to..." Absidae trailed off, as if lost in her own thoughts. She shook her head, curls falling loose from her tied back hair as she did. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, thank you," her singsong, alto voice made the letters on the door shimmer, almost coming to life. Paris pointed out the bathroom at the end of the hall, the stairs leading to the fourth-floor study, where all their books would be kept. He mentioned the second floor, which was for practical practice, so as not to damage his garden before they had their magic more under control. 

            "The South Wing, which you saw when you entered, is the common area. You merely saw the kitchen. There is also a living area and an entrance to the garden. As for the other wings of the house," Paris said as he turned back towards the stairs, "You must be accompanied by me or my master apprentice, Tristan, to enter them. The East Wing is where he and I stay, that is the portion of the building that looks like it belongs attached to the cottage. The North Wing, that is the one that looks like a laboratory, is for alchemy and potions making. Tristan teaches alchemy and potions a few times a month and will let you and the others know when those classes will be. Otherwise, most of your studies will be on your own, overseen by myself and him. Dinner is at second sundown. Until then, please make yourself at home," Paris waved over his shoulder, leaving her to enter her room for the first time. 

            Absidae pushed her door gently and gasped at the beauty of it. She assumed her fellow apprentices must have had something to do with it; there was a beautiful set of potted plants, a terrarium with a small, color changing lizard, and a compass in a bowl of water that seemed to be spinning out of control. The kindness of these people, whom she had not even met yet, amazed her. Her bed was modest, but that was something Absidae was used to; she had bounced from place to place for most of her life that she could remember. Tugging her mangled, auburn hair out of the tie that held it, Absidae dropped her patchwork bag onto the bed. Before she had a chance to start unpacking, the door burst open, and the oddest assortment of three people she had ever seen in her life (and Absidae had been to most every capitol city in Ceokia) stood before her. 

            "Oh, you're finally here!" The girl said in excitement. She was slender, tall, and dark skinned like her uncle. Her hair was tight, ring curls of gold and black, and her eyes were the same ice blue of Paris. "Uncle Paris said we were finally getting another girl here! I've been surrounded by boys for ages!" Cedar chuckled, Absidae liked the friendly noise. Not many people had been friendly to her in her short life. "This is Sinclair, he-"

            "I can introduce myself," Sinclair interrupted, shooting her a smug glance before smirking, his yellow eyes glowing playfully. "Sinclair Heyward, at your service," he flourished a bow, almost comically. His black hair was cut into a Mohawk, which lay limply on the left side of his mostly bald head. On the right side of his pale scalp, a black ink lizard curled from the base of his neck to his temple, the only color showing in it were eyes that matched his own piercing, yellow ones. 

            Standing shyly behind the two of them was who Absidae could only assume was Orion. He was taller than the others, with an olive complexion and, although he was slender, Absidae could tell he was muscular. What she could see of his eyes were a warm, maple color. She could not see them very well, as his wavy, beige hair fell over his lowered brow. She smiled kindly, and he returned the gesture. "I'm Absidae," she murmured. "I go by Sid, though. No one has called me Absidae in ages," the young lady revealed, her honey colored eyes shifting between her three new companions. 

            Cedar placed her hand gingerly on the other girls’ shoulder. "We'll let you get settled, and we'll see you at dinner. It's Paris's night to cook, so it's bound to be amazing!" Sid noted to herself how this young woman seemed to emphasize something, in every sentence she uttered. The group dispersed, all going to their respective rooms. Absidae closed her door, much more softly than the others had, and slumped down it until she sat on the floor. Pulling her legs up to her chest, and resting her forehead on her knees, she let out a single, quiet sob. Ayden, I wish you could see me now. I finally made it, big brother...finally.

*                                                                                                                                            *

            Only after all the clatter of the others running down the stairs when the second sun set in the North, did Absidae retreat from the confines of her own chamber, and she padded softly down the stairs and into the dining area. The others were all seated around the large, wooden table, including a young man with striking, shamrock green hair Sid had ever seen. His crisp, chocolate eyes bore into her, and she suddenly felt extremely insecure. Cedar gestured to the seat next to her on the family-style bench, and Absidae shyly sat next to her. Paris served the six of them a hearty, delicious smelling stew, after which he stood. “Oh, Mother Goddess, we thank you for the blessings of the food before us, and the addition of Absidae to our numbers. Continue to bless us in the coming seasons,” he concluded the blessing of the food by taking his seat. 

            Orion began passing around a plate of thick cut, toasted bread. “So,” Cedar gurgled through mouthfuls of stew, “where are you from, Sid?” Paris cleared his throat and gave her a look of caution, but Sid held up her right hand, gently stopping the old warlock from disallowing the question.

            Absidae took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s no point in hiding it, and I don’t want any pity from anyone here,” she pulled her sage cardigan down, revealing a pattern of scars: everything from burns to deep, violent slashes. “My family was from Oitsa,” there was a collective gasp. Everyone in the Western Quarter knew of the m******e. Rogue vampires had attacked and burned an entire village, killing everybody. “I was three when the m******e happened. My older brother was ordered by my mother and father, who were both accomplished wizards, to hide and protect me. My mother was Blaire Walker- “

            “Wait…you mean the Blaire Walker?” Tristan interrupted, obviously impressed with the newest addition to their numbers.

The baritone quality of his voice shocked Sid, but she nodded in response. “Yes, Head of the Council of Wizards, Councilwoman Blaire Walker. She was the main target of the m******e. The vampires…well, you cannot really hide from vampires. They know what they’re looking for, and of course they can smell blood, and fear…” Absidae was obviously having a difficult time telling this story, and she looked to Paris for help, her eyes welling up with tears.

“Her brother gave his life up to save hers, he was thirteen years old, and Absidae was only seven. As we all know, the m******e was twelve years ago, and Absidae has been on her own ever since. You are in the presence of the only survivor of the m******e of Oitsa,” Paris finished for her. “Now, this really is not appropriate dinner conversation; I suggest we leave it where it is, and if Absidae decides to share any more with any of you, that choice is hers alone. No one is to pressure her for information, is that clear?” The others nodded their agreement, except for the odd, green haired man. Tristan met Absidae’s eyes and held her gaze for a moment before nodding as well.

Orion cleared his throat, breaking the tense, somehow understanding, eye contact between the senior apprentice and newcomer. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, his voice a much higher octave than Sid had expected. She smiled softly, used to the sympathy of others when they found out where she was from. “I hope you don’t expect us to take it easy on you when we do combative practice, just because of what happened. Everyone has a story, and we still need to be able to defend ourselves,” his maple eyes glinting mischievously.  

Once she understood his apology, her smile changed from soft and appreciative, to challenging and almost excited. “I would hope you wouldn’t. I can take care of myself; I assure you,” Sid teased, feeling the tension lift from the table. She also noticed, in the moment that happened that the crystals that floated above the table and around the lounge area changed from a tense, angry red to a soft, delicate, friendly pink. Absidae looked up, a bewildered look on her face. 

Sinclair chuckled, amused at the new girls’ confusion. “They can sense the mood in a room, and change colors based on what they feel. Paris invented them, and we all have a large crystal in our room. You’ll notice it change tonight when you go to sleep.” The bewilderment quickly melted into amazement; Absidae had forgotten she was in the presence of the greatest warlock in all Ceokia.

After dinner, the others all went their separate ways to study, and since Absidae had not been given any task yet (Paris assured her he would evaluate her first thing in the morning), she decided to look around. Slowly, almost painfully, she studied her surroundings. As her life had not always gone smoothly, Sid liked to know she had a way out, and if so, what her escape route would be. Sid had always had a hypersensitivity to sound and had already managed to distinguish the footsteps of Paris, Sinclair, and Cedar. Orion and Tristan carried themselves similarly, and Absidae wondered if they were at all related, as Paris and Cedar were.

Her surroundings amazed her at every turn, and she was only on the bottom floor of the South Wing. Sid noticed, however, that the South Wing had only one story; the kitchen and dining room were one in the same, with the lounge towards the wrought iron stairs that lead to the apprentice’s sleeping quarters, and a hallway leading to what she assumed was where Paris and Tristan slept. At the end of the dark, cozy looking hallway was another set of stairs. From what Absidae could see, these stairs were made of stone, and covered with what looked like green moss. That, she assumed, lead to the potions and alchemy tower that made up the North Wing. She puzzled why the apprentices would need to be accompanied to that wing, when they were there to be taught magic. Rules are rules, she thought to herself, moving along in her self-guided tour of her new home. Temporary home, she reminded herself. 

Climbing the wrought iron stairs, she paused on the second floor of the West Wing. The area was open, almost like all the walls where rooms had once stood were removed. Punching bags, weights, practice dummies, and other instruments in the instruction of self-defense were scattered in a clumsy, disorganized way. Absidae could not quite figure out why they needed to be taught self-defense; she could only assume someone here knew more about the Rogues plans than she did. There were mirrors across one wall, and she caught a glimpse of herself; she was neither tall nor short, and full figure modeled that of her late mothers. Her lucky sage cardigan draped over her like a blanket, underneath which she wore a simple, beige dress that flowed over her like water. She was still wearing her leather boots, but even in them her footfalls barely made a sound.

Absidae disregarded the third floor, as it was merely their respective rooms and bathrooms (one for the girls, one for the boys, on either end of the hallway). As she climbed to the fourth and final floor of her wing, the smell of books assaulted her nostrils in the most pleasant way. Sid had always felt at home among books; books did not judge; books did not show false sympathy. I can trust books, she thought to herself as she turned three hundred and sixty degrees. From the floor to the ceiling, there was nothing but books; they were obviously organized by what could be learned from within their pages, an organization that did not go unappreciated by Absidae. There were places on the floor and outer walls where dividing walls had once stood, as there was on the second floor. Here, however, there was no clumsy, disorganization. Sid could already tell this was where she would be spending most of her time.

A small creek of the floorboards startled her, and she whipped around, her auburn hair flying in her face. Damnit, she cursed herself. She hated how her hair blinded her when it was not tied back but could not bring herself to cut it short. At the top of the stairs stood Sinclair, who was chuckling at her skittishness, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

“Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed,” he mocked playfully, a molted brown boa slithering across his shoulders. “Well, except for Jitterbug. She doesn’t bite, though,” the snake hissed coyly in response. “I just wanted to see if you needed help finding anything, or if you wanted an actual tour.”

Absidae let out a sigh, the tension slowly leaving her body. “I’m not particularly comfortable with things that have fangs,” she murmured, her eyes locked on Jitterbug. Sinclair turned to his snake and made eye contact with the creature. After a few seconds, the animal begrudgingly slunk from the boys’ shoulders, disappearing down the stairs. “So, you can talk to animals?” Sid asked once the snake was out of sight. 

Sinclair nodded, pushing his messy, black hair off his forehead. “Yeah, it was a pretty interesting discovery. According to my mom, no one in my family has shown any magical ability since my grandfathers’ grandfather,” he shrugged his slender shoulders. “I don’t know how true that is, but that’s what I have to go on. Sometimes, I think mom tells me things just to make me feel better. Not that being able to talk to animals makes me feel like a freak or anything,” he rambled, obviously unsure of himself in the presence of this newcomer. 

“How did you figure out you could talk to them?” Sid prodded, sitting in one of the oversized armchairs that formed a semicircle at the center of the library.

He sat in the chair furthest from her, eyeing her up and down. Her demeanor was relaxed, but something about her made Sinclair feel like he could not keep himself from talking. “I was just out in my moms’ garden one day, when I was seven or so, and this rabbit came out of nowhere and asked if I minded if he sampled the tomatoes,” Sinclair shrugged, nonchalant about the whole situation. “It didn’t faze me much; I’d always had a wild imagination, so I just thought that was what had happened. Then, it started happening more and more regularly as I got older. I was fifteen when my mom finally reached out to Paris. I’ve been here ever since.”

Absidae nodded, leaning back in the armchair. The young man felt his eyes following her every movement, and he felt himself anticipating the next time her mouth would open, and that singsong voice would fill the quiet air once more. Sinclair shook himself, willing his brain to snap out of whatever spell she had cast on him. “I thought you hadn’t been evaluated yet. Why is Paris allowing you to use your magic?”

Confusion flooded Sid’s face, and she c****d her head to the left as she questioned him. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not using any sort of magic?” She was asking him. Why? “I’ve never even shown any hint of magical ability. My brother, Ayden…” She trailed off for a moment. “Mom and Dad were always sure it would be him who inherited the magical bloodline. My dad was just a mortal, and it was just kind of assumed that is all I would ever be. I’m here to learn healing magic, potions work,” Sid was breathless after all of that, having spoken quickly so as not to let her emotions get the best of her. 

“No, you were definitely doing something,” Sinclair mused, watching her closely. Her honey eyes never met his yellow ones, and he realized when they had been speaking previously, she had never broken eye contact with him. “I’ll have to tell Paris,” she stiffened. “No! You won’t be in any trouble,” he promised, shaking his head, and stifling a laugh. “Showing magical ability is a good thing, I promise!” 

“You laugh a lot,” Sid observed, raising an eyebrow. “How can anyone be as happy as you are?” 

Sinclair smiled, almost sadly. “Because unlike you and Orion,” he stated as he stood up, “Cedar and I don’t have tragic back stories.” He sauntered to the door, confident in himself; Absidae envied that. “Oh, by the way,” Sinclair turned his head towards her, “your lizard, his name is Julius. He will change colors based on your mood, sort of like Paris’s crystals. If he ever thinks you are in danger, he’ll come find me.” He winked, causing Sid’s olive cheeks to blush gently. As he retreated down the stairs, Absidae could not help but smile as she heard him chuckle.