An Unattainable Magic

A Strange Magic

Sinclair knocked, in his abhorrent flourish, on Paris’s office door; it was the only portion of the Eastern Wing they were allowed in without supervision. “Sinclair, I’ve told you before, one knock will do. We don’t need a new pattern every time you need to speak to me,” Paris teased, a smirk playing on his lips. 

            “How would you know it was me, otherwise? I could be anybody; a spy!” He entered his teacher’s office, making himself comfortable in the single chair that sat before Paris’ large, mahogany desk. “I spoke with Sid just now, and I think you’ll find this interesting.” In painstaking detail, so as not to leave an ounce of what Sinclair had felt during their conversation out, he relayed the length of their encounter to Paris. Afterwards, he paused, allowing his mentor time to let everything he had said sink in. “I’m telling you; it was like as soon as I looked into her eyes, I would have told her absolutely anything she had asked me.” Sinclair clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back in the chair. 

            Paris folded his hands, placing his thumbs against his lips. “You say this was only when you made eye contact with her, Sinclair?” The boy nodded. “What happened once that contact was broken?”

            Sinclair thought about it, chewing his bottom lip. “I felt as though she had been inside my mind, like even if I had tried to lie to her, she would have seen right through it. It is like Absidae would have been able to call me out, like I did not have a choice. I knew, the second we broke eye contact, what she had done was not normal. It wasn’t, was it?” He asked, remembering the chills that had been sent down his spine, the feeling of unease, the feeling that he had no control over what was coming out of his mouth. Sinclair shuddered just to think about it.

            The old warlock let out a deep, heavy sigh. “Thank you, Sinclair. Please, do not warn Cedar or Orion of this. As a matter of fact, do not even mention it to Tristan. I will need them unwarned, to complete her evaluation.” The pair said goodnight, and Paris shut his office door behind the young man. If what Sinclair has told me is true, he mused to himself, then she is here for much more than just to train in the art of healing.

*                                                                                                                                            *

Absidae woke with a start, her heart racing and her body clenched for a fight. Bolting up from the bed, she grabbed a small, silver dagger she carried with her everywhere. The slightest noise woke her, and suddenly the large crystal in the corner of her room, along with Julius, were an angry, enflamed orange. The soft knocking happened again, and she realized it was nothing more than someone at her door. To some extent, she calmed down, pulling a stone-gray sweater over her night shirt, and moving silently towards the door. “Who’s there?” she mused, her voice soft and muffled. 

“It’s Orion,” the steady, cool tenor voice responded. “Paris just wanted me to wake you up for breakfast. He usually lets the newcomers sleep in, but you have your evaluation today.” She noted how everything was a firm, almost demanding statement when Orion spoke, and Sid liked that about him, no tricks, just to the point. When she neglected to respond, she heard him turn and walk down the hallway. Once he was gone, she allowed herself to relax more, and put the blade into the sheath she wore under her left sock. 

Glancing at herself in the mirror, she noted that the sweater she had chosen was so long that it nearly hit her knees. Sid chose to pair it with her black leather boots and pulled her hair into a messy tangle of curls on the top of her head. “It’s okay, Julius,” Absidae whispered, trying to convince herself more than the lizard who was currently going berserk trying to break out of his terrarium. The color of the light shifted to a color like that of the sweater she had just donned, and that seemed to be enough for the lizard. He returned to his vibrant, albeit obnoxious, teal color; this seemed to be the small creatures neutral. 

Padding softly down the hall, making as little sound as possible on the wrought iron stairs, Sid descended for breakfast. As she turned the corner from the lounge to the dining area, she noted that the only open seat was next to Orion. Gingerly, she sat, perceiving her own tardiness as the others happily shoveled scones and fruit into their mouths. “I’m sorry if I overslept, Paris,” she apologized softly, her eyes downcast to her hands. “I’m not used to having such a safe place to be…”

“Have you been homeless?” Cedar asked, shock and terror lacing her voice. Absidae raised her eyes and nodded. “Was it awful?”

Their eyes locked, Sid studied her fellow female apprentice. All at once, images of her running from vampires, mortal hunters, anything the council or the Rogues could throw at her, raced through her mind. She felt cold, hungry, more so than she had been when she had woken up that morning. When she spoke, her normally singsong voice was low, intimidating sounding.  “There’s no one there to make you feel safe, not even of the Goddesses Temples. You are constantly being watched; being followed. Someone, anyone could attack at any moment. And it is cold, always cold, and even in the summertime. The rain soaks everything you own, and you can never get warm. No one ever wants to feed you; hunger eats away at you. Everything from your worst nightmares, only much, much wor-”

“ENOUGH!” Paris boomed, scaring Absidae so badly that she jumped from her place at the table, to underneath it. She whimpered, clutching her small dagger to her chest. “Absidae, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you…” His voice was soothing, but tears still rolled down her cheeks, and Sid refused to come out from under the table. 

Cedar breathed, clearly shaken, tears mimicking the ones falling from Sid’s eyes. “How…how did she…how do you…?” The question would not come from her head to her mouth coherently. “It was like I saw everything. I felt everything…” Paris laid one of his large, leathery hands on his nieces’ shoulder, and the warmth from him soothed her. A gentle calmness fell over the entire room, and Absidae was soon able to stop the tears, though she did not emerge from under the table, nor did she replace her blade. “That was terrifying…and amazing!” Cedar chimed, clearly impressed by her fellow apprentice. “Who taught you how to do that?” She enquired, leaning her head under the table. The young lady refused to answer, and instead removed herself from under the table, and ran as fast as she could up to her room.

“I should not have shouted,” Paris sighed, looking at his other three young apprentices. “What you need to understand about Absidae is that, after the m******e, people were afraid she was cursed. Her blood scent was still tied to her family, to her mother, and some rogues were thought to still be after her. No one would take her in; she has been on her own, in the world, since she was seven; the council protected her for four years, but eventually the threat of attack became too great and they had to send her away. They tried an orphanage first, but even there the threat continued. At ten, she was sent away from every orphanage in Ceokia and lived on her own. I believe, if I am correct about what she can do, that the magic that her mother passed to her, even though she was the second born of a wizard and a mortal, developed the ability to manipulate. I have seen it very rarely, possibly only two or three times in my long life. Normally, it has about a fifty percent chance of working. Absidae’s seems to be tremendously stronger than that. Almost as if, if the person she is speaking to does not expect it, her ability cannot fail,” he paused, allowing the others to take in what he had just said. 

Cedar stood from the table, bolting to the stairs as fast as her long, slender legs would carry her. Before she could make it up even two stairs, Sid had pushed past her, her patchwork bag thrown haphazardly over her shoulder. Without giving anyone else time to respond, she ran out the door and into the cold, snowy morning. “Wait!” Cedar called out the front door. Sid was nearly halfway up the lane, but she paused, looking back over her shoulder. She murmured an apology on the breeze and began the brisk walk to the end of the drive, where she had been dropped only yesterday by a kind werewolf on a rickety old cart. “We have to stop her!” Cedar whined, looking to Orion and Sinclair for help. Sinclair shrugged, nonchalant about the whole situation. Orion, however, stood and, without bothering to pull on his boots, took off out the open door.

“Do you really not care?” Cedar stated, disbelief clouding her normally calm face. Hands on her hips, she waited for a response from her fellow apprentice. 

Sinclair looked at her, his eyes sad but sure about his own choice. “No one should be forced to stay anywhere; not people, not animals, no one.” Cedar softened, knowing that caging anything against their will was a tender spot with Sinclair.

Absidae was frozen at the end of the drive, the decision between turning around and going to find a cart to take her somewhere, anywhere, almost impossible to decipher in her frightened, confused state. The decision was taken from her, however, when she felt someone grab her from behind and throw her over their shoulder. “Hey!” She exclaimed, kicking her feet against her captor. “Put me down!” Turning her head, Sid noticed it was Orion, who had picked her up as though her ample frame was no more than a sack of flour. “Orion! Put. Me. DOWN!” Thrashing with all her might, Sid fought against what seemed like an impenetrable wall of muscle. “I said put me- oof!” the wind was knocked out of her as she was dropped on the cool, solid stone floor of the kitchen. “Ouch…”

“You told me to put you down,” Orion whispered, a playful glint in his eyes. “Please don’t make me walk in the snow without shoes on again, my toes are frozen.” Sid looked up at him from her place on the floor, and sighed, almost dejectedly. “Now, let Paris explain what it is you can do, because I, for one, want to hear in more detail. The brisk little synopsis he gave us is intriguing enough, but I want the full explanation.” He blew on his hands, and turned towards the fireplace in the lounge, where he propped his feet up to defrost them from the angry, cold red they had turned.

            Sid ran her hand through her messy hair and fixed it into a knot once more. “Fine.” She looked at Paris. “Just one thing…no more yelling?” Absidae had not meant for it to come across as a request, more a demand, but the girl was still so shaken, so scared, that she did not have the control over her voice that she was used to.

            Paris nodded in agreement, giving her a soft, apologetic smile. Tristan moved gingerly towards the young lady, who was still seated on the floor, and extended his hand to her. Uncertain, she took it, and allowed Tristan to pull her up. “How long have you been able to do that?” He puzzled, clearly both impressed and bewildered by Absidae’s newly discovered ability. “Can you control it at all?” Tristan still had hold of her hand, and their eyes locked. She lowered hers, clearly intimidated by her own capacity. She pulled her hand back tentatively, taking a half step backwards. Paris gestured everyone through to the lounge, and as they sat around, Absidae began to tell her tale.

After she had concluded her tale, the lounge of the ramshackle place the six occupants called home was silent, as Absidae had just finished telling her tale. From what happened during the m******e of Oitsa, to what her life was like afterwards. “So, you can understand why I’m not a fan of loud noises, or confrontation…why I want to heal, and not fight,” Side said softly, her eyes downcast. 

“That doesn’t explain why you can manipulate people; put such horrible, terrifying images in their heads…” Cedar shuddered, hugging her knees to her chest.

Absidae touched her new friends’ shoulder gently. “I can do more than the bad images; I can do nice, pretty things, too. I can make people answer questions, I can make them do things…I do not know why I can…I never used to be able to. It is something I have only recently noticed, as a matter of fact. It was what originally made me reach out to Paris. He didn’t even believe me, initially,” Sid smiled at Paris. “I assured him, however, that I am not a liar.”

“Which, obviously, you have proven; I am sorry I ever doubted you about that, Absidae. It is just such an unusual ability; I know less than a handful of warlocks nearly triple your age that cannot master that. Manipulation and Vision is the least common form of natural magic, and something that only occurs after a great tragedy, which obviously you have been through.” Paris paused, scratching the stubble growing on his cheeks. “I have absolutely no idea how to teach you better control over it.”

            There was a stunned silence over the five apprentices, all eyes on Absidae: her face still downcast, several of her auburn curls falling from the knot on top of her head. Tristan cleared his throat, drawing his abnormal green hair into a long, straight tail at the base of his neck. “Well, here’s what I think. You came here to learn healing magic; potions, spells, how to make salves…Healing magic, right?” Sid nodded, looking over to the place where Tristan sat. “Well, that happens to be my specialty now that I’m studying mostly independently from Paris. What if and this is completely up to you, Paris; but what if I taught her?”

            Paris pondered the idea, his eyes shifting between the shy, nervous girl and his proud, self-assured master apprentice. After several minutes of silence, Paris nodded. “All right, if you think you can handle it.” Tristan smiled triumphantly, looking to Absidae for her thoughts. The young lady nodded, trying to appear confident, but looking more nervous than she previously had under the assumption that she would be training under Paris.

Tristan walked away from the lounge proudly, both excited and nervous. Early on in his apprenticeship, the green haired young man had decided to focus strongly on alchemy, with nearly an equally strong focus on the development of new healing potions; salves, oils, liquids, and even edible objects that could restore a person of everything from the common cold to a serious injury due to battle. At the Autumn Festival, he had people asking for potions made by him, directly. It was an extreme boost to Tristan’s confidence. Tristan had always suffered from pride and being exceptional at something only inflated his ego.

            Alchemy, Tristan thought at one point in the beginning of his apprenticeship, was where he wanted the sole focus of his ability to reside. While he was quite good at alchemy, enchanting necklaces, rings, odd bobbles for people to carry to enhance this ability or that one. Tristan had even been approached to enchant a sword and set of armor, although that had not gone very well, and Paris had had to bail him out of a potentially embarrassing situation. As Tristan entered his room to gather his journals, he smiled to himself. A student of my own… he mused, heading towards the alchemy tower that also held all his potion’s equipment and ingredients. 

            As he readied a small workspace for Absidae, waiting for Paris to bring her to the tower, he thought about what they would do first. She will have to learn to differentiate ingredients for potions before anything else, Tristan thought, while setting down a blue, leather bound journal. It was empty, ready for her to take any notes she saw fit.  Lost in his own organization, trying to make sense of the chaos he had allowed the tower to fall into, Tristan’s mind moved to the appearance of his new pupil. Absidae was obviously beautiful, but in an almost too perfect way. There was something almost romantic about her, in a way that was very nearly off-putting to him…and yet somehow intriguing. 

            Shaking his head, letting his green hair fall from the leather tie that held it in place, he cleared his thoughts. Paris trusts me to teach her, nothing more. With that, Tristan resolved to have nothing more than a teacher/pupil relationship with her. 

*                                                                                                                                            *

Absidae sat in the lounge, after Paris had taken Cedar and Sinclair to the second story of their wing to do a combative evaluation. She and Orion formed a comfortable silence, her reading a book on helpful versus harmful plants to be used in potions, and he leaned back in a reclined chair, his eyes closed peacefully. Sid looked over to him, marked her page quietly, and shut the book. “I’m sorry I made you run barefoot in the snow,” she murmured, looking over to him, obviously nervous speaking. 

            Orion shrugged, peeking out from under his eyelid. “I don’t care, honestly. I just know what it is like to be alone…it is something no one needs to go back to. If I can help with that, then I will,” he smiled, and Absidae noticed for the first time that his teeth were crooked in an endearing, sweet way. “Besides, I can’t be the only one here with…what does Sinclair call it?” Orion paused, pondering a moment. “Oh, yes! A ‘tragic’ back story, that’s what he says,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

            “You know mine, though,” Absidae noted. “So, what’s your story?” Orion shrugged, and Sid realized she had touched a nerve. “It is fine; you don’t have to tell me.” Without another word, Orion stood from his chair, and retreated up the stairs. Sid listened, hearing him pad up to the third floor and into his room. She sighed to herself, recognizing that she had pushed the young man too far. Returning to her studies, Absidae pushed the thought to the back of her mind, excitedly focusing on the new task ahead of her.

Paris entered the lounge shortly after and gestured for his young new apprentice to follow him. He led her up the stone stairs, quietly walking a few steps ahead of her. Absidae was astounded with the alchemy tower; it was amazing. Tables decorated with jewelry and knick knacks lined the left, and a large, pewter cauldron sat on the right, bubbling away. Towards the window on the back wall, there was a large desk, covered with miscellaneous and seemingly chaotic nonsense. A smaller desk sat just to the right, and on top of that were three large, leather bound books and a small, blue leather notebook. Sid smiled, pondering how the new relationship between the two of them would work. 

            “Tristan should be back shortly,” Paris informed his new apprentice, gesturing to the desk. “He’s already laid out some work for you, studying first before any practical attempts. You will have to prove your knowledge of plant matter, which are helpful, which are harmful, their multiple uses, and the likes. It shouldn’t be terribly difficult, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly,” her mentor said with confidence.

            Sid nodded, smiling almost nervously. Paris exited the tower, leaving Absidae to her studies. The first book was titled A Basic Guide to Healing Foliage, and she opened it, her journal opened, and a pen perched between her lips. The words seemed to envelop her, the world around her melting away as she became absorbed in the text.