The Land of Grace, a Fantasy story

Ch 1. The Troubadour (1)

~The wind rustled through the highest tip of the reddening trees. A bird or two were chattering nervously, sensing a certain change in the way the air moved, or perhaps noticing the sheer blue of the cloudless sky. It did not matter which. The tiny birds had read the coming of winter in the cool breeze.
Although fall would have to come before winter.
Under the clear autumn sky, the leaves were slowly traveling from green to countless shades of red and yellow, as their forerunners had done for ages before. One might have associated the scenery with a painted picture… But it was yet too soon to see the perfect blending of colors, and spots of still-dark turquoise were mixed up among the musky tone of turning leaves. Not a single leaf had fallen, only to be expected this period of year when summer hasn’t quite ended and fall hasn’t quite begun. However, that did not mean that the forest was not beautiful.
If a summer woods was a little girl clad in her new emerald dress, the autumn forest was a fully grown woman, natural in her reds and brilliant in her golds. The woods, in this season which belonged to either none or both of the two, was a young girl stepping into her lady clothes, ready and not ready at the same time. Her hair clumsily done up, the necklace a bit too heavy, a hasty, red smear on her lips excessively artificial…
Still, such a girl has a kind of adorableness that attracts eyes and never lets them leave. The kind that makes all the grown-ups sigh in content as they watch her slowly grow up.
And inside that odd beauty, on a winding, worn path, another young girl was trudging along at the end of a procession.
She might as well have been a young woman; though it would not have mattered to her in any way had her age been a few years older or younger. Her clothes, loose yet fairly fitting, told of her status as an apprentice priestess of the High Path, and a priest was meant to leave the world behind.
She wore a white cotton shirt and dark brown trousers under what could be a grey dress or a grey coat. The piece of clothing was weaved of a material with a soft metallic sheen, but that was possibly the most normal part of it. Its sleeves were short, and the cloth was much too thin to be of much use against the harsh autumn of the northern continent. The length would have matched any short dress, for the end of the ‘skirt’ hung an inch above her knees. On the other hand, the front of it was split down to the bottom, meant to be closed up by two rows of silvery buttons, just as a coat would be made. Whatever it was, the emblem of the Holy Order was embroidered between the silver buttons, impossible to miss for anyone who knew it.
A short sword hanging at her waist further revealed that what she was training to be was a warrior, not a healer. The sword seemed to be a rapier, albeit shrunken to fit her petite stature. Its sheath was still too small for it, and what sunshine that has managed to penetrate the thick canopy of the leaves above reflected off the double-edged blade. Unlike the clean metal, the leather grip was worn, down to nothing in some places. It held countless hours of practice and battles, some from its current owner and most from the previous ones. The grip also portrayed the Order’s crest, similar to the coat. A long, winding road, with a white orb high up in the sky.
But some people might have taken her for a simple city girl, neither highborn nor low. Long auburn hair streamed down her slouched back, ending in a slight curl at her waist. Her eyes had too light a color to be distinct, and just then they looked grey, grey as the color of her Path clothes. The lashes covering them were darker than her hair, short and without much density. Her eyebrows were thin as well, making it not impossible for it to disappear entirely under dim light. The tip of her nose was upturned a bit. Her cheeks were filled with freckles. A couple of pimples troubled her already irregular skin. One’s imaginations would have to be stretched far for the girl to be called pretty, but she was in that age where pure liveliness could make up for the lack of beauty. After all, she was not what one would call ugly, either.
Therefore, it was to her misfortune that all the liveliness had drained out of her during the past several hours, thus turning her willowy form into something quite less attractive then it might have been otherwise.
Riya Bluestone, apprentice battle priestess of the Path, groaned for what must have been the hundredth time that day when she accidentally stepped on a jutting rock. A few days ago she would not have cared. Everyone stepped on a rock at least once a day in the city of Karkis. But after two days of walking and the occasional running, her boots, which had been two sizes too big previously, fit perfectly. Thanks to the blisters.
Again, groan.
She’d been a ward of the city before she joined the Path. She never knew her parents, and so didn’t the authorities, making her surname ‘Bluestone’. After the year of blue stone when she was found on the steps of the city hall. It was an old way of counting years, and the naming system itself had meager benefits – no need to think up surnames for the orphans and risk angering prosperous people – and a lot more harm. Whenever the caretaker called for ‘Miss Bluestone’, twenty-odd girls would reply back. In the Path, it was a bit better. There were less than four ‘Bluestone’s in each rank, so people could distinguish them by saying things like ‘the fat one’ or ‘the blonde one’.
Other than the confusion caused by names, the orphanage had been fine. It was much better than sleeping on the streets on a cold winter day. Until she turned fourteen the year before, when they kicked her out. And so she’d had to decide on her future career. Since she had no parents to stop her from becoming a battle priest, a job that most sane adults considered much too risky to recommend to their children, she became exactly that.
At least the pay was high.
In fact, the Path was about the only employer that payed the apprentices instead of requiring a certain amount of money for taking them on. Riya Bluestone had no money to get a decent apprenticeship in a good trade, nor any hopes of putting together a dowry, so there was never much of an option anyways.
Now she knew why the conditions had been that good. Although the job description had included things like ‘hunting heretics’ and ‘destroying demons’, ‘walking up to ten hours a day’ had been left out. Miraculously. Riya half suspected that the priest who had wrote the description went rolling on the floor from laughing after he finished.
Calculating in her head, Riya got to the conclusion that since leaving Karkis at dusk two days ago, they’d walked more than seventy miles. The policies and the orders of the higher-ups often made her wonder if they thought the Holy Order of the Path was made up of centaurs. To her best knowledge, all of her brothers and sisters had two feet and no hooves. Also, the only horses in her sight were pulling the wagons.
Moments like these always made Riya regret not choosing to be a healer. She had high enough holy affinity to learn healings, and she’d scored well enough in her entrance exams, too. Instead she’d taken on battle priest apprenticeship, so she could earn fifteen gold coins, in contrast to eight of the healers. And there she was, dragging her feet down the dusty road while the healers sat on the wagons, ‘saving their energy’.
Not all battle priests were walking. The leader of the Holy Order was on one of the front wagons, his lieutenant with him. The veteran members were distributed along the other few wagons. And not all of the walkers were walking alone, either. Truth be told, every one of them save Riya was moving down the road in groups of three or four, five at most. They wore the same clothes as her; the grey, half-sleeved coat marked with the curving path, and each had a sword hanging from his or her belt……
But of course Riya had to walk, by herself. She was the only apprentice in the group consisting of mid-ranking and higher priests. Her friends – if she could call them that – were back in Karkis, probably going through the endless list of chores Riya had come to dread. It wasn’t because Riya was the oldest; there were several older, more experienced apprentices close to becoming full members. Not because she was the best fighter either; no, she was more like the worst.
The only reason the commander had ordered her out here was because she had good memory.
Riya wasn’t very smart, and she knew it. On the other hand, her memory was pretty good. So good, in fact, that she’d managed to pass the entrance exam to the Holy Order by memorizing all the possible questions and answers. In addition to that, her drawings of people in the Path had proved recognizable in many cases. Commander Hailinen knew his math. He’d decided that if Riya could get near enough to the criminal they were chasing, she could draw his face on some scraps of paper later and he could use it to alert the citizens. It would not matter if the others caught the criminal in time, but this particular heretic has proved immune to capture several times before.
Two days later, with her blisters overripe and her hair tangled unbelievably, Riya sincerely regretted showing off and prayed for forgiveness to the Goddess.
Somebody tapped her on her shoulder.
“Excuse me, sister.”
The voice was male, joking, and so full of delight Riya could almost hear him smile. Her mouth curved in a tired line before she realized it. A second later, it was set into a grimace. She recognized the owner of the voice as Felast Hailinen, the Order Commander’s younger brother and lieutenant. He wasn’t an unpleasant officer, but his presence was often accompanied by orders Riya would very likely hate.
Thankfully, it seemed like this wouldn’t be one of those times. Hailinen handed her a bundle of clothes and a pair of girl’s shoes. She shook out the clothes and found a dress with a knit scarf. When she raised a questioning glance at Hailinen, he grinned warmly, pointing to the last wagon in line.
“Rohyn says we’ll arrive at the targeted village in ten minutes,” he explained. “The commander thinks the criminal will be at the inn. He’s charged for singing the wrong kinds of songs after all. He said you’ll need to take a close look at him and should be able to blend in.”
Riya nodded. She didn’t like being inside a stuffed inn with a known criminal, not one bit, but orders were orders.
“After you have a good picture in your head, wait until he does something indisputably stupid. You know, like singing ‘Airyssa’. Then you get out without making him notice you and alert the rest of us. Got it?”
She wanted to ask what they would do once she alerted them, but she knew she would not get an answer out of Felast. Riya would not have much access to those sorts of information until she was at least a full priest. As things were going, it wasn’t likely she’d be able to do that…
That’s why I came, remember? I can’t fail.
Holding the clothes she hadn’t had a chance to wear since a year ago, she ran to catch up with the wagon.
-o-o-o-
Her new clothes didn’t fit.
By the shape of the skirt, Riya guessed the dress had been meant to flow down the legs and gather up around the anklebones. It was strangely well-made for a peasant cloth, the seams of it more regular than her own uniform despite the thickness of the material. Even the color of it was pretty. The torso was white, and the tone slowly changed into a leaf green at the bottom of the dress. It was possibly one of the most beautiful dress someone of Riya’s standings would ever see.
The problem? Whoever had been the previous owner of the dress had been at least six inches taller and two inches wider than Riya. The dress sagged unseemly all around her body. She must have looked like a girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.
Riya didn’t care. She couldn’t. She was standing in front of a set of closed wooden doors. Gulping dryly, she laid a hand on the brass handle. The sign above her head said ‘White Tree Inn’. Something like a fork – it might have been a tree – was painted it white underneath the letters.
Soft sound of music trickled out of the crack in the doors.
The singer was in.

3: Ch 1. The Troubadour (2)

Ch 1. The Troubadour (2)

~ She was standing in front of a set of closed wooden doors. Gulping dryly, she laid a hand on the brass handle. The sign above her head said ‘White Tree Inn’. Something like a fork – it might have been a tree – was painted it white underneath the letters.
Soft sound of music trickled out of the crack in the doors.
The singer was in.
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The Troubadour (2)
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She knew what the man was convicted for. He’d been seen, or rather heard, singing songs that the High Path had banned. Not the songs with some nasty language, for which he might have been fined or whipped. Quite the opposite, really. The songs he performed had been banned because they contained lines praising the demons, and demon-worship was the worst crime any man or woman could commit, in the eyes of the Path.
Even then, a travelling musician singing Yulian’s songs would not require half the force of the city’s Holy Order to be arrested. But this particular one had been evading the Path for more than half a year. A few of the higher officers suspected that if they checked the record of the other city branches, they’d find the singer’s name listed under ‘uncaptured’. And thus her reason for nervousness. No one knew exactly what sorts of power the singer might have. In the very least, it would be enough to overwhelm an undertrained priestess more fit to be a healer.
She clenched her teeth and pushed on the door hard with her shoulder.
The music stopped abruptly.
Riya wondered briefly if the singer had felt something, although she knew it was more likely that the song had just ended. A loud applause was slowly building up inside the hall. The last notes of the melody floated out the doors through the gap she’d made, on to the wind that was chilly despite the sun still high up in the sky. Along with the notes came a gust of breath-heated air.
The inn was crowded so thickly that Riya had to say “excuse me” four times before she could even manage to open the door enough to get inside. Once there, her view was blocked by several men and women at least a head taller than her. She sighed, thinking it would be a little harder than she’d thought to catch a glimpse of the singer, much less get a good look. But without any other choice, she was left with only one course of action; a lot more “excuse me”’s.
A man with a gigantic belly – Riya guessed he was a merchant – snarled in annoyance when she pushed away his bulging flank to take a step forward. Another lady, wispy thin, almost fell in to her escort’s arms thanks to Riya stumbling across her feet. Riya didn’t get away free, either. The lady’s bony elbow had jabbed her hard in the ribs. Ignoring the sharp burst of pain, she continued on toward the end of the hall where she imagined the fireplace must be. In the process she nearly fell over a toddler, too. His mother had shot her a nasty look.
But before she reached the half-point, the singer started again.
She hadn’t been able to hear the song well enough to really ‘hear’ anything, standing with a wall and several dozens of people in between. Now the music hit her in full. Her hands, gripped in a fist so tightly before, relaxed ever-so-slightly. Then one by one, her fingers unfurled and straightened. The blisters remained the same, and yet somehow she couldn’t feel the pain. No, more like that she couldn’t focus on it. Couldn’t focus on anything… Anything else.
What might you feel, standing in a meadow deep inside a forest? The sun shines upon your hair. Warmth spreads down your body. Somewhere far away, you hear the sound of water falling from a cliff. Closer, under the snow white clouds, a flock of birds fly past. All around you the leaves rustle. Green, green as summer leaves they are. Beneath your feet the grass slowly bends. Nameless wildflowers bloom, making a circle around you.
A summer princess, a summer bride. Wrapped in every glory of the brilliant sunlight. Autumn may come, winter will come, but why does it matter? Summer is here. The blue sky holds the clouds, the clouds hold the birds, and in their eyes you see the world. White wings, pure sight. Flying. A carpet of emerald butterflies roll out. You stretch your fingers, and a single perfect leaf lends on the tip of your nail…
Something cool drops on your cheek. A long way from you, a storm is brewing. Here it is but a splash of warm rain. The crystals contain more fire than a volcano. Spread your wings, my child, my friend, my love. Close your eyes, feel the wind on your feathers.
Why should summer end? You have everything you could possibly want. Berries when you desire them, a ripe sweetness popping in your mouth. A red line drawn down your chin, your lips stained the same with raspberry juice. A stream or a rain, would you like a cup? No need to wet your clothes, no need to need any. Be happy, in this paradise… The sun, glorious, forbade from kissing the earth. Shaking her golden hair, a strand making its way toward you.
A strand of sunshine, not to be taken away…
And the singer parted his lips.
My lovely princess, would you not smile?
On this perfect day, while the sun still shines
A little girl fought back tears. A cursed contrast, the cold wind outside and the warm sunlight of the song, had made her eyes water. When was the last time she’d had a carefree summer? Even with her memory, she couldn’t remember.
I’ve traveled so long to see you again
To hear the twinkling of your golden laugh
If there ever was a person who would do that for me… A light sob rose in her throat, turning into a hiccupping noise. Was it the wistful melody, or the comforting lyrics? Maybe the tenor voice of the singer… There was something in the song that tickled at her chest, clogging it.
My beautiful lady, why do you weep?
Diamond they are, yet not for my queen
Then something pricked at the back of her mind. Something was wrong, but how could it be?
I’ve traveled so long to circle back here
I’ll lend you my luck, so give me your tears
A young priestess recognized the song. It was one of the first works of Yulian, one of the only ‘happy’ songs he ever wrote. But certainly, the singer wouldn’t be stupid enough to…
O, Airyssa, my joy, my hope
Among all the thorns, a dark rose stands tall
O, Airyssa, love of my heart
The lord of demons, a jewel for summer
The tickle in her chest transformed into something cold. Cold as ice, as first snow, as a single frosty glance from the Winter Lady herself. She couldn’t believe it. She refused to. No singer in his right mind would ever sing the song.
“After you have a good picture in your head, wait until he does something indisputably stupid. You know, like singing ‘Airyssa’.”
She felt the moment break, like a thin pane of glass. A transparent sheet of ice no one would see unless they bang their heads against it and fall down, their face freezing. It hurt. Not just because it was cold. Yes, there was that, too. But more than that, she’d been warm a mere second before. The sudden absence of the heat was more painful than the icy air itself.
With a blink, a wet line was scratched on her chapped cheek.
Riya rubbed at it furiously and barged into the mass of flesh. The song was still being played out, the strings of a lute humming underneath nimble fingers, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t hear. The singer had offered her his hand, but on his palm a shard of steel had sat. A betrayal.
It made no sense. She knew it. Yet her mind was too thick with haze to think straightly.
The pressure of all the meat around her began to ease, slowly at first, then faster. One moment she was buried in all the clothes of the audience; the next she had come face-to-face with the singer.
My lovely princess, don’t be so mad…
Her eyes widened in surprise. She’d expected the singer to be a man in his prime, maybe with a scar or two. His voice was husky, after all, as if he’d breathed too much smoke for one man. Instead, a young man was there in front of her.
He was sitting on the stair case to the second floor. His legs were casually crossed, and he strummed the lute perched on his lap. She couldn’t tell because of his position, but she guessed that he was taller than average. Unruly bangs covered his forehead, giving him an even younger appearance, erasing the slight sharpness in his jaw. His eyes were closed tightly, perhaps in concentration. Even if they’d been open, she would not have been able to discern the color. His bangs were too long. Had Riya not heard him sing, she might have waved the man away, thinking the boy had a sort of wild look to him. Or she might not have thought twice.
The man’s hair contributed primarily to the ‘wild look’. It was long, tied at the end with a yellow ribbon. As for as hair ties go, the ribbon did not do much good, and half his hair was spilling onto the wooden stair case, sweeping the dusty boards. Unusual for a peasant boy, but not entirely uncommon in the upper class. Although Riya had never heard of, nor seen, any noble who’d die his hair white. Not silver. The wispy white color that’s not even a real color, like a small mound of flour, the sort of color one would only acquire after living a hundred years, along with wrinkles and palsy.
As far as Riya could see, the man had smooth skin, and his fingers were sure and strong, not faltering once.
She took one last look at his face, even though she’d already seen more than enough. She wasn’t really sure whether she could draw a good enough portrait from her memory, but her job at the inn was finished anyways. And so she whirled on her heels and squished through the throng of people once again.
The melody of ‘Airyssa’ followed her out.
-o-o-o-
Felast Hailinen was waiting for her near the village entrance. Riya set a brisk pace and strode over to him, suddenly aware of the fact that the end of the dress had been dyed a dusty yellow, having swished up all the dust on the road and at the inn. She shrugged internally. If they’d wanted her to return the borrowed dress unscathed, they should’ve asked for her size earlier. At least she hadn’t ripped it to pieces. Yet.
“Done,” she said, her voice coming out in a croak.
Hailinen nodded.
“Nice. The mid-rankers have surrounded the village. I got the entrance, probably because it’s the safest spot.” he made a face. “Hate my brother sometimes.”
Riya resisted an urge to smile. Of course. No one fleeing from soldiers would leave by a known entrance.
“What about the veterans?”
The high-ranking priests should have been with Felast, or at least inside the village, but she hadn’t seen a single person since she’d ran outside into the cool wind. She glanced at the sky. The sun wasn’t close to setting. An afternoon. It felt bizarre, uncanny.
“They’re around the inn. The singer dude’s not getting past them. Actually, knowing Led, I’d say it’s over already.”
No… The man had not had one dagger on his person. A lute case wasn’t much of a weapon when it came to real fights. And Ledualt Hailinen, Felast’s brother, would never let a criminal pass before his eyes.
“You didn’t act too conspicuous, right?” Hailinen asked.
Riya looked away. Now that her head had cleared up, she regretted staring at the singer the way she had. She wasn’t even sure if the singer’s eyes had been closed all the time. There was a good chance he’d noticed something.
“Hey, don’t worry. The veterans were already in position before you walked inside that building,” Hailinen said. “So tell me, what kind of ‘criminal’ songs did you hear?”
She wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
“‘Airyssa’.”
The boy whistled softly.
“He’s got guts, that one. What’s the punishment for singing that? A hanging?”
“Yes, or it could be burning,” she answered, and felt an unexpected twinge in her belly. The singer’s voice had been beautiful, the song even more so.
Then Hailinen seemed to notice that something was wrong with her. He raised the back of his hand to her brow, touching his own with the other hand.
“You look sick. Do you feel dizzy or something?”
To be honest, the dress, despite the thick material, wasn’t made for autumn winds, and she was shivering slightly. Thank Goddess the officers had given her the scarf along. Her boots helped, too, though only a little bit.
“I’m fine.”
Hailinen’s hand felt warm, so unusually warm that she couldn’t believe he’d been out in the wind ever since that morning. Or was it that her temperature was really rising? But she didn’t feel any headaches…
“Is the young lady ill?”
An unfamiliar voice inquired from behind. She saw Hailinen look up, then dismiss the stranger with a shake of his head.
“She says she’s fine.”
“It’s easy to catch a bad cough in this weather.”
The stranger tagged on. Hailinen rolled his eyes, his mouth drawn into an irritated line. Riya tried to glance back, but Hailinen’s hand was still on her head and…
It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice. It was the same voice she’d thought beautiful.
“She’s fine. And even if she isn’t, it’s none of your business.”
A pause, a small laugh.
“Well, I should be thankful, I suppose. I’d hate it if a young lady fell ill in her effort to arrest me.”
Hailinen’s gaze snapped up. His hand fell away from her.
She spun around just in time to see a blue glow permeating the singer’s eyes.

4: Ch 1. The Troubadour (3)

Ch 1. The Troubadour (3)

~ A pause, a small laugh.
“Well, I should be thankful, I suppose. I’d hate it if a young lady fell ill in her effort to arrest me.”
Hailinen’s gaze snapped up. His hand fell away from her.
She turned just in time to see a blue glow permeating the singer’s eyes.
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The Troubadour (3)
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Riya hurried across the empty courtyard. She’d been away from Karkis for less than a fortnight, but the weather had changed drastically. There’d always been an abundancy of wind in Karkis, it being a city on the Kisarine range. Now the same wind that had brought the people a few moments of liberty from the scorching air turned on them, cutting through their clothes in icy blasts. And so, Riya only lifted her gaze after she was safely under the protection of the temple buildings.
“Goddess, it’s cold,” someone said next to her.
“It’s fall,” another voice chimed in. “It’s Kisarine mountains. What’d you expect?”
Despite the other apprentice priests’ words, the conditions that day were relatively better than the day before, when classes had to be cut short because the temperature had gotten too low for the lectures to continue without the heating system fixed. The temple used the natural hot springs for warmth; a series of pipes were crisscrossed under the stone flooring, carrying the hot water all around the buildings. The brother in charge of the system had explained that the pipes cracked quite a lot of times, and because nobody cared about the cracks in summer, the repair job was all done in autumn.
Kevil, a boy who shared more than half of Riya’s lectures, had said “Bullshit” to that, arguing that the pipes should’ve been fixed during summer, not autumn when nearly three hundred peoples’ ‘lives’ depended on them. He’d been locked in the detention chamber ever since. Everyone else thought he was stupid.
“Why’s the door locked?” a new speaker asked a more important – yet useless – question.
Indeed, the door to the lecture hall was shut tight. None of the apprentices had a key, of course. Riya guessed some of the other kids have been standing a mere foot from the wind for almost half an hour. Two out of three waiting had their lips turned pale blue. Unconsciously, she scanned the group. Nora might’ve been the one who noted the cold; the sarcastic reply couldn’t have come from anyone else than Jem. And the useless question…
She stifled a groan when her gaze landed on the speaker. Of course. None of the other kids were unaware of how the professors would arrive late once in every few days. If that happened, they had no choice but to wait silently. Although apparently, the only mid-ranker among them hadn’t heard a thing about it.
Felast Hailinen, along with her, was on probation for the incident a week ago. Her daily life hadn’t changed much, she being an apprentice already, but Hailinen’s been put out of all missions. He’d wanted to stay in his quarters, using the time as a vacation. On the other hand, his elder brother had had a different idea and had made him attend the lectures. The apprentices thought it was because Hailinen had gone straight from a civilian to a mid-ranker, without passing the apprentice period. His swordplay had been more than enough to be a veteran. Still, Ledualt had always fussed over how his ‘baby’ brother had no knowledge on battle strategies.
“Why’s Rohyn so late?” Hailinen wondered out loud again, then yelped. “OW!”
“That’s ‘Captain’ Rohyn for you, officer,” Rohyn grinned widely, stroking his knuckles.
Hailinen rubbed at the back of his head, annoyed, though he didn’t make another comment. Tall, lithe, and one of the best fighters in the Karkis legion, Rohyn was one of the few men Hailinen respected, even just a little bit. Riya’d heard some people call him a changeling, because of his setting-sun hair and golden eyes. Rohyn himself didn’t seem to mind the rumors; most likely, he enjoyed them.
“Uh, brother, why’re you here?” Nora asked nervously. “Where’s Brother Sh’len?”
Rohyn glanced at Nora, the smile still hanging on his lips. With some amusement, Riya noted how the older girl blushed furiously. Rohyn’s nickname hadn’t been based only on his color scheme.
“Sh’len’s fine. Commander Hailinen wanted me to teach this class, ‘cause I’m the best-looking guy in the legio…” he caught off abruptly.
A certain person had tapped Rohyn on the shoulder. A person with sandy hair, blue eyes, long face… and a strong resemblance to Felast.
“I don’t remember saying that,” Ledualt Hailinen said. “I’d thought the reason you’re here is that you Please let me know if you’ve developed a mind-reading ability.”
“…….”
Rohyn’s face fell pitiably. Besides him, Hailinen(the younger one)’s expression lit up quite noticeably, his eyes shining. The commander looked at his younger brother in what he must’ve hoped was an inconspicuous manner… Although no one in the entire continent could’ve missed how his gaze softened so much at finding Felast.
Muffled laughter rose from several kids. Riya was attempting to stop her own mouth from curling up, when the commander turned on her.
“By the way, Riya Bluestone, please come to my office after this lecture.”
“…….”
-o-o-o-
The lecture hall wasn’t much of a ‘hall’. In truth it was more of a big room, with a semi-circle of chairs around a raised stool. Sighing, Rohyn dragged himself up the stool. ‘Dragged’ was about the only way to describe it. The stool came up to Rohyn’s shoulder, despite his fairly tall height, and he’d used both arms to push his body on to the bench. Then he gestured at the apprentices to sit down on the wooden chairs.
Riya took a seat as well, the scene a minute before continuing to reply in her head. Why would the commander want her to see him? The single reason she’d conjured so far was the one on the singer. But it hadn’t technically been her fault… Felast Hailinen had been the one responsible for the singer’s escape…
“Well, I should be thankful, I suppose. I’d hate it if a young lady fell ill in her effort to arrest me.”
Hailinen’s gaze snapped up. His hand fell away from her.
“Riya,” Hailinen called. “Is that…?”
She nodded, unsure Hailinen would see it, too shocked to speak.
“Young man, don’t speak as if I’m not here. That’s very rude.”
“Good. I don’t want to be polite to be a criminal,” the boy retorted. “I suppose you’re the one I should be after?”
The singer shrugged. A ripple passed along his white hair. Riya noticed its absurd length for the first time – down to his ankle.
“Would depend on who you’re after.”
“Did you sing the songs the Path has banned?” Hailinen demanded.
Smiling lazily at the boy, the man fingered at the clasp of his lute case. Hailinen seemed to take that as an insult.
“Hey, answer when I’m…”
“Why should I answer you? I don’t even answer to the Path’s laws, according to you.”
“You’ve no right to do that! Everyone born under Theletir’s rule must answer to the Path!” Felast nearly screamed, while the lazy smile never left the singer’s lips.
“What makes you think I was?”
A foreigner, Riya thought. A heretic and a trespasser.
“…Where’re you from?” she spoke for the first time.
“I was born under Imerim Eniz. Is that enough?”
“The star of wisdom?” she ventured. She’d heard the name somewhere, and she didn’t forget those things a lot.
And the singer took a step back. He raised a pale hand to sweep back his bangs. The blue glow faded away. His grey eyes flickered from confusion, to… recognition?
“You… Dela?”
There was some hope, some crazy hope in his voice. But it was also tinged with despair, like… Like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Anyways, she only had one answer to his question.
“What?”
It wasn’t much of an answer, either.
“Dela… No, no. Damn,” seemingly anguished, the man dropped his face into his hands.
“Riya, do you know him?”
“Sorry, do I know you?”
Riya and Hailinen spoke at the same time, more relaxed than a few seconds ago for a mysterious reason. They almost smiled after realizing their own words. Almost.
Hailinen coughed. “So, did you or did you not sing Yulian’s songs?”
Whatever emotion the singer had been showing, it was wiped clean as soon as the question was out of Hailinen’s mouth. His eyes were turning blue again.
“It’s not ‘Yulian’. Just ‘Yun’,” his tone was neutral, but threatening. “And what if I did?”
As if answering the question, Hailinen slipped his scimitar out of its sheathe.
Something small and hard hit her forehead.
“Ow!” she yelped.
A piece of chalk fell to the floor between her feet. A few feet in front of her, Rohyn toyed with another piece playfully.
“Wake up, Bluestone! Do I have to repeat the introduction?”
“No, brother,” Riya grumbled. “I was listening.”
“Well then,” Rohyn threw the other piece at Jem. “Would you please tell us what you’ve heard, for sake of Jem?”
She resisted an urge to roll her eyes at the ceiling. What did Rohyn take her for?
“‘Hello, kids. My name is Rohyn. Don’t have a surname. Unlike what most people like to think, I’m not a changeling. I’m half Fae, though. My dad was an elf. In the Path, I specializing in tracking and mana analyzation. I probably know the most about natural magic here, so the commander asked me to teach something to you guys. ‘Cause, you know, there’s a criminal out there using weird magic. Felast should be familiar with him, and so should…’” she paused, right where Rohyn had, too. “I guess this is where I throw a chalk?”
Nora chuckled softly next to her. Riya smiled. Rohyn’s speech had been short, short enough for her to show off a bit.
“…Good,” the red-head seemed to have suddenly developed a liking to the toes of his boots. “Now, who here knows anything related to ‘natural magic’?”
Tain held up his hand. He was from the north, like Nora, as his name indicated. When Rohyn invited him to speak, he straightened his glasses nervously. He looked everything a young scholar that moment, though no one in the hall was fooled. Half of the kids in the class had had their fill of Tain’s fists; the other half was too afraid of him. Even so, he still was a likeable boy.
“Natural magic indicates to a certain power one is born with,” he started, his pronunciations growing smoother with each syllable. “There are three categories to natural magic. One is something that a person is able to use the moment he or she is born. Theoretically, an infant could use this sort, too. But this is the rarest.
“The second is something that a person must fill a certain requirement for him or her to use it. A most common condition is the amount of mana. As mana level increases throughout a person’s childhood, it may come out naturally. The next common one would be a life-or-death situation. The magic would be activated when the person’s life depended on whether he or she could use the magic or not.
“The third is a ‘potential’ natural magic. Some professors argue that this is a small branch of the second type, although majority agrees that this should be an entirely different category. It’s a natural magic with a requirement that no human could ever fulfill. An extraordinarily high amount of mana is what my teacher thought the problem was. Others think it’s something that humans could once do, but cannot anymore.
“Natural magic is differentiated from regular or divine magic, because it doesn’t require a specific array of mana, a ‘seal’, in order to be activated. For this reason, in the old times, it was often called ‘a gift of the goddess’ or…”
“Yes, that’ll be enough,” Rohyn intervened in an exasperated voice. “Thank you, thank you. Takes away all I’ve got to say, don’t you?”
Tain flushed. Then Jem slapped his shoulder, whispering something into his ear. After a second, Tain’s expression brightened, and he smiled at Jem gratefully.
For some reason, Rohyn was grinning in a very fatherly way.
“I’ll continue, but I’m afraid Jem hasn’t left me much to explain,” Rohyn shrugged. “Wait, does anyone have questions?”
“Why haven’t we ever heard of this before?” Quiley asked, her hand raised in a right angle with her shoulder. Riya could hear her swallow dryly from two seats away.
“Cause natural magic’s considered heretic.”
A tense minute of silence passed. And then…
“And you’re TEACHING US THIS?!”
“HE- HEY! WHAT THE-”
“You didn’t tell us-”
“I want to see my brother!”
The last was from Hailinen, evidently. Rohyn scratched his head, like he couldn’t understand why they were making such a fuss.
“Uh, kids? The commander ordered this, remember?” he reminded them. “And, you know, Tain knew all about it, too.”
Now the apprentices’ focus moved on to Tain, whose face has acquired a deeper shade of red. Tain nodded.
“Using it’s heretic; learning about it isn’t,” he explained. “As long as you don’t admire it, or attempt to activate it, it’s fine.”
Quiley’s arm was bent in that odd way again. Rohyn pointed at her.
“Yes, sister?”
Riya had a strong suspicion that Rohyn didn’t know Quiley’s name. Tain’s, too, for that matter.
“If it’s heretic, why was it called ‘a gift of the goddess’?”
“No idea,” Rohyn replied flippantly, then cringed as if he expected another uproar.
They remained silent. Most of them were used to these sorts of things coming from other brothers in charge of teaching them stuff, especially Sh’len, who taught them magic. And no one thought it odd that not a single person in the class could use magic as of yet; they’d given it up a long time ago.
“…Before I move on to a more theoretical part, does anyone else have any questions?”
Hailinen did. Rohyn glanced at him, and nodded, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
“Is this ‘natural magic’ thing…” Hailinen hesitated, but pushed on nonetheless. “Is it related to a change in eye color?”

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