Meetings in the night

           ‘Sweet Sister,’ the abbess crooned. ‘What could the cloister offer at this late hour?’

            Marlene cringed as her Superior smiled expectantly. ‘Trouble sleeping, Mother. I find the night breeze helps,’ she said serenely.

            ‘Certainly it would help, if there was such a breeze. Now go back to bed Marlene.’

Her eyes followed the girl as she disappeared into the corridor from where I watched. I ran to our room and was in bed by the time Marlene entered. She looked at me, clearly startled. ‘What are you doing awake?’

‘Where have you been?’ I asked, ignoring her question.

She shuffled uncomfortably and got into bed, mumbling something about a breeze.

Marlene did not attempt to leave the room at night again in a long time. I stayed up most nights until I was sure she was asleep. The next day I would find her still in bed or readying herself for the morning prayer. Until, one week, the Mother Superior went down with a cold. I remember she called me to ask that I keep an eye on the wayward child, keep her from wandering. I said I would.

That same night, Marlene did it again. In the small hours of the morning, she slipped from her bed and padded outside. Instead of calling her back, I waited for the door to close behind her and followed.

I caught up when she was crossing the cloister toward the entrance of the convent. I must say I was quite alarmed to see her leaving. Only the abbess had keys to the heavy oaken door, and those where permanently on her person.

I stalked Marlene for a long while, clutching at my robes in the night chill. She stopped at the edge of the fields, where a figure stood waiting. “Young love” I thought at once, a little disappointed. It wasn’t surprising really; since she was a novice the girl hadn’t shown much zeal in her devotion.

I approached in silence to get a better look. The man wore a cowl and greeted Marlene in a deep voice. That wasn’t right. He seemed to be at least twice her age, and a monk himself. Not that that was unheard of either, but still… I waited.

The pair stood in silence for another long period, apparently waiting for something to happen. Then it did. From the bordering woods, a woman stepped out, long hair whipping about her face. She also looked much older than Marlene, but her clothing betrayed no connection to the faith. When she joined them, the man lowered his hood and began to speak. I strained to hear, but couldn’t make out much. The two women just listened, as if he was lecturing them.

Upon finishing the sermon, Marlene removed her wimple and took both hands to her temples. The others stood, watching, waiting. The nun’s hair burst into flames and a ring of tall fire leapt out of the grass, surrounding them. I screamed, unable to help myself, and ran towards the circle, not understanding. Through the flames I saw that Marlene was unhurt, her hair its usual pearly blond. Together with the man and woman she was trying to stamp out the flames licking at their ankles. She must have seen me too, because she shouted something at her companions above the roaring flare and they turned to look at me.

The monk clasped his hands above him, then his eyes went blank and silence fell upon the field like a blanket. The temperature dropped dramatically and the blaze died out as quickly as it had begun. I ran.

The minstrel and the scullion

The entrance steps to the Citadel were an imposing feat of architecture. Each spanned the length of a dozen grown horses and each rose a foot into the air. There were fifty of them, made of pink marble, veined and majestic. Centuries of use had worn depressions into their centre, giving the flight of steps a warped appearance even at a distance. Adding to the aura of grandeur were two matching columns standing at either side of the stairwell. Despite supporting nothing but air, they caused a great impression, framing the entryway to the most spectacular building in the realm.

At the foot of the structure stood a young man bearing a shabby satchel and a lute. He clutched both of them tightly as he looked up at the stairs in awe. Poor though he surely was, he wore a clean woollen tunic and sandals. His curly locks fell across a handsome beardless face, no older than twenty. He had spent most of the morning in the square facing the steps, while a silent struggle raged on inside him. The two sentries stationed beside each column exchanged sniggers whenever he looked as though he might attempt the climb, but still the youth had not found it in himself to march up the steps.

Mia had worked in the Citadel's kitchens for two years now. At first she had been certain she would end up in the streets whence she had come. But months of the cook's bossiness had worked some efficiency into her: she no longer dropped the royal pans or soiled the royal floor by spilling the royal juice. In all, she had come to love her life in the kitchens. Though she worked endlessly at the most menial tasks, she now had a bed and daily meals. Besides, her main concern, which had been that of having to expose her blatant rough manners to the court, had dissipated within the first few weeks, as she had discovered the kitchens were seldom visited by anyone important.

She only had one friend inside the Citadel, her roommate Clara, daughter of the king's armorer, but that didn't bother her; one friend and a job were far better than no friends and the streets. Nevertheless, she did miss her brother. Her brother, who had always cared for her, had made sure she got a place in the kitchens when she turned sixteen to save her from winding up in a city brothel. They hadn't seen each other since.

‘Mia, have you seen the new singer?’ her friend asked her as they scrubbed tiles on their knees. ‘Singer? There's a new singer?’ ‘You obviously haven't,’ Clara sighed. ‘He arrived this morning and he's gorgeous!’ She arched her eyebrows for effect. ‘But he forbade it.’ Mia said. ‘Yes, yes I know.’ Her roommate rolled her eyes. ‘Apparently the princess requested permission for a personal bard, and he's allowed her to choose one. Not that many have auditioned, actually. They must be terrified of him.’

The queen had always made sure the Citadel's halls were filled with music. She used to sing herself, often. Her husband had banned musicians from the court the previous year, when she died. He called it “mourning” and “respect”, but everyone in the castle knew that music reminded him painfully of his late wife. Their teenage daughter, who had inherited the queen's taste for tunes, missed it sorely.

‘Will he stay?’ Mia asked, now excited as well. ‘I think so. Let's hope the king's patience holds.’ ‘Oh, I hope he does. I'd like to hear some music in the castle again.’ Mia was secretly thinking of her brother, who had always dreamed of becoming a musician. He used to sing when they begged in the streets, but he could never have afforded an instrument. Clara gave her a roguish smile. ‘And I'd like to see myself some fresh meat; all the kitchen boys have gone stale!’ They chortled and continued scrubbing.

The will of the Sea

William dumped his schoolbag on the sofa and stepped into the kitchen. '¿Mom?' he called, '¿Dad?' No one answered. Unsurprised, he turned on the TV and collapsed on the couch to wait for them. An image of a large family leaving their cliff-side house was being shown, as the news reader stated that the East coast of Florida was under evacuation due to the abnormal drawback and freak waves reported during the last week. Will thought back to his happy memories from his grandparent's house in Miami. He would be very sad if they lost the house to a hurricane.

His parents arrived shortly and they ate lunch. Will finished his homework and set out to fetch Thomas. Thomas, his lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, lived outside town, in the posh residential area they called "The Blocks". Together they raced down the dirt track to the valley, dumped their bikes in a hollow bush and sprinted up the stream, happy with the prospect of an exam-free week ahead.

Their spirits could not have been dampened even if the afternoon had not been so fair. Before long, Thomas had picked up a blunt stick from the ground and was jabbing expertly at his friend. Laughing, Will climbed the nearest willow with practised ease and tore a branch with which to defend himself. He parried Thomas' thrust and disarmed him, casting the stick into the stream. Then, landing lightly on his feet, he jumped from the tree and held his own branch in front of him with his eyes closed. Still laughing, he marched absurdly around the tree, arms outstretched and the stick pointing straight ahead. Thomas roared his approval. 'Water witching now, are we?' he grinned, 'I think you need a Y-shaped rod for that!' Will raised an eyebrow in mock offence. 'Behold, William the Diviner.' At this he slackened his grip on the branch, making it dip towards the ground.

Thomas was getting bored. He looked around for good stone-skipping pebbles. Will dropped the stick to join him. As he relinquished his grasp on the shaft, the branch dug vertically into the ground, thrumming. He froze in shock. Tentatively, he tugged at the stick. It did not budge. Hailing Thomas, he pulled forcibly at it, to no avail. The two boys laid flat on their bellies and pressed their ears to the soil. Above the burbling of the stream, they felt a deep rumbling. And then, with widening eyes, they heard it.

Academia

He bites his nails and he picks at his cuticles. And I can't stand it. But I do.

I see him walking out of the Academy alone, with a quick stride and his gaze fixed on the ground. I get a good view of the drive from my classroom window. I stare hard, eagerly. This is one of the few chances I get a day, since lesson times are staggered so that initiates don't mix at the gate on their way out. First the Greys, then the Blues and then the Greens.

I don't mind being last. It means we arrive last as well so at least we get to sleep in. Also, it means we don't have to spend much time with the telepaths, who arrive and leave first. At least he isn't a telepath. I don't think I could live with myself if he was.

His navy blue robes sway in the breeze as he makes his way home. He looks preoccupied. When I pass the noticeboard on my way out an hour later I find out why. An important-looking sheet of paper has been pinned in the centre. Test days are out. Under the caption "Nous Academy, Final Examinations" there are three columns, reading "Monday 17th of June,  Telepathy", "Tuesday 18th of June, Teleportation" and "Wednesday 19th of June, Telekinesis". Each precedes a list of names and attached times. His is in the middle, at 11 am on Tuesday.

I walk home with a knot in my stomach. If he graduates he will leave. I still have a year left. By the time I get to my front door I've made up my mind.

Tuesday the 18th. I wake with a start. I breakfast hastily and pull my greens over my clothes as I leave the house at a run. When I arrive at the Academy, the courtyard is full of Blues milling around nervously. I scan their faces quickly and, making sure he's not among them, step into the entrance hall. It's already 11 am. I realise I don't know where to go, so I walk up to reception and ask the caretaker. 'Exams are taking place in Room 14' she says dryly. Then, eyeing me up shrewdly she adds 'Shouldn't you be in class?' 'It's my brother, I got a leave' I improvise. Without giving her time to check, I turn towards the east corridor, where rooms 10 to 20 are. I don't often come here, since this is the Teleportation wing, but I know it well enough. I stand before room 14, hesitant. Before entering, I take off my green tunic and stuff it in my bag. This way I'll stand a better chance of not being sent off to my class, where I should really be.

Violet

Violet was a small child, even for her tender age. However, no-one who knew her would have said she was tender. She had huge dark eyes which she used to unsettle others, and she made a habit of avoiding speech whenever possible.

This time, Violet was sitting cross-legged on the playground floor at break time. She wore an inscrutable countenance as she picked at the sandwich her father had packed for her. As usual, she was alone. Some distance away, a plump girl from her year was handing out birthday party invites. A small gaggle of children had flocked around her. 'She's not even that popular,' Violet reflected as she drew a large V in the dust with her finger. Not that she really cared; she had more serious things to worry about right then. The playground suddenly seemed quieter. Violet looked up at the group in front of her. They had dropped their voices and where arguing heatedly in ill-suppressed whispers. At the centre of the knot a pretty blond child, whom Violet knew to be called Romilda, was reviling the birthday-girl for something she had just said. '...not the freak! Seriously?' she ranted, a little too loudly. The chubby girl clutching the invitations glanced surreptitiously at Violet's corner, caught her eye and hastily turned back to face Romilda. Violet knew they were talking about her, but she didn't much care, as long as they kept her out of it.

As it transpired, she was not to be kept out of it. The girl appeared to have stood her ground against Romilda's assaults, since she was making her way towards Violet with a purposeful look. Violet cleaned her dusty fingers on her trousers and looked up at the newcomer blankly. She was surprised to see her holding out a colourful card and making a brave attempt at smiling. People usually found this difficult around Violet. Although annoyed, Violet tried to soften her expression; the girl looked as though she was trying to be kind. 'Would you like to come to my party?' she said, offering her the card. The honest answer was 'no', however nice she was trying to be, and Violet had never been one to beat around the bush, so she said it. The girl looked stung. 'Maybe you are a freak,' she snapped, her eyes filling with tears, as she turned on her heel and marched back to the smug-faced group awaiting her.

Ablaze

Seldryn opened his eyes. Everything was quiet, the palace slept. Yet he had woken. Something was wrong. He slipped from his bed and padded to the open window. Peering into the balmy night, he could just make out the dark mass of the curtain wall. The battlements appeared deserted, the watch fires out. He could hear muffled footsteps in the corridor now. Seldryn pressed his ear to the heavy door. Someone was whispering urgently outside his chamber. He flattened himself against the wall just as a cloaked man swept inside bearing a torch. He cast it's light around the room and glanced back at the corridor. 'Not here' he told his companion. 'He mustn't reach the prince,' the other answered, 'hurry!'. The prince! Seldryn felt a brief wave of panic. He knew what he must do. The girl, of course, would need to come with them. She would be used against them if he left her there. He closed his eyes to summon the familiar. As ever, he felt vulnerable drifting away from his carefully crafted thoughts, reaching out to his bird. The animal answered to his master's call. Through a balcony elsewhere in the keep, Seldryn knew a large raven was entering the young lady's living quarters to rouse her from her troubled sleep. She would know where to meet them, it was the prince he needed to worry about now.

He poked his head into the corridor and looked both ways before sprinting after the intruders, who had already disappeared. He reached the spiral staircase to the north tower, but instead of climbing it, turned down the corridor to his left and knocked softly on the first door. A small woman in a nightdress opened almost instantly. 'Seldryn!' she panted. 'They're here. It's happening.' 'I know Marietta, I know,' he answered, stepping into the room. Marietta closed the door quietly and hurried to the end of her chamber. She dragged the bed aside to reveal a trapdoor. Seldryn opened it and stepped inside. 'Are you taking the girl aswell?' She asked before he could disappear. Seldryn looked up from the floor. 'Yes. You know it's necessary.' She nodded. There was nothing to add. 'Take care, will you?' Seldryn smiled at her and climbed down, closing the trapdoor behind him.

Claws and Feathers

I returned home late that evening after training. Tethir was determined that I should acquire a good technique with my father's sword, so he drilled me relentlessly in a clearing by the stream for hours at a time. I found Agroth in the kitchen, musing over a large book with a cup of tea held between his gnarled fingers. He looked up at me as I entered, sweaty and bruised. The corners of his mouth curled into a weak smile and his eyes crinkled affectionately. 'Where are they?' I asked. He pointed at the door to his back with a thumb and resumed his reading. I dumped my bag and the sword beside the entrance and, in three steps, covered the distance to the back door, which led to Agroth's little garden.

I found Elion and Zoe whispering to each other, cross-legged on the ground amongst the bellflowers. I immediately knew I had walked in on something. Zoe had her back on Elion's chest and they had both turned their heads hastily towards the door as they heard me coming. Elion was looking guilty and my sister had turned scarlet. 'Well?' she said scathingly, 'What do you want?' I suppose I was a bit dazed. I mean, it's not as if I hadn't noticed before that there was something going on between them, but somehow I had dismissed the idea, as If I didn't really believe my sister could feel anything. Thinking back on it I felt quite stupid. 'I, er... nothing. Just wanted to check you were home. I'll go upstairs now.' Elion got up and brushed the grass from his trousers 'Yes, we'd better go and help Agroth.' Zoe, still on the ground, had turned from looking embarrassed to looking angry. 'No, Elion. Stay. Matt was already leaving.' He hesitated, looking from Zoe to the house, avoiding my gaze altogether. I quickly turned back towards the kitchen door. Elion must've followed, because Zoe was straightening up and shouting after us. 'You had to barge in and kill it, didn't you Matt!' I turned, annoyed that I'd gotten messed up in her problems. Suddenly I realised I was angry too. The subconscious thoughts I had been avoiding about her relationship with Elion rushed forward in a chaotic torrent. 'I couldn't care less what you do, Zoe. Don't take it out on me it's never going to work out. It's not my fault he's four times your age.' Admittedly, the elf didn't look about to turn eighty, not by my mortal standards anyway. Nevertheless, I had touched a nerve. That was the thing that had been gnawing at Zoe's insides ever since we had arrived at the elven capital.