Varna Ch. 01

This female became pregnant - not so unusual - but she died of some kind of fever only a week after delivering her child. No one knew who the father was. Or, if they did, they weren't saying. The baby's upbringing was left to the half-orc fighters in the Duke's service, for whom Glasha seemed to serve as some sort of mascot, or collective responsibility. This scandal was old news by the time I was five years old (it occurred three months before I was born), yet people continued to bring it up.

For whatever reason, I liked the little girl at first sight. I did notice her prominent nose, and her wide mouth. Her upper lip was also slightly larger than her lower (it's the opposite with most people). Her skin was also a strange colour, as if she'd been tanned all over by the sun (which was impossible, given the late season). She wasn't the strangest child in the yard: we played with half-elves, half-orcs, and occasionally met one of the fey. But she stood out - to me, at least.

In short, she was scrawny and homely, but I noticed her. That was why I saw the cluster of boys, chasing a ball, headed directly towards her. Glasha thinks that I am a creature of the intellect, who never does anything without thinking it through three times first, but that morning, I reacted on instinct alone. I ran over there as fast as my six-year old legs would carry me.

I was too late. They bowled her over, sent the skinny little thing spinning to the ground. Then a melee for the ball erupted, almost directly over her. They were kicking, and stamping, and shoving.

I burst into the scrum, arms and legs flailing.

- "Get away! Get off!" I screamed, in my shrill little voice.

A couple of them hesitated, taken aback by my ferocity. But not all: I was clouted on the side of the head, and kicked on the shin - hard. My own brother, Merik, swung at my head, but succeeded only in clipping my ear. I kicked him, even as I bit another boy.

- "What the hell, Tauma?" shouted Merik.

- "You're hurting her!" I screamed.

Somehow, they sensed how frantic I'd become, or they could hear the desperation in my voice. They actually stopped fighting over the ball, and looked down. The little girl had managed to slide or crawl to the edge of the melee. She was covered in dust, her enormous eyes wide. Even at that moment, I recognized that she was apprehensive, but not yet terrified.

- "Who gives a crap?" said Soslan, the whelp of a Guardsman. "She's just a quartee - or an eightee."

Those were derogatory terms for the offspring of half-orcs and humans, or half-orcs and half-elves (considerably rarer). Quarter-orc, or one eighth orc.

- "Say that again, Soslan?" said Murzosh. He was the son of a half-orc mother, one of the Duke's most prized mercenaries. He was also an eight year old who looked like he was fourteen, and needed to shave three times a day. Murzosh wasn't coming to my rescue, or the little girl's; he simply disliked the implied slur on his ancestry.

Soslan wasn't a complete fool: he backed down.

Children are not all sweetness and light. They can be savage, and needlessly cruel. They often make crude attempts to mimic the behaviour of adults. It remains a mystery to me to this day: why do the young insist on copying the most reprehensible traits of their most reprehensible elders?

Nathal kicked the ball, and most of the competitors ran off after it.

I went over to the skinny girl.

- "Are you alright?" I asked.

- "Are you?" she replied. Only later did I realize that my ear was bleeding. I also had a bright bruise already forming on my cheek, and my trousers were torn.

I offered her my hand, to help her up. She took it. She never did say thank you. But the next day, she came and stood beside me in the yard.

Just as she did almost every day after that.

***

Tauma, age 13

My father had ambitions for his sons. Unfortunately, he never told us exactly what they were. We had to guess.

Physical fitness and training at arms were important. Merik was the strongest, and the most aggressive. Nathal was the fastest. I was average, at best.

- "Use a bow." suggested the elf Enneiros. "You won't last long in hand to hand."

But father also valued learning. He brought in tutors, so that we could learn our letters and numbers, as well as the history and geography of Varna and Leinyere (especially Portoa and Galtin's Port). Aludar was the best of us, when it came to learning - he genuinely loved reading for its own sake.

Merik, on the other hand, would actually run away the moment our tutor's back was turned.

But Father surprised us when Aludar was 22, and I had just turned 13. He hired a special tutor from Portoa: a mage.

There is natural magic, and the innate magic of the fey peoples. But in Portoa, they have elevated (or is it reduced?) magic to a science. They identified 14 separate 'schools' of magic, along with the rules which govern each one.

A person can be helped or taught to "see" the aether - the invisible matter found all over the world. Once that has been achieved (and it not something that everyone can do), one can also learn to manipulate the aether, to use its attributes, according to the rules of the school in which you've trained.

Durgulel Kischay had a neatly trimmed little beard and mustache, and long hair which he kept tied in a sort of bun at the back of his head. His clothes were always immaculately clean, and looked very expensive (he could afford them, considering what Father had paid to lure him away from the Topaz Order in Portoa).

- "You must learn to see your chosen School as its own reality. Only then can you live in that reality, and work within its rules." he pontificated. Durgulel was pompous, vain, and completely puffed up with an inflated sense of his own intelligence and importance. He was far more concerned about how he looked and sounded than he was about whether or not we were absorbing his lessons.

"This is why learning multiple schools of magic can drive a magician mad. No one can see more than two realities at one time without risking insanity. Focus on a single school," he insisted, "because that is the way to grow more skillful, and more powerful."

None of us could stand him, of course.

Aludar actually wanted to learn; he loved learning of all kinds. He chose the Elemental School for his field of study. Unfortunately, he just wasn't very talented. Durgulel couldn't (or wouldn't) expend much effort teaching him, once Aludar had revealed that he had difficulty seeing the aether consistently.

- "What use are you, then?" Merik challenged the tutor. He disliked all teachers (except for the trainers and weapons-masters).

- "I cannot practice all 14 Schools, young Master." said Durgulel, with an air of lofty patience (which also annoyed us to no end). "That would lead to insanity, as I have told you - many times. Therefore I am conversant with all 14, but only on a theoretical level. Of necessity."

We all wanted to know what School Durgulel followed, or practiced. Then we could have asked for a practical demonstration of his skill. Was he actually powerful? Or, as we suspected, was he just one huge intellectual fart? But he refused to reveal his specialization.

Merik was intrigued by the possibilities of the Body School, as it had been explained to us by Durgulel. Being able to increase his strength, or his speed - these were the sorts of things which appealed to my brother. He was such an indifferent student, though, that none of us ever saw any evidence that he was able to use Body magic.

Nathal had a different approach. Outside of lessons, he laughed at Durgulel with the rest of us. But he also set out to charm the mage - and succeeded easily. Nathal became the Tutor's Pet. He too chose the Body School. It was only much later that I learned how assiduous my middle brother had been with his magical studies.

Toran was too young, but eventually he chose the Elemental School as well. He might have been trying to emulate Aludar, at the time, but he wasn't much more successful.

Sanatha asked to be allowed to take lessons with us. Then she begged and pleaded (there might have been a small tantrum involved). Finally, Father had Durgulel admit her to our classes. The mage was none too pleased.

He steered our little sister to Alchemy - or 'True' Alchemy, as he called it. When Sanatha learned that it involved healing, she was all for it. Durgulel neglected to tell her that it was considered the lowest form of magic, least of the 14 Schools.

I resisted choosing a School. First off, I just didn't like Durgulel. That doesn't mean that I didn't listen to him - I did. But I had no respect for the man, so doing as he instructed me held no appeal.

- "Our tutor is so annoying." I said to Glasha. We were down by the river; I was trying to skip stones, while she watched me, without commenting.

Ever since the first time we'd met, she would spend part of the day with (or at least near) me. Glasha watched me in the training yard, or she'd wait until after lessons, and we'd go exploring by the river, or into the woods. We'd collect acorns, or skipping stones (and then sling stones).

We also had the whole town to explore: the markets, the workshops, and the busy wharfs, where the riverboats unloaded their cargos. There was also the test of courage, where we approached as close as we could to the tannery and its horrible odours. I had other friends - all boys - who also liked to do these things, but I was probably most comfortable with Glasha.

We didn't have to say much. I just found her supremely easy to be with. She seemed to feel the same. Glasha didn't criticize or complain. She also didn't talk just for the sake of talking. I liked that about her, so I tried to do the same.

- "You're quiet." I said. "I mean, sometimes we talk for hours, and I lose track of time. But you can also a spend a whole day without saying anything at all."

- "Yes."

- "That's not a criticism."

- "I know."

- "I'm curious, though. Do you mind if I ask why you're so quiet?"

She gave my question due consideration. "When I was little, no one wanted to hear me. There still aren't many people other than you who are all that interested in what I might have to say. It's alright, though: I learn a great deal by listening."

- "Who do you listen to, mostly?"

- "You. Yazgash." Yazgash was a very young half-orc destined to serve with Father's mercenary contingent. She was a holy terror on the training field. "A few other adults. But I also listen to the birds. And the trees."

- "The trees?"

- "Of course."

I thought, for a moment, that she was pulling my leg. Glasha saw my face.

- "I'm quite serious, Tauma."

- "How ...?"

- "I can hear things." she said. "Sometimes it's a voice. Other times, just a sound. And I can't always tell when the sound occurred. But sometimes I can hear someone's voice when they didn't actually say anything at all."             

Glasha was beginning to frighten me. But then she sat down, on a large rock by the riverside. This little girl was no threat to me. She was my friend.

"Sometimes, I don't hear words." she went on. "I hear ... a mood, or a feeling. It's not always clear. But it's never been wrong, either. This must sound strange to you."

- "A little." I said.

- "But now you know that the aether exists."

Of all my brothers, I suspected that I was the one who could see the aether most clearly (Nathal hid his talent for many years). I knew that magic was real, but I resisted learning anything at all from Durgulel, because I disliked him so intensely.

I nodded, very slowly. "I do."

- "It's not something you should avoid. If you can see it clearly, then you have talent - and that should never be squandered."

What did she know of magic? She was only three months older, and I'd had eight full lessons from a mage from Portoa. I made a face.

"You don't believe me." she said.

- "Glasha -"

She stood up. "I won't see you for ten days. Don't come looking for me." That said, she walked off in high dudgeon - back straight, lips tightly compressed.

***

It was a long stretch of time. Ten days, at age 13, can seem like an eternity. I poured my energies into physical training, and made a concerted effort to pay more attention to Durgulel. I even agreed to choose a School of Magic to concentrate on: Mind. I may have been overly influenced by Merik and Nathal's choice of Body; Mind was the opposite school.

But I still missed Glasha, and thought about her every day. She didn't come out to watch me in the yard. She wasn't waiting when I came out of my lessons. I didn't see her anywhere.

I began to worry - to the point where I went to the Lower barracks, to seek out Yazgash. If her sheer size wasn't intimidating enough - she towered over me by more than a foot - Yazgash had purple hair, yellow eyes, and sizeable tusks.

- "Little Lord Tauma." she growled. Or perhaps it was just a rumble, partway down her throat.

- "Excuse me, Yazgash." I began.

- "Can't wait ten days?"

- "No, I -" Wait - she knew?

- "Patience is good." growled Yazgash. "For warriors, for Dukes. For everyone."

She wasn't going to tell me anything. Glasha would find out that I hadn't been able to wait. There was nothing left to do but salvage what little pride I could.

- "I apologize for disturbing you." I said, just before I beat a hasty retreat.

Glasha was a girl of her word: ten days, she'd said. On the tenth day, I expected to find her watching me exercise in the yard, but there was no sign of her. Nor was she waiting for me after my lessons with Durgulel. It wasn't until after midday that I realized where she would be: down by the river, exactly where we'd parted ten days earlier. I ran the last two hundred yards, worried that she might have grown tired of waiting for me. I arrived completely out of breath.

- "Making me wait a little?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

- "No." I panted. "I'm sorry. I mean - I'm sorry that I didn't believe you. Before."

- "I understand. Afterwards, I realized that you need some kind of proof. So I've tried to get you some."

- "Proof?" I was confused - and still out of breath.

- "I spent part of the ten days listening, Tauma. Listening to you - and to whoever you were with."

It was as if the ten days had not passed: we were right back in the same spot, in the midst of the same conversation. And I still had no idea what she was talking about.

- "Glasha ..."

- "Here." she said. "You sit, this time." She motioned to me to take her place on the rock. "Just listen, and I'll explain."

- "Alright." I said, humouring her.

Glasha took a deep breath.

- "On the second day, you played Sentinel with your eldest brother."

How did she ...? It had to be a lucky guess. I often played with Aludar. Merik and Nathal preferred dice, and games of chance, but Aludar had really taken to Sentinel. It was a game which our father insisted that we play - and master.

It was played on a board, with pieces representing individual warriors. Sentinel was a strategy game, based on position, requiring the player to plan ahead, and to recognize the significance of his opponent's moves. Aludar was better at it than the rest of us. Well ... most of us.

- "You let him win." said Glasha.

- "I always let him win. You already know that."

My brothers were all - without exception - hyper-competitive. Aludar was the brightest, Merik the most physical. Nathal was more versatile, and could compete in both arenas, even as he outclassed the rest of us when it came to winning people over.

I was ... average. As the youngest of the four (Toran was too small to include in the competition), I couldn't run as fast, or throw a spear as far as my brothers. I couldn't outwrestle them. I didn't have Aludar's brains, Merik's strength, or Nathal's charm. I was not so well-rounded as Nathal, either.

But I was more intelligent than any of them knew. And that was a secret that I took pains to keep. On the day my brothers realized that I was possibly a match for Aludar - despite being only half his age - they would begin to consider me a possible rival.

I didn't try to compete with my brothers - not openly, at any rate. And I let Aludar win at Sentinel. Glasha already knew all of that.

- "But after the match, your brother said: 'You're improving, little brother'."

My eyes went wide. That was exactly what he'd said.

- "You heard us? But - where were you?"

- "Here." she said.

- "That's impossible!"

- "Not with magic." said Glasha. I was going to protest again, but she raised a finger, to still me. "On the fifth day, your brother Merik was following you down the hall. When you weren't looking, he kicked you in the backside."

Now my mouth was open, too.

"He said: 'Get a move on, TauTau. Don't want to keep the tutor waiting.'"

Glasha knew. She knew what Merik had done - and what he'd said. Word for word. She'd even captured his inflection, and the mocking tone of his voice.

She wasn't finished. "On the seventh day, your mother yelled at you to stand straighter - to stop slouching." That was hardly news; Mother shouted that at me at least twice a week.

Glasha frowned. "But then she said: 'I swear, one day you'll be the death of me.'"

My eyes were still wide open, and so was my mouth. There was no way that Glasha had been close enough to hear - or see - those three interactions. There was no explanation for how she could possibly know what was said on those three occasions.

Except ...

- "Magic?"

Glasha didn't laugh. She didn't celebrate her triumph. She simply nodded.

"But ... how can you hear things - when you aren't anywhere near?"

- "It's not easy." she said. And then Glasha went ahead and began explaining to me how she did it. "I know you. I know you well. Somehow, I can reach out and find you - and then I can hear, and sometimes even see what's going on around you."

- "That's incredible!" I meant it in both senses of the word.

- "It's more incredible than that." said Glasha. "When I heard what Aludar said? It was three days after we last saw each other."

- "But you said -" I frowned, trying to understand. "We played that game on the second day."

- "So you did. But I only heard you on the third day."

I was suddenly glad that Glasha had made me sit down, because my knees went weak. This was ... incredible - as in, impossible to believe. And yet ... she'd never lied to me. What possible reason could she have to begin lying now?

- "That's ..."

- "Hard to believe. But it's true, Tauma." Glasha looked me in the eye. She wasn't pleading, or begging, but I could see that she needed my support ... or my understanding.

- "Tell me."

Glasha tried to explain how it was for her. Where I could find the aether by examination, as Durgulel had taught us, Glasha was able to instinctively sense large pockets of aether, and draw on them, almost without thinking about what she was doing.

"Couldn't that be ... dangerous?" I asked.

- "No." she said. "You can't take in more aether than your body can handle. It's ... what you try to do with it, that draws on your energies."

- "Energies?"

Glasha did her best to explain what magic was like - for her. It didn't sound at all like what Master Durgulel was teaching my brothers and me.

"How do you know this?" I asked.

- "I have a tutor, too." she said.

- "Who?"

- "I'll tell you, one day. But not just yet. Can you wait?"

It was a minor leap of faith, but I made it easily. "Of course."

- "Thank you." she said. And then, to repay my trust, Glasha did her best to explain to me how she'd listened in on me three times. It was partly her closeness to me - she probably knew me better than anyone else - and partly the fact that she'd isolated herself so that she could concentrate on me.