A New Arrival (pt. 2)
Only after all the clatter of the others running down the stairs when the second sun set in the North, did Absidae retreat from the confines of her own chamber, and she padded softly down the stairs and into the dining area. The others were all seated around the large, wooden table, including a young man with striking, shamrock green hair Sid had ever seen. His crisp, chocolate eyes bore into her, and she suddenly felt extremely insecure. Cedar gestured to the seat next to her on the family-style bench, and Absidae shyly sat next to her. Paris served the six of them a hearty, delicious smelling stew, after which he stood. "Oh Mother Goddess, we thank you for the blessings of the food before us, and the addition of Absidae to our numbers. Continue to bless us in the coming seasons," he concluded the blessing of the food by taking his seat.
Orion began passing around a plate of thick cut, toasted bread. "So," Cedar gurgled through mouthfuls of stew, "where are you from, Sid?" Paris cleared his throat and gave her a look of caution, but Sid held up her right hand, gently stopping the old warlock from disallowing the question.
Absidae took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "There's no point in hiding it, and I don't want any pity from anyone here," she pulled her sage cardigan down, revealing a pattern of scars: everything from burns to deep, violent slashes. "My family was from Oitsa," there was a collective gasp. Everyone in the Western Quarter knew of the massacre. Rogue vampires had attacked and burned an entire village, killing everybody. "I was seven when the massacre happened. My older brother was ordered by my mother, who was an accomplished wizards, and my father, a mortal man of great strength, to hide and protect me. My mother was Blaire Walker-"
"Wait…you mean the Blaire Walker?" Tristan interrupted, obviously impressed with the newest addition to their numbers.
The baritone quality of his voice shocked Sid, but she nodded in response. "Yes, Head of the Council of Wizards, Councilwoman Blaire Walker. She was the main target of the massacre. The vampires…well, you can't really hide from vampires. They know what they're looking for, and of course they can smell blood, and fear…" Absidae was obviously having a difficult time telling this story, and she looked to Paris for help, her eyes welling up with tears.
"Her brother gave his life up to save hers, he was thirteen years old, and Absidae was only seven. As we all know, the massacre was twelve years ago, and Absidae has been on her own ever since. You are in the presence of the only survivor of the Massacre of Oitsa," Paris finished for her. "Now, this really isn't appropriate dinner conversation; I suggest we leave it where it is, and if Absidae decides to share any more with any of you, that choice is hers alone. No one is to pressure her for information, is that clear?" The others nodded their agreement, with the exception of the odd, green haired man. Tristan met Absidae's eyes, and held her gaze for a moment before nodding as well.
Orion cleared his throat, breaking the tense, somehow understanding, eye contact between the senior apprentice and newcomer. "I'm sorry," he said simply, his voice a much higher octave than Sid had expected. She smiled softly, used to the sympathy of others when they found out where she was from. "I hope you don't expect us to take it easy on you when we do combative practice, just because of what happened. Everyone has a story, and we still need to be able to defend ourselves," his maple eyes glinting mischievously.
Once she understood his apology, her smile changed from soft and appreciative, to challenging and almost excited. "I would hope you wouldn't. I can take care of myself, I assure you," Sid teased, feeling the tension lift from the table. She also noticed, in the moment that happened that the crystals that floated above the table and around the lounge area changed from a tense, angry red to a soft, delicate, friendly pink. Absidae looked up, a bewildered look on her face.
Sinclair chuckled, amused at the new girls confusion. "They can sense the mood in a room, and change colors based on what they feel. Paris invented them, and we all have a large crystal in our room. You'll notice it change tonight, when you go to sleep." The bewilderment quickly melted into amazement; Absidae had forgotten she was in the presence of the greatest warlock in all of Ceokia.
After dinner, the others all went their separate ways to study, and since Absidae hadn't been given any task yet (Paris assured her he would evaluate her first thing in the morning), she decided to look around. Slowly, almost painfully, she studied her surroundings. As her life hadn't always gone smoothly, Sid liked to know she had a way out, and if so what her escape route would be. Sid had always had a hypersensitivity to sound, and had already managed to distinguish the footsteps of Paris, Sinclair, and Cedar. Orion and Tristan carried themselves similarly, and Absidae wondered if they were at all related, as Paris and Cedar were.
Her surroundings amazed her at every turn, and she was only on the bottom floor of the South Wing. Sid noticed, however, that the South Wing had only one story; the kitchen and dining room were one in the same, with the lounge towards the wrought iron stairs that lead to the apprentice's sleeping quarters, and a hallway leading to what she assumed was where Paris and Tristan slept. At the end of the dark, cozy looking hallway was another set of stairs. From what Absidae could see, these stairs were made of stone, and covered with what looked like green moss. That, she assumed, lead to the potions and alchemy tower that made up the North Wing. She puzzled why the apprentices would need to be accompanied to that wing, when they were there to be taught magic. Rules are rules, she thought to herself, moving along in her self-guided tour of her new home. Temporary home, she reminded herself.
Climbing the wrought iron stairs, she paused on the second floor of the West Wing. The area was open, almost like all the walls where rooms had once stood were removed. Punching bags, weights, practice dummies, and other instruments in the instruction of self-defense were scattered in a clumsy, disorganized way. Absidae couldn't quite figure out why they needed to be taught self-defense; she could only assume someone here knew more about the Rogues plans than she did. There were mirrors across one wall, and she caught a glimpse of herself; she was neither tall nor short, and full figure modeled that of her late mothers. Her lucky sage cardigan draped over her like a blanket, underneath which she wore a simple, beige dress that flowed over her like water. She was still wearing her leather boots, but even in them her footfalls barely made a sound.
Absidae disregarded the third floor, as it was merely their respective rooms and bathrooms (one for the girls, one for the boys, on either end of the hallway). As she climbed to the fourth and final floor of her wing, the smell of books assaulted her nostrils in the most pleasant way. Sid had always felt at home among books; books didn't judge, books didn't show false sympathy. I can trust books, she thought to herself as she turned three hundred and sixty degrees. From the floor to the ceiling, there was nothing but books; they were obviously organized by what could be learned from within their pages, an organization that did not go unappreciated by Absidae. There were places on the floor and outer walls where dividing walls had once stood, as there was on the second floor. Here, however, there was no clumsy, disorganization. Sid could already tell this was where she would be spending most of her time.
A small creek of the floor boards startled her, and she whipped around, her auburn hair flying in her face. Damnit, she cursed herself. She hated how her hair blinded her when it wasn't tied back, but couldn't bring herself to cut it short. At the top of the stairs stood Sinclair, who was chuckling at her skittishness, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"Don't shoot! I'm unarmed," he mocked playfully, a molted brown boa slithering across his shoulders. "Well, except for Jitterbug. She doesn't bite, though," the snake hissed coyly in response. "I just wanted to see if you needed help finding anything, or if you wanted an actual tour."
Absidae let out a sigh, the tension slowly leaving her body. "I'm not particularly comfortable with things that have fangs," she murmured, her eyes locked on Jitterbug. Sinclair turned to his snake, and made eye contact with the creature. After a few seconds, the animal begrudgingly slunk from the boys' shoulders, disappearing down the stairs. "So, you can talk to animals?" Sid asked once the snake was out of sight.
Sinclair nodded, pushing his messy, black hair off of his forehead. "Yeah, it was a pretty interesting discovery. According to my mom, no one in my family has shown any magical ability since my grandfathers' grandfather," he shrugged his slender shoulders. "I don't know how true that is, but that's what I have to go on. Sometimes, I think mom tells me things just to make me feel better. Not that being able to talk to animals makes me feel like a freak or anything," he rambled, obviously unsure of himself in the presence of this newcomer.
"How did you figure out you could talk to them?" Sid prodded, sitting in one of the oversized armchairs that formed a semicircle at the center of the library.
He sat in the chair furthest from her, eyeing her up and down. Her demeanor was relaxed, but something about her made Sinclair feel like he couldn't keep himself from talking. "I was just out in my moms' garden one day, when I was seven or so, and this rabbit came out of nowhere and asked if I minded if he sampled the tomatoes," Sinclair shrugged, nonchalant about the whole situation. "It didn't faze me much; I'd always had a wild imagination, so I just thought that was what had happened. Then, it started happening more and more regularly as I got older. I was fifteen when my mom finally reached out to Paris. I've been here ever since."
Absidae nodded, leaning back in the armchair. The young man felt his eyes following her every movement, and he felt himself anticipating the next time her mouth would open, and that singsong voice would fill the quiet air once more. Sinclair shook himself, willing his brain to snap out of whatever spell she had cast on him. "I thought you hadn't been evaluated yet? Why is Paris allowing you to use your magic?"
Confusion flooded Sid's face, and she cocked her head to the left as she questioned him. "I don't know what you mean. I'm not using any sort of magic?" She was asking him? Why? "I've never even shown any hint of magical ability. My brother, Ayden…" She trailed off for a moment. "Mom and Dad were always sure it would be him who inherited the magical bloodline. My dad was just a mortal, and it was just kind of assumed that's all I'd ever be. I'm here to learn healing magic, potions work," Sid was breathless after all of that, having spoken quickly so as not to let her emotions get the best of her.
"No, you were definitely doing something," Sinclair mused, watching her closely. Her honey eyes never met his yellow ones, and he realized when they had been speaking previously, she had never broken eye contact with him. "I'll have to tell Paris," she stiffened. "No! You won't be in any trouble," he promised, shaking his head and stifling a laugh. "Showing magical ability is a good thing, I promise!"
"You laugh a lot," Sid observed, raising an eyebrow. "How can anyone be as happy as you are?"
Sinclair smiled, almost sadly. "Because unlike you and Orion," he stated as he stood up, "Cedar and I don't have tragic back stories." He sauntered to the door, confident in himself; Absidae envied that. "Oh, by the way," Sinclair turned his head towards her, "your lizard, his name is Julius. He'll change colors based on your mood, sort of like Paris's crystals. If he ever thinks you're in danger, he'll come find me." He winked, causing Sid's olive cheeks to blush gently. As he retreated down the stairs, Absidae couldn't help but smile as she heard him chuckle.