A/N: Shyasana of Jerr-Niken (N914-N1084), a descendent of the most ancient line of Bards, the House of Enakhra, went on to become one of the finest writers and actors (known then as players) of the ancient world of Edil-Amarandh, eventually rising to become the Queen of the war-ravaged Suderain. While the Naraudh Lar-Chane is the telling of the Second Restoration of the Light (as it is very informally, yet imprecisely known), and focuses on the unusual life of Maerad of Pellinor and her mentor, Cadvan of Lirigon, The Summer, which is a memoir about Shyasana, provides an insight on the life of a famous and loved, yet traditionally brought up and mannered Bard in the late period of Edil-Amarandh (N850-N1450).
The work is authentic and factual beyond a shadow of doubt, but its authorship is hotly debated: some argue that it was Shyasana herself who penned down The Summer, others say that it was Wandesk of Car-Amdridh, an ardent lover of her work and even a friend, who is responsible for this memoir. Another theory suggests that a Bard named Fabieska of Il-Arunedh merely compiled together passages written down by Shyasana herself, with thoughts and musings of those who studied or sang glories of her work and rule.
The most unusual aspect of The Summer is that it does not progress in the more or less strictly chronological style that is common to all Bardic writings. Instead, it is almost as if it the words were written down as soon as the thoughts flew past the mind. This may provide an indirect, albeit not an entirely reliable evidence that it was penned down by Shyasana herself, showing her approach and style in narrating her life and experiences.
Documents from a hidden temple of the House of Enakhra deep in the Agaban Desert indicate that its Bards had a distinctive, if not powerful, psychic powers. These included but weren't limited to uncannily accurate intuition, clairvoyance, the ability to influence people and a multi-dimensional understanding of dreams as we know them. Shyasana's powers, as described here, seem to be but a minor manifestation of the same traits. It is not for sure that they are hereditary, as it is known that even the Speech may not be hereditary.
It was a merry time in Innail. Spring had brought a flurry of freshness and raised everyone's spirits. The valley was regaining its emerald green lushness and the grey, dour skies were giving away to clear and sunny days. The chill of the winter persisted, yet no one minded as they knew that it would soon recede. People were out and about in more numbers than ever. Business was thriving; the Meet had brought scores of Bards, some of whom were frequenting the inns on their way back after the Meet, while many others were still enjoying the serenity of Innail and patronising its markets, taverns and food stalls. No one, especially any Bard, roamed alone; everyone was bustling about with company.
Yet Anhil of Gent sat alone in the small waiting room located near the gardens, close to the entrance of the Bardhouse. He hadn't thought that his maiden visit to Innail would be such a sombre affair. He looked tired and depressed and if anyone came by him, they would've seen the dark circles under his eyes and the extraordinarily shabby state of his hair and clothes.
Two Bards hobbled wearily down the stairs of the main Bardhouse to the small waiting room located near the gardens, close to the entrance. They were dressed in white – the colour of the Light, but also the colour of mourning, for it was believed that the Light shined in both the joys and the agonies in life and that the departed would rejoin the Light and travel as a White Flame to beyond the Gates.
Anhil stood up slowly as he saw their approach, his limbs becoming weaker and limper by the minute. A strange mix of dread and acceptance overcame him. He felt he was seeing both as Anhil and as someone who was not Anhil.
For all the weariness in their limbs, it was not impossible to see the glint of anticipation in both the man and the girl's eyes. The man was tall and fair, his brown hair slightly disheveled and framing the brow over his light brown eyes.
The girl, on the other hand, was short and bronze-skinned, her ebony hair limp and matted as they fell down her shoulders, and her deep, dark brown eyes watering up with the effort of exerting herself after days of inactivity.
The two Bards finally reached the waiting room and Anhil swallowed as he took the sight of them in. Two powerful Bards, one well known, the other remembered because of her lineage. The man was Dernhil of Gent, and the woman, his savior, Shyasana of Jerr-Niken, Daughter of Enakhra.
"Daughter of Enakhra," Anhil crossed the room and sank down to his knees at Shyasana's feet, "I am forever indebted to you." It was the only way, he felt, that he could ease the wheels of conversation and remove any unease in the room.
It was a Jerr-Nikien custom to express immense gratitude or heartfelt apology this way, though it was equally possible that a man who felt so grateful to the woman who saved his brother's life chose to express his regards this way. Whichever reason it was, Shyasana could not bear the thought of Anhil looking so grateful and forlorn, more so because he was several years older than her. She knew he wouldn't rise without having paid the proper regard to the custom and so she extended her right hand forward regally, and Anhil looking up, kissed her hand, and was held by his shoulders and guided up as firmly as her frail body would allow.
"Your brother means a lot to me, sire," Shyasana embraced him as she looked over at Dernhil over Anhil's shoulder.
Dernhil had observed the exchange so far in silence. His eyes were sad, and didn't hold the usual spark of wit and hint of amusement. His expressive face had become a stony mask, and a lone tear threatened to slip out of his left eye. Shyasana felt that she herself could choke with emotion.
"I could do anything to thank you, Lady, but I fear that this is one debt which I shall never be able to overcome," Anhil's voice quivered with sadness, gratitude, longing and love.
Shyasana laughed, though she felt in no way as merry as she let on, and stepped closer to Dernhil in an effort to include him, "You flatter me, of course. I suggest you begin knowing me a bit better before you jump to do what I ask and find yourself regretting the consequences later."
She looked one last time at the two brothers before adding, "I'll leave you two brothers now. May the Light always shine on your path!"
She mentally commended herself for how she coaxed the two brothers – who hadn't seen each other for years – to start talking. The two muttered the polite reply, and she patted their shoulders before hurrying away. Her frailty and the exhaustion, which threatened to get the best of her, made it difficult for her to walk fast enough to avoid hearing sobs escape from the two brothers.
Her heart constricted, and it was all she could do to not run down to console Dernhil. Ignoring her heart's protests, and welcoming the thought of nestling down in her bed again, she held her head high, and made her way back to her room.
For all her weariness, Shyasana couldn't find it in herself to sleep. With a sigh of frustration, she got up from her bed and retrieved a book lying on her study table. She took the book, bundled herself up into the blankets once again, and began to read as hour upon hour passed by. So engrossed was she, that she hardly noticed when the dinner bell rang. A few minutes later, there came a knock on the door, and she bolted upright in surprise, startled out of the reverie of the silent companionship of written words.
An instinctive fear clutched her heart, and she summoned her magery and cast a ward around herself: she was still wary of the nightmare that had occurred a week ago; that had almost cost her her own and Dernhil's life.
"Who is it?" She called, suppressing the fear and donning the stern and hard persona that she knew made people wary. She had learnt years ago that illusions could be as powerful as the reality.
"It is I, Dernhil," came the reply.
Shyasana felt out with her magery, and heaved a sigh of relief when she recognised that aura outside the door as that of Dernhil. Almost shaking her head at her naivety, she stepped out of her bed and hastily patted her dress and smoothed her hair so as to make herself look a bit more presentable.
"Oh, Dernhil," She said as she opened the door, "Can I help you?"
"Why so serious?" He asked lightly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," She dismissed it away.
Dernhil studied her for a moment. "You had summoned your magery," He finally stated, simply.
"Yes," It was her turn to look long at him. Shyasana opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Dernhil.
"You needn't explain. I understand," He patted her shoulder. Shyasana nodded, thankful for his quiet understanding. "But what you do need to explain is why you aren't already down at the Dining Hall."
"What do you mean?"
"The dinner bell just rang, I presume," Dernhil replied, with his familiar, quiet amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Oh, well, I should go then!" Shyasana nodded to Dernhil, and began closing the door of her room to get ready for dinner. Before she could do that, however, Dernhil grabbed her arm and spoke.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd join me and Anhil for dinner tonight."
"Don't you two want to hear more about each other? Shyasana frowned, "I will just be intruding."
"Intruding? I think so not," Dernhil shook his head. "You are my saviour, and more than that, one of my greatest friends. Even Anhil is charmed by your grace and eloquence, and quite anxious to hear your side of the story."
"I do not know what to say," Shyasana said, referring to her confusion as to what she would tell Anhil about how she saved Dernhil from the Hulls' attack.
"You need not tell him everything," He assured. "The exact details of what transpired will always remain between us. Just say yes, Shyasana. You would've saved my life even if we didn't know each other well, but you are more than my saviour, as I just mentioned; you are such a good friend."
"You can thank me by letting me be if I'm such a good friend." Shyasana mumbled
"Aye," Dernhil beamed down at her, "But I'm not such a good friend. Now, will you come?"
"It is no big feat to command your friends so! If you dare, then be this authoritative with your unruly students!" She rolled her eyes.
He merely grinned and began escorting her to his rooms. It was a short walk to his rooms, and once they reached, Dernhil opened the door for Shyasana, and gestured for her to move in first. Anhil, who was sitting on of the chairs by the fireplace in the main room, rose as Shyasana came in, followed by his brother himself.
"Lady," Anhil bent down to kiss Shyasana's hand.
"We are going to have to be less formal if we are going to find ourselves in each others company so often," Shyasana smiled, "Or we will never get anywhere in our talks. May I request you to address me as 'Shyasana' now, as opposed to 'Lady'?"
"Only if you will stop calling me 'Sire', and use 'Anhil' instead," Anhil countered.
"We have a deal," She shook his hand.
"Well, if you both have done away with such trivial talks, may I escort you to a fine meal of lobster baked in honey and milk, a salad of lotus stems and water chestnuts, rice steamed in vapours of tea, and to finish it, a chocolate caramel toffee pudding?" Dernhil recited as he began ushering the other two into the dining room.
"My, my, Dernhil," Shyasana trailed off, "How could you have prepared such a feast on such a short notice all by yourself?"
"Oh, he didn't," Anhil quipped, as they entered the dining room, "I helped him, or we would've either gone hungry tonight, or found a burnt lobster in our plates."
"Very funny, Anhil," Dernhil smirked as he began serving after the others had taken their places, "You seem to have forgotten how much help and how many favours you used to rely on me for."
"That was until the student became better than the mentor, which is to say, I became more resourceful than you!"
Dernhil merely shook his head in exasperation, and settled down to eat. Shyasana regarded them with a fond smile, as she took in the first bite. "Not the finest lobster, but it will do!" She commended.
"After all, whose help was it?" Dernhil chirped.
"After all, whose tutelage was it?" The younger brother retorted.
Shyasana chuckled, "It is simply heart-warming how you two mature and powerful Bards still quarrel as if you were not a day older than ten years and so," Then, turned to Anhil, she remarked, "Frankly, I don't understand why you would not want to eat this dinner alone with the great poet here himself!"
"Like all poets, Shyasana, he's merely all words and flowery exchanges. I would've tolerated him for so long, all alone, only at my peril!"
"And like all laymen, he is too ignorant to even appreciate the need of pondering over some truths of life," Dernhil tutted, "Instead, he spends his time arguing in useless debates and hence, we required a mediator."
"And I shall agree with Anhil here, Dernhil: you are merely words! Do you know what he said when he was inviting me here?" Shyasana turned again to Anhil.
"Something along the lines of 'you have charmed us, and are a great friend, and a beautiful person'? And, though, this is absolutely true," Anhil raised his wine goblet to Shyasana, "it doesn't mean something special from Dernhil here."
"I did mean it!" The accused protested.
"Of course, you did, you noble, handsome Bard!" Shyasana teased. The rest of the dinner also passed away in the same way: merry banter and fond recollection. After they were through, they settled down on to the chairs in the main room by the fire, clutching goblets of light apple mead, or, in Shyasana's instance, herbal and flower-scented tea.
"But I can never thank you enough, really, for your aid," Anhil contemplated, the light bouncing off his face.
"I understand, and I think what you said was thanks enough,"
"Will it distress you if I asked you to recount what happened that night?"
Shyasana looked away, masking her face in the shadows. Dernhil, who was sitting between the two Bards, extended his arm to Shyasana in support. "Anhil," He admonished, 'This can be dealt with later..."
"I owe it to him," Shyasana gulped down the last of the contents of her goblet, "Besides, I'd rather we get this over with once and for all." It hadn't been easy to tell the dark tale over and over again, first to the Healers, then to Silvia, to the rest of the Circle, to the mages of the School charged with its defense, and then to be badgered with question after question by other curious Bards, and to hear their renditions of the incident.
"I shall not be going into great depth, Anhil. I shall merely briefly describe it. Dernhil can be descriptive enough for both of us. The night had had me already wary; it did not feel right. Even so, I tried to push away my misgivings from my mind, and tried to sleep. I couldn't, however, as my unease, along with other conflicts of thought, kept swirling in my mind. I might've fallen asleep, but then I felt it: a darkness crossing, evil intent in the air. I've had my fair share of the Dark, and the sack of Jerr-Niken will always be the bleakest time of my life. I know the workings, the stirring of the Dark. I know where and how it treads. And I knew then that my apprehensions were not without reason, and that there were Hulls in the School.
"I cast a ward around myself, summoned my magery, and disguised my aura. I followed the aura of the Hulls, two of them, and I just saw them entering his study. I debated whether I should fetch help or go unaided, but I realised I had no time to do the former, and it may only serve to alert the Hulls and to kill him for certain. So I entered, whether foolishly, or gallantly, I don't know," Shyasana shook her head. A few moments passed, and she began speaking again, her voice firmer and surer.
"That was the moment when Dernhil was trying to, you know... Well, at that moment, nothing seized me stronger than irrational anger. I recognised one of the Hulls, he had been present at my home as well. Dernhil was very weak, and I placed a charm on him to give him back some strength. I'd weakened myself, but I opened my mind, and linked the Light in my mind to Dernhil's; that gave me some strength. I looked at the Hulls, and I used their link to Dernhil's mind to my advantage. I looked into their minds, and saw all their deeds, all their wrongdoings, and I reflected it back on them.
"I made them live through their actions, bear their brunt, and we poured our White Flame into their minds. Well, I felt like I was doing that, but the actual events may have been different. That was all. They dissipated into smoke, and we fainted."
There was another long silence, which was broken at last by Shyasana. "You will understand, won't you, if I excused myself?"
There were quiet affirmations, and Shyasana got up, quivering badly. She let herself out of Dernhil's rooms, and walked back to her own, hardly aware of how she was able to considering the weakness in her limbs. As she crept back into her bed, she finally shed the tears that should've been shed a week ago.
A/N: Yes, I know, the author's note's style is copied and absolutely gibberish, and I also know that this is the second time I've done it. So let me clear this up: I do not own anything in this fic, except the character Shyasana, the House of Enakhra, the two probable authors of The Summer, and the title The Summer itself. It's very tedious to write a Pellinor fic, but very fun too... it gives me a warm, happy feeling in my heart.
Please, friends, do not hesitate to critique me. I'm very open to all sorts of reviews. Thank you for reading!