How History Repeats
"Madame Belacqua, is it true?" Regent had been so engrossed in her teacher's stories, the twisting adventures that bound her imagination in bundles, sending it spinning in so many directions. At just thirteen years old, she was unlike many of the girls in her class, in fact Regent found it hard to believe she was like any of the other children in the whole of Oxford. If not the whole of the world!
"Of course it's not." Her teacher laughed, always giving the class of six the same brightened answer, but there was darkness in the wild woman's eyes sometimes, that absorbed her lightness, that made Regent think it was more than true, it was her teacher's histories. Still, that was just silly school girl wishes, because Regent really did want so badly to believe that there were such things as Armoured Bears, and magically wonderful Alethi- whatever they were called, and witches and dust and, and, and well all of it. It made her mind explode with excitement, to hear such tales of the things of dreams.
"Now come along, we have to finish our studies today or you will all end up in bed with no supper."
Regent groaned under her breath, she wasn't the most applied girl, nor was she the smartest of her small class. In fact she'd much rather hear more stories, listen to more tales and let her mind float beyond the clouds to where the spirits wandered and where dust was more real than the bear cub that sat on her feet under the desk. Tristan was Regent's daemon, and sometimes Regent loved him dearly, but sometimes, and to the shock of her fellow students and teachers alive, she wanted nothing better than to wish he would go away. Tristan seemed to lack embodiment of Regent's insatiable curiosity, and his warnings of kindness and loyalty drove her stark raving mad. She didn't want to be loyal to Jordan Collage. She didn't want to be loyal to her teachers, or her peers, or her matron or anyone. She just wanted to be free of this place. She longed to take to the air, to fly like the witches in the tales.
"Miss Pekkala, are you listening or are you forcing me to give you lashings?" Regent knew the threat was empty, but her head snapped up all the same. It was well know throughout the collage that Lyra Belacqua is a teacher like no other, and rumours run wild about the way in which the woman's mysterious past got her so often in trouble. Regent had heard countless times of her tutor's love of dreaming, and knew that at worst she'd get a cold bath and a slap on the wrist for her own daydreams.
Little did Regent know that her whimsical way wasn't completely her wrong doing. Nor, was she, yet aware, that her mother was a witch, a character from the stories, and from her deepest desires. In fact, Regent was in the dark about many, many things that made her special from all the others in her class. Brought here as barely a toddler, she was fostered. Regent was provided into Lyra's care, by her mother, and her only contact with the women; entrusted with raising her, was in class.
"Yes Ma'am." The thirteen year old nodded, her dark raven hair tumbling into her face, its lose curls unmanageable at the best of times.
"Then perhaps you would give your feelings on the reading?"
A snicker rose around the room as Regent's pause became uncomfortably long. She had to give herself time to actually read the scroll before her, and her delay caught her short.
"If you do not yet feel enough to comment, Regent then how about you just read the section to the rest?" Lyra offered, a light smile fluttering age struck features.
"Into this wilde Abyss,
The Womb of nature and perhaps her Grave,
Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mixt
Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight,
Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more Worlds,
Into this wilde Abyss the warie fiend
Stood on the brink of Hell and look'd a while,
Pondering his Voyage; for no narrow frith
He had to cross."
Regent read fluidly, her tongue wrapping like mercury on stone around the words. Wetting her lips as she finished the passage she looked up, seeing the expectant look on her teacher's eyes, she quickly found a comment that may be deemed appropriate.
"So, urm-"She paused again, blushing with the pressure of finding something suitable to entertain her classmates. "When all else fails, when air or water, fire or earth fail to provide the answers, one must look to the spirit, to the soul to find the courage to know the way?" It was a long shot, a shot that battered towards the goal line, in something of an immature curved direction, dancing and prancing instead of just doing the business and throwing itself for the goal.
Bemused, Regent watched her teacher smile, but when the bell rang she was kept behind after class.
"I promised your mother, that one day, I would pass this onto you. To repay the kindness she had given me, by looking after you until you were ready to leave Jordan." Lyra said, sitting on the edge of her desk, her eyes bearing into the crystal blue ones that belonged to Regent. And the teen was once more captured by the dusty tones, the soft storyteller ways that filled Lyra's voice. "Your mother is a magnificent woman, Regent, and you must disguard your hatred for her for leaving you here. It was a decision that was hard for her to make, I promise you that. I'm sorry I can't explain it all to you, little dreamer, but this is your adventure now."
Regent timidly accepted a small velvet case. Her stomach lurched dangerously as the small golden compass dropped into her palm. "I hope, with this, you will be able to find out who you are Regent, and get the answers you deserve."
"So the stories are true." Regent whispered, awed by the Alethiometer.