Hello readers! Tis me again. Since I'm enjoying the process of writing this fanfiction, I'd like to continue its spawesomeness (spiffing + awesome). Please REVIEW and CRITIQUE and make SUGGESTIONS for the plot!
Nick… Nicholas… Nicholas West…
A voice was ringing in his head. So Nicholas replied with the first question anyone would ask.
"Who are you?"
What a silly thing to ask, child. You know exactly who I am.
The voice was smooth and crisp with every consonant clearly rolling off the tongue of the speaker (despite the fact that the voice had no tongue or body, for that matter). It was the voice of a middle-aged woman, who must have been raised by royalty or at least by some noble family. Nicholas had a disturbing revelation at who this voice might be coming from.
"Leave. Now. Get out of my head! GET OUT!"
Oh no, dear. Now why would I ever do a thing like that?
"I don't want you, of all people, to be stuck in here!"
What would make you say such a cruel thing as that?
"You're twisted."
So kind of you. Now will you listen for just-
Nicholas willed his mind to bend away from the voice, lashing away from the calm, cool caress of its words. He knew what it would ask, and dread filled him as he felt the voice begin to ring in head.
I AM YOUR MOTHER, AND YOU WILL LISTEN AND DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD! DO NOT TRY TO EVADE ME, BOY, FOR I WILL THEN FIND YOU AND NEVER LET GO.
"Fine! Say it."
Now… began the voice, I need your help.
This came as a surprise to Nicholas. The voice, or his mother, seemed to notice.
Never expected me to be in need of someone like you? Well, times have changed. With the Magisterium gone, my clan of witches has been… vulnerable to the panserbjørner.
"Aren't those… armored bears? In the North?"
Svalbard, child. The farthest reaches of the North. Despite the fact that is the land of the panserbjørner, my clan has established itself in secret there for centuries. Now, I cannot grant you the privilege of knowing the exact location of the clan, but we need an artifact to keep the bears at bay.
"Why do they even want to bother… you?" added Nicholas, shooting as much venom out on his last word.
They are ignorant of our traditional practices as witches. They fear us. But no matter! Find the girl with the symbol-reader, and make her ask it to find the artifact. After you have done this, we shall speak again.
"What if I can't find her? What if I refuse to do this?"
Then you will be the worst son this world has ever witnessed. A male child of a witch. A runaway. A convict. A thief. Must I go on?
"Not bothered by your incessant insults, mother."
And then there's the curse…
Nicholas felt his mind cringe.
"All right. As you wish, your queens-ship."
Such a pleasure to speak to you, street-rat of a son.
And at that moment, the sickening voice within Nicholas's head began to finally fade. His mind relaxed, as he knew she could not read his thoughts anymore. How could someone so cruel, selfish, and arrogant be the queen of probably the most powerful witch clan in the North? He could not wrap his mind around such an incredible idea. But then, just as quickly as the voice had left, another voice started to slowly crescendo in the darkness.
Boy! Child! Is he alive? I saw him fall… almost lost his dæmon!
The voice was not only one. A multitude of voices started to ring from all ends of his mind, breaking into his concentration. He could not think. He could only hear the boisterous shouting all around him! It was going to drive him mad!
"Shut up! Will all of you just shut the hell up?!"
The darkness was gone. Nicholas realized there was moonlight streaming through a window behind him. The window had pale, white silk curtains, and a blanket of the same color was draped over his body. His surroundings slowly came into focus. He saw an end table appear beside his bed, and suddenly when he looked forward closely enough he began to see various faces. A pair of bearded glasses peered down at him, a scrunched up, stern brunette with a crooked nose looked at him disapprovingly, and a pair of blue eyes with dirty blonde cascades of hair…
"I saw him right before he fell," Lyra whispered to the two adults.
"Well, he's obviously recovering from his fall," spoke the old man. He wore a white coat and held a stethoscope in his hands, and his thick glasses made his eyes magnified to resemble those of an oversized insect.
"He fell quite far from his dæmon. You're sure he's not severed," the three of them shivered at the thought, "from his fall, do you, Dr. Hect?"
"He seems fine enough. And besides, if you haven't realized it yet Miss Yule, his dæmon is currently resting on his chest. Quite a beautiful thing she is, too…"
"Yeah, she would have vanished into thin air if he fell too far away from her, Miss Yule," added Lyra.
Nicholas stared up at the three people in puzzlement. He blinked a few times and pinched his arm tightly to make sure he was not dreaming. He had the most bitter-sweet luck anyone could ever receive. He had been forced by his mother to begin some awful plan, but he had landed right in the lap of the girl he was so intrigued by. Lyra… quite a unique name.
"Lyra, dear, please report back to your dormitory. It is quite kind of you to care about this boy's well-being, but this is of no importance for you any longer. Run along."
Lyra eyed Nicholas for a split second. Her eyes narrowed, and her dæmon flicked up his tail. Suspicion was written all across her face, but then she did something unexpected to Nicholas. He could swear he saw her suddenly wink at him. Then without a word at all, she walked to the mahogany doors at the other end of the long rectangular room full of windows, opened the doors, and let them shut behind her as she began her way down a long carpeted hallway on the other end of the doors.
"Such a pleasant child," said Dr. Hect after Lyra had gone.
"Quite vain, in my opinion," spoke Miss Yule.
The unyielding woman swiftly spun on her heel and also filed out of the infirmary (Nicholas had decided that this room had to be such a place since other beds identical to his lined the walls between each of the windows). Dr. Hect watched her go, and then he turned to Nicholas.
"You, boy, are lucky you didn't die today. St. Sophia's is thankful you didn't, but we'd appreciate it if you didn't climb our school walls from now on. If you're seen by this school again for any reason, you will be escorted to the jail built for housing street-urchins that misbehave in this town like you, understand?"
Nicholas blinked in response.
"Now you'll remain here for the night, then you'll be on your way. I will give you a sleeping draught to help you relax from the injuries you've sustained."
The doctor handed Nicholas a glass of thick green liquid that smelled of burnt potatoes and administered the horrendous the medicine. After that, with a curt nod and, "'Night," the doctor left the infirmary, shutting off the anbaric lights as he left. In the darkness, Nicholas stared at the blank ceiling thinking.
What on Earth had he gotten himself into? Maybe his mother would not have contacted him if he had not decided to climb to Lyra's window sill earlier that same day. It had only been hours ago that he fell, but it seemed as if that had all happened weeks ago. His head was swimming, and he could feel his eyelids growing heavy once again…
"Hey, you! YOU! Maggot! Get up, you rat! HEY! I SAID GET UP!"
Nicholas felt hands shaking him from his shoulders and the voice of an agitated girl yelling at him. His eyes flashed open to see Lyra standing beside him, clutching him by his shoulders. She released him once she saw his eyes were open wide, and she sat back in a chair she must have pulled up to his bedside.
"Wait, why… What the… Why on Earth are you here?"
"Because I need to talk to you," replied Lyra simply, her dæmon, Pan, jumping up from next to her leather bag on the floor and onto her lap. He stared at Nicholas with a sly expression on his pine-marten face making his whiskers twitch.
"Talk about what?" questioned Nicholas, looking back at Lyra with his eyebrows furrowed.
"We need to talk about your little conversation with a witch."
Nicholas was stunned. He gaped at Lyra, who continued to look at him with her chin held high and her shoulders pulled back. She was proud, and Lyra seemed to be a force that he should not reckon with.
"H-h-how do you know about that?" asked Nicholas timidly.
"I asked this, and it told me."
She reached into her leather bag from earlier, and produced the golden compass.
