Geneforge 1Martin 19

Chapter 2- The Awakening

The voyage at sea was delayed on Andras' behalf for three days so he could be present at his brother's funeral, but all other preparations took no such pause. There was much work to be done and it started before sunlight the next morning. There was the Awakening ceremony to go through and a last feast. The extra time in port would be spent preparing the boat for its large number of students that would be sailing on it this year. Between Andras' school and Delbin there would be nine, half again as many students the boat was designed for.

A shake on his shoulder woke Andras up before daylight had a chance to peek over the horizon. A short figure stood over him with a lamp held in its hand. His eyes squinted in the orange light, fighting to focus. It must have been a servile. It never spoke to him, just waited for him to show signs of waking, watching him with glistening beady eyes. Andras was tempted to ignore the creature and go back to bed, but the moment he turned over to sleep again he felt a shake on his shoulder once more.

"I'm up!" he groaned, dragging himself to an upright position. Luke was oozing out of his bed as well, holding his hand over his temple; a sign that it must have been a too good a celebration last night. The servile went outside the door to wait as they dressed.

"Why send a servile?" Luke asked in an irritable voice. Neither liked being told what to do by one of those creatures. It was undignified.

"No professor wants to be awake at this hour," Andras answered, not that he could blame them. Who did? Perhaps some Shapers did, but Agents did most of their work at night. There were better things to use mornings for, like sleeping.

Fully dressed he waited for Luke before exiting the room. Janner still slept in his bed, looking peaceful and comfortable. Andras envied him.

"Why shouldn't the Guardians have to get up early?" Luke growled. They followed the servile down the hall, turning left down another. They were lead down a winding maze, and Andras was thoroughly lost by the time they stopped at a door. The sky outside the window began to lighten. Any other day he would still be sleeping, warm in his bed for another hour or two at least.

The servile produced a key in its rough hands and unlocked the door, holding it open and standing aside to let them pass. They walked into a vast room void of life or light until their arrival, the oil lamp following behind.

"Don't we get breakfast?" Luke asked. The servile didn't answer. It tended to lighting light orbs located at regular intervals all around the room.

As more of the room was visible the two students took the opportunity to look around. Sparse furnishings littered around the outskirts of the room. There was an altar for meditations in the back and at each of the four corners there were ornate rugs for the same use. The most curious adornment was the large mark painted on the smooth floor in the center. Andras looked down, examining the lines below his feet. It was a circle inside a much larger circle with long curving branches stemming out from the center to the edges. The Mark of Life, the mark of the Shapers. He had seen this before on a medallion that hung around his brother's neck, and he had asked Margus about it. The center circle, the jewel, represented a single life. The larger circle represented all life, and the branches that extended out were to show that no single life existed without being connected to all other life. It was to remind Shapers that nothing they created, and nothing they destroyed was without consequences. It seemed to him it was a meaning that had been lost to Shapers long ago.

Minutes later the rest of the students appeared, also lead in by a silent servile who left after his charges had been deposited.

"Are you ready?" one of the students asked him. He recognized her, but couldn't recall her name. It had been years since he spent much time socializing amongst the Shaper hopefuls. He spent his spare time with those striving to become Guardians and Agents because they shared many of the same interests and weren't nearly so dull.

"For?"

"The Awakening," she answered. "All Shapers must go through it. It is to awaken the magic within us," she explained.

He rolled his eyes. "As I'll ever be," he replied. Margus had told him about this ceremony, but most of it he didn't pay much attention to. It was where the markings would be painted onto their skin. Every Shaper had them, channels they were called, denoting their symbolic purpose of channeling the energy of magic through their bodies. They weren't necessary, at least Andras doubted it since Agents and Guardians both could shape and do other magic without such adornments; but they were a long standing tradition and the mark of the Shaper. No one, from this day forward, would question who or what he was. The moment they saw the markings they would know, and the appropriate fear and respect would be paid.

He would also be rendered useless as an Agent. The moment the brush touched him his hopes of pursuing that dream were gone for good.

The murmuring in the room fell silent the moment one of the professors stepped inside. It was _____, the old alchemy professor. She stood in front of the altar, commanding the attention of all eyes in the room.

"Today you will be prepared for the journey that shall consume the rest of your lives. Whether you will shape creatures to improve upon creations we already have, or to make entirely new ones. You might populate new colonies, or protect what already exists. The work you do as Shapers will … (still working on what she will say here… something insightful I hope)" She motioned for someone in the back to come forth. Another Shaper, but not one that Andras knew. Probably one of the delegates from the Council. He gave a small speech, similar to the last, emphasizing their importance in society, then he ordered the ceremony to begin. They were to start by stripping down to their bare skin, waist up.

There was a fair amount of muttering in response. The women in the group protested, but there seemed to be no sympathy for their awkward position. All had to strip their clothes and stand top bare in the big room in the view of their peers and professors. It would, if nothing else, serve to humble them all. Andras kept his eyes forward and on the altar to respect his female peers, but from the corner of his eye he could see Luke snuck a peek.

"Luke!" he hissed under his breath, and the other snapped back to his rigid stance.

Professor _____ and the other Shapers ordered them into a formation, spread far enough to allow passage between the bodies that were to stand still. In their hands was a bucket with a cloth soaking in the fluid inside. It wasn't water. It was the wrong color and a strong odor dissipated from it.

"This is a fasting agent," one explained.

They started wiping the bare skin down with the cloths soaked in the agent. _____ started on Andras.

"Stand still!" she snapped.

Andras didn't know how to stand any more rigidly than he was, but he did his best to lock his body into place as his skin was coated with the acidic, foul smelling liquid. The moment it touched his skin it began to burn, like he had worked for hours in the sun on a hot summer day. It primed the surface, they said, so the markings that were to be painted on him would be permanent. He never saw a student Shaper right after their channels had been painted on, but he imagined they must have had blisters all over them by the end.

"Burns a bit, doesn't it?" Luke commented from nearby. Andras couldn't look over his shoulder to see if his roommate was undergoing the same treatment, but by the sounds of it he was.

Once that was finished the doors opened behind them and six frail figures were lead to their subject. These were the Seers. Andras found himself face to face with an old woman, a crone he preferred to call her. Her body was shriveled and wrinkled from years beyond what he believed possible for anything to live. Her hands shook, and the lips around her toothless mouth kept smacking together like she was about to eat or maybe speak. She was given a tray with a few brushes in a cup of ink. Where her eyes should have been were folds of wrinkled skin, not even a sign of an eyelid or a former eye that might once have resided there. The realization that he was about to be painted by a blind crone tempted him to make a run for the door. They wouldn't send him to Tayedikal unmarked, would they? He chanced a glance off to his left and saw that Luke's Seer looked no more capable of "seeing" than his did. It wasn't much consolation.

"Look at me," an old voice commanded him. He snapped his head to a forward facing position and saw the crone looked at him as though she could see him perfectly. She reached her hands out, touching his face with her papery fingertips. She seemed to be examining him, unbothered by the residue of the fasting agent that was still damp on his skin. Her brows furrowed, and on occasion she would say, "Hmmmm," as though she found something of interest. The hands traced over his exposed skin until she had thoroughly examined him and stood in front once again looking thoughtful.

"You are unusual," she told him as she reached for a brush, tapping the excess ink off before bringing it up to his chest. "Your energy originates here." He looked down to see what she meant, but she hissed at him a warning not to move again until he was finished. He recomposed himself and stood still, trying hard not to flinch as the cold bristles of the brush etched their path over his skin.

She started in the center of his chest, where she said his energy originated (whatever that meant), and worked her way out over his shoulders, down his arms. On the left arm the path stopped at the wrist, encircling it. Strength for battle, she told him, would flow through here. On the other arm the lines went all the way to his fingers where life would one day erupt from them, taking on whatever shape he chose. That was his spell-casting hand.

The brush turned its path to go up his neck and to his face. "Very determined," she mumbled to herself as she worked. "Strong sense of justice."

He would have liked to ask what she meant by that, but with her brush was tracing lines onto his face and he dared not move and risk any mistakes. He tried to tune his ears into the murmuring voices of the Seers around him. He caught lines like "Governed by intellect," and "true to your work," but nothing like what this woman said for him. In fact, she mentioned nothing of his intellect. He was beginning to wonder why.

"Because you rarely listen to yours," she answered as though she listened to his thoughts. His eyes snapped open in surprise, but she thumped in the forehead with the handle of the brush. "Eyes closed!" He obeyed.

It tickled as she painted over his cheek and down his jaw line, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to scratch at his face, but he knew better. He kept his hands held out, his head held straight, his back rigid. His balance wavered a little, but soon she was moving elsewhere, to his back, and he could open his eyes once again.

He was trying to picture what he looked like based on where he felt the strokes of the brush grow wider or thinner, but the task became so complicated that soon he resigned himself to a simple checked pattern forming squares from his forehead down to his waist. He knew that wasn't the case, but he had to stifle a chuckle when he envisioned himself painted that way.

"I am finished," she announced, then she stood back as if admired her work. "Don't move yet," she told Andras the moment he thought it was safe to try and relieve a sore muscle of the stiffness that was setting in.

Another servile appeared holding a well decorated silvery tray with a glowing bottle of blue liquid on top. All the students watched it with curious and suspicious eyes.

"Purified essence," the crone explained, taking the bottle into her frail hands. Purified essence was so rare and valuable that few Shapers would ever have the honor of seeing it again beyond this day. She removed the glass stopper, exposing the narrow cylinder that dipped inside and held a small drop of the treasure on the tip.

The purified essence glowed in its unearthly light as the shaky hands moved it closer to him. "To awaken the magic within you." A drop was placed on the center of his chest, the origin she called it, and the strange blue light was infused into the black channels that she had painted on him. The glow of the essence spread outwards over his shoulders, down his arms and back, up his neck and to his face. The sensation was strange and electrifying as the energy surged into his muscles. He felt infinitely strong, like there were no obstacles that could match his strength. He felt invincible.

The others around him glowed with the same light, but theirs ended after several seconds and they stood in their circles looking at him with wide eyes as his continued on much longer. The energy continued to build until he was nearly lifted from his feet. His heart pounded, his lungs had ceased to function. Something inside him was building, fighting to be released from the confines of his physical body. It was frightening, and the thrilling feeling he knew only moments before was giving away to terror. He fought to keep it contained fearing the results of failure would be explosive. He willed it to stop, hoping and begging in his mind the Seers, the professors or the students that watched would do something to help him. What was wrong with them? They just watched, mouths agape, eyes wide, but they did nothing. Please, stop!

In an instant, as though answering his silent pleas, the surging energy released him and his body dropped to the floor, his head hitting the ground hard.

* * * *

He didn't know if he had been out for seconds or minutes but when his eyes opened he saw a circle of people standing over him, furrowed brows and concerned faces watching him intensely. The moment they saw him stirring he was bombarded by questions, too numerous to understand a single one until one of the professors broke up the spectators and knelt down beside him.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He nodded, holding his temple. A troop of Battle Alphas were stomping around inside his head, something they were welcome to stop at any time.

"You gave us quite the scare," Luke commented, reaching his hand out and pulling Andras up to his feet. For a moment he wavered, his balance nearly succumbing to the throbbing that intensified as he stood up.

"Tell me that's supposed to happen."

Luke shook his head. "No, friend, it's not." That was probably as solemn and serious he had ever heard Luke sound and it did little to make him feel better.

"Let me through!" he heard an old voice push her way through the students who still stood and stared at him. It was his Seer, and she hurried over to him, guided by a servile that held her wrist until she stood in front of him. "A taste for excitement, have we?" She reached out and touched her hands on his face again in the same manner as the first time she examined him. Then both her hands went to the center of his chest where she left them for a time, acting as though she were listening for something. Once satisfied she withdrew her hands.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"You're fine now," the crone answered, but that wasn't what anyone standing there wanted to know. Everyone could see he was fine now, at least it seemed a safe assumption when he was alert and standing. He wanted to know what happened earlier, but she offered no answers that were helpful.

He looked around noticing he was still being watched by his classmates. Everyone else was dressed again with their student robes pulled over their shoulders. The girl he spoke to earlier handed him a crumpled bundle that was his clothes.

"How do you feel?" she asked. He shrugged, pulling his black tunic on.

"Felt better but I'll live." Next came the brown leather belt which he had to straighten the dagger that was tied to it. Last was his red student robe, one that he would soon be trading in for Shaper robes. The material was well worn, belonging to him was a hard existence, and the hand-stitched black embroidery his mother worked so hard on was all but gone. He brushed off the dust, knowing it wouldn't make it look any better. When he looked again, the girl was still standing there. Like everyone else she seemed intent on watching him, perhaps expecting him to keel over or pass out again. He regretted to disappoint them.

"Does it hurt?" She gestured towards his head. His fingers touched the sore spot on his temple, coming back with a small bit of blood. "If it does try eating this," she handed him a twisted piece of a black root, about the length of her thumb. He took it with some hesitation.

"What is it?"

"Root of wiry moss. It has wonderful healing properties. I always carry it with me."

He thanked her, though not with much enthusiasm. He didn't appreciate the tone of voice that seemed to talk down to him, though it was something that might have been taught in class (and all the Shaper hopefuls would know it) but he didn't pay much attention to those things then. Now he felt a little ignorant, but he did as she instructed the moment she walked away. Anything to be rid of the throbbing in his head.

It tasted awful, and he gagged on the bitter flavor more than once but before he had chewed it enough to swallow the pain in his head subsided. For what it was worth, it worked.

A half hour later he was sitting outside the office of Professor ________ while she spoke with delegates from the Council about the strange happening during the Awakening ceremony. He expected any time to be called in for questions, but still he waited in a chair he doubted would hold his weight up much longer. He slouched down, hands folded over his stomach and legs stretched out into the walkway as he dozed off. On occasion someone would walk by him, his eyes would open, but he wouldn't move his feet. Let them step over him, he was too tired to care.

The professor had healed the small wound on his temple once the delegates looked him over and all evidence of what happened was now gone. Other than wanting to recapture the sleep he lost earlier that morning, or perhaps fill his empty stomach, he felt fine. There would still be fuss over it. His mother hadn't been told yet, and someone was on their way to inform his father; not that Kristoff would clear his busy schedule long enough to care.

More time went by, and the chair was growing more uncomfortable. Now Andras hoped it would break beneath him so he had an excuse to go somewhere else while he waited. Someone else came by, but instead of passing she stopped at the office door in front of him and knocked. The murmur of voices paused, the door opened to admit the newcomer. It took only a minute, perhaps two, before the person came out again. She stopped, noticing Andras for the first time, but then hurried on without a word.

Now he was curious.

He sat up in his uncomfortable seat, drew his legs in, and craned his neck to hear a little better. It was all just murmurings where he sat.

If all this fuss was over him why wasn't he privileged enough to hear it? He wondered this often as he sat there, feeling alienated from his own life. They were all talking about him, what happened to him, trying to determine what to make of it. Messengers came and went, all carrying messages pertaining to him but all he could do was wonder what they might contain. The girl that had left several minutes before returned, glancing over at him again, but headed straight for the door where she was admitted soon after.

He sighed. Maybe if he just assaulted one, a harmless little trip of the feet and an arm held behind the back, he would find out what they were saying about him in there. He wouldn't do that, of course, but the idea tempted him more than once.

The door opened again, but this time no messenger scurried out. The professor stood in the doorway, holding it open for him. "You can come in now," she offered with a gesture of her hand. He obeyed in haste, happy to leave that awful chair.

"We've spoken to anyone who might help us," she began. "And no one can answer what happened to you. We do not know if it will happen again, if it is a good omen or bad."

He listened quietly. All this waiting to find out they knew just as much as he did, nothing?

"We do not know what implications there may be for sending you to the College and so the Council has decided that it is for your parents to decide whether or not you shall continue your training."

Terrific.

"Kristoff wishes to speak with you now. Do you have any questions before you leave?"

He shook his head. It was made very apparent that whatever questions he might have they didn't know the answers to anyway. _________ dismissed him after that, giving him a brief description of where he would find his father waiting to speak with him.

When he reached the room he was told he would find his father he could hear his parents talking. He stopped just before the door, listening to what was being said. It was about him.

"The professors don't know what happened. I just know what they tell me, and what he told me. ___________ thinks it might be that his body was trying to reject the magic." Lanira sounded worried, but Kristoff harbored no detectable concerns. That was like him.

"It doesn't matter, he still must go."

"Does it not matter to you that this could have killed him? Shouldn't we wait until they find out exactly what happened before sending him off?"

"Did he put you up to this?"

Andras smiled to himself. No, he didn't, but he appreciated it.

She ignored the question, but her distaste was evident in her voice. "In two more days I will have buried a second child and I'm in no hurry to lose the third."

"Shaper life is not without its risks, Lanira. Neither is that of an Agent."

"He is not one of your creations. Lest you forget he is our son, the last we have. He's not expendable!" Andras rarely heard his mother raise her voice to anyone, much less Kristoff, and the disobedience didn't go unnoticed. Her remark was followed by a sharp reprimand, and a slapping sound that he knew to be a hand against her cheek.

He rounded the corner in a hurry to see his father's hand poised for a second strike if Lanira didn't succumb after the first. His temper flared immediately. Cheeks grew hot, jaw tensed, fists clenched.

"Do it again and join my brother at his funeral!" His mother's eyes sent him a glaring look of warning which he ignored.

"Don't you threaten me," Kristoff growled, lowering his hand. Conflicts between Andras and his father were often short-lived because he knew enough about Kristoff's abilities to respect them (and avoid experiencing them first hand) but no threat of painful spells would keep him at bay this time. "I'm warning you, stand down."

He stepped forward, defiantly planting himself just over arm's reach away with a thin table acting as a poor barricade between them. His father's rage almost glowed from his ired gray eyes, the thin limbs beneath the heavy robes appeared to tremble. Anger, just like Andras, he shook when he was angry.

"Andras…" Lanira's worried voice was distant to his ears, barely audible. He refused to acknowledge her.

"Boy, you should know better than to challenge a Shaper. Not even the best Agent would dare…"

Yes, but no thanks to him Andras was not going to be an Agent. His resentment compounded. He never hated Kristoff more than he did at that moment.

His hand slipped down to his belt and drew the Agent's knife from its sheath, but he never brought it any further than raised in front of him, poised to strike before his body was halted mid-motion. He was paralyzed, but he still fought to push himself past the hold of the spell and to run the steel blade into the heaving chest. Kristoff muttered something else, something unintelligible, and pain ripped through his body as though his skin were being torn off while he lived. His eyes couldn't so much as squeeze shut, his face couldn't grimace in pain. He tried to cry out, it burned everywhere, but nothing came. Kristoff waved his hand once more, Andras' body lurched forward as the spell released him and he fell to the floor, the knife skidding away, and screamed.

"What have you done?" His mother shouted.

"Nothing he didn't deserve. He'll be fine." Kristoff walked over to where his son's body still hunched on the floor. "You need to be fitted for your robes." He stepped over Andras' legs and walked out.

Lanira waited until they were alone before she came to Andras' rescue, helping him to his feet. His body was still shaky and weak, and the throbbing in his head returned.

"What were you trying to prove? I don't need you rescuing me!" she scolded.

"He doesn't treat you well," he whispered, easing himself into a chair. His strength was returning already, but it would be awhile before he felt normal again.

"It's the only way he knows," she defended.

"I think he needs to be reminded that you are not one of his creations either." The fingers of one hand traced over the ridges of the knuckles of his other. For a moment he imagined how pleasant it would feel to hammer those knuckles somewhere, anywhere, against his father's body. "I'd be happy to administer such a lesson," he offered, no humor intended. This last attempt had done little to speak for his skills, but if he could land one solid hit by surprise then just maybe…

"Andras!" She probably knew he would do it, too, all she would need to do is nod her head or ask. In fact, if she even so much as hinted it he would, and he liked to imagine it was only the fear of what consequences he would suffer afterwards that kept her from capitalizing on his willingness. She couldn't possibly love that monster, could she?

"So is that all you wanted from me?" he asked.

"She's here," she stated as though he was supposed to know who "she" was. He responded with a blank stare.

"Who?"

"Carnelian. She's here."

He was quiet. What did that mean? Carnelian was here, after two years he would get to see her again. The thought brightened him up a little, but there seemed to be more to it than what his mother was offering. He watched her, waited for more, but she excused herself and left him to his thoughts.

He lifted himself out of the chair, ignoring his shakiness, and walked out. It was time to go look for her, for Carnelian. He was in need of something to look forward to, and to take his mind off his returning headache, and she was the perfect distraction.

The reception hall was filled with people. Students from Delbin, another middle-training school three days north of this one, had arrived dressed in blue to separate them from the wine colored robes that the native students here wore. They were to sail on the same boat to Tayedikal College and had arrived expecting to set off this evening. Professors and delegates were present to inform them of a delay, and parents were offered temporary quarters so they could remain long enough to watch their children depart. A large crowd for three additional students, but this was where he found her.

He watched her from his spot in the rear of the room. She was talking with a professor, her parents standing nearby, oblivious to his presence. It afforded him a moment to admire her from his distance, and absorb the reality that she was back. Long auburn hair draped down to her waist, and her fair skin was adorned with the markings of a Shaper; long, thin, curving lines almost like the vines of a plant. They were nothing like his, but they suited her. She loved plants. It was a surprise to see that she was dressed in blue Shaper robes since he thought she had been taken out of school two years ago. Somehow she was able to finish training at Delbin, and now she was one of the students that would be sharing the boat to Tayedikal.

Her eyes chanced a moment to examine her surroundings, a place that should have been all too familiar to her, and they drifted over and found him. Her face lit up with a large smile. "Andras!" She excused herself from her parents, and rushed over to greet him. It was a cautious greeting, knowing they were watched by scrutinous eyes, but even a quick hug felt good.

"Look at you! You look… " Her eyes glanced over him from bottom to top, and the rosy hue in her cheeks deepened. "Different."

He couldn't help but smile upon seeing her obvious embarrassment. She hadn't changed much since he last seen her, except for her Shaper markings, but the last two years of relentless training with Tanor had blessed his tall frame with a strong, athletic build. He had long outgrown his teenage lankiness. Muscle tone had filled in his gangly limbs years earlier, but he had done well to reinforce it and the blush in her cheeks told him it was noticeable.

"Do I thank you for that?"

"I don't mean it to sound like a bad thing," she replied in a hasty tone. "Shaper?" She took note of the markings on his face, the only ones visible at the moment. "I thought you were training with Tanor for Agent?"

"I was, but things… changed."

"How wonderful, I mean, I hope it is." She smiled proudly on his behalf. He smiled back and nodded, not wanting to explain the tragic circumstances that lead him here just yet.

For a moment things were looking up. He didn't want to go to Shaper school, and be forced into the books he did his best to avoid for the last ten years, but she would be there. He imagined the two of them working next to each other, perhaps stealing chance opportunities to be alone, all the things they did together here before their forced separation; but his hopes of reviving their hindered romance came to a brutal halt when an older man, in his forties perhaps, walked up to the pair and took Carnelian's hand in his. It was then he also noticed her ring.

She seemed a little uneasy, sensing the immediate tension that formed between the two men, but she smiled and introduced them anyway. "Andras, this is my fiancé, Tuldaric," she gestured to the older man. "Tuldaric, a dear friend of mine, Andras." Demoted to friend. He tried to force a polite smile on his face as he shook Tuldaric's hand, but the effort was painful and short-lived.

He began searching for something to say that would fill the awkward void between them, or at least give him a quick out, but she spoke first.

"I'm told we're being delayed for three days. Do you know why?"

"A funeral," he answered. Her eyebrows raised to show a slight interest, but overall she was rather unconcerned.

"Oh? Whose?"

"Margus."

"Margus?" she repeated and he nodded. "Andras, if this is a joke it's not funny." His reputation as a childhood prankster preceded him, but no, it was no joke this time.

"He was killed yesterday," he started to explain. "A rogue Battle Alpha."

She searched his eyes for authenticity, then her face changed and she gasped. "Oh, Andras! I'm so sorry." She wanted to hug him, at least it appeared as though she did, but she looked over at the man standing next to her and it kept her from moving.

He nodded to show his appreciation for her condolences. "Please, excuse me." He acknowledged them both then made a hasty exit, anxious to put that reception hall behind him so he could erase what he had just seen from his mind. Twenty paces was all the further he made it once he turned the corner before he had to lean against the wall to catch himself. He took in a couple deep breaths trying to calm his shaky muscles.

"I wasn't ready for that."

"Ready for what?" She had followed him.

He turned to her, seeing she was alone. "Friend?"

"What was I supposed to say? Oh, here's the man I almost gave myself to a couple years ago, which is the reason I had to go to Delbin?"

"Is that all I am to you?"

"It's all I can allow you to be."

"You can dismiss me that easily?"

"I didn't say it was easy. We had fun, Andras, we did, but what we had could not have lasted and you and I both know that."

He shook his head. "No, I don't."

"We are adults now-"

"We weren't adults two years ago?" he jumped in.

She was frustrated. Any moment she would give up this conversation and leave him alone to his ire, that's what she did when he cornered her, but still she tried to continue. "Now we're going to begin our real training, to become what we will be for the rest of our lives. There's no more room for fun and games. As soon as my preliminary training is over I'll be doing my apprenticeship with Tuldaric."

"How sweet." He would make no apologies for being bitter.

"Stop it." Her hands went to her hips, and she waited to see if he would toss in any other spiteful remarks before she continued. "I think it's quite nice he's wanting to share his research with me." Try as she might to make the situation sound ideal it wasn't working, not in his ears.

"If all he wanted was a research partner he could have hired one from anywhere!"

She sighed, and her hands fell limp at her sides. "Andras, you know how Shapers are about their work."

"Yes, I do. I know it all too well, which is why I can't see you being happy with him." For a moment he was certain he had her. She couldn't respond, she was looking for it but nothing was coming to her yet; but then she found one more thing to say and he wasn't the least bit prepared for it.

"Do you really think I would be any happier with you?" She made her exit right then, retreating back to the hall her fiancé waited in, and he was incapable of trying to stop her. He watched her billowing blue robes disappear around the corner as he tried to think of something to hurl at her. Nothing came, and the defeat wasn't accepted for several minutes while he stood and stared at the stones shaping that corner, hoping that she might reappear to apologize.

She never did.

Fiancé? And she seemed so happy about it. He couldn't believe she was able to forget him that quickly. He had not been able to forget her, try as he might she still plagued his thoughts whenever he had a spare moment which was why, for the last two years, he did his best to be certain he never had one.

If it had come at any other time he might have been able to bury himself in his training, or do a few laps around the compound to deaden the sting, but he had no such escapes to look to now and he was already struggling to cope with so much. His brother's death was becoming less and less the forefront of his distress, but he had yet to fully accept it. He expected Margus to show up, sit down next to him and try to lift his spirits. "It's for the best," he would say every time something went awry though it never helped. In the back of his mind he heard those words sounding out again, as though Margus was still offering his futile words of advice, and it maddened him even further.

"It's not for the best!" he hissed. None of it was.

Time for a walk. Time to get out of the stale air inside the school and clear his senses outside. His pace was hurried, his movements abrupt. The few that did cross his path were quick to move out of his way, a wise decision on their part. His angry stride took him to the far eastern corner of the school grounds where several old cottages now sat abandoned. Old servant quarters, a place where he would retreat to often when he was out of sorts.

And he was certainly out of sorts now.

He whirled around and punched the closest thing to him, a window boarded up with wooden planks to cover a disintegrating pane of glass behind it. In his mind he saw Tuldaric, Kristoff, and others. All the faces that had robbed him of so much in the last couple of days were painted on that window. The wood and broken glass splintered with the impact, and it felt as though a couple bones in the back of his hand did the same. A sound of pain came up from his chest and he dropped to his knees, trying to shake the agony from his injured hand. Blood ran from his knuckles, and his muscles trembled from…Anger? Pain? Could have been both.

He slid down to a seat against the wall as he held his wrist with a tight grip. Perhaps that would block the deep stinging sensation that emanated from the back of his hand. It had been a foolish thing to do, and he knew that looking back on it, but in a strange way it helped. He could handle the external pain. He could grit his teeth, wince or grimace to help him cope. It was the pain he felt inside, centered in his gut, that he couldn't handle and for a short while his mind concentrated on something else.

It had been his hope to remain alone where he sat. There was no one he wished to talk to just then, but he heard his name followed by approaching footsteps crunching over dried leaves. His mother found him, she seemed to have a knack for that, and a slight twinge of dread hit him. He would have to explain his hand to her.

"There you are," she declared as she rounded the corner. "Margus told me I might find you here." He was confused by her comment but for the moment didn't ask her to explain. Her answers were often just as confusing as the questions she raised, and he was in a poor mood for solving riddles.

Just as he feared it took her no time to spot the scarlet trails of blood streaming from his knuckles. She dropped down to her knees on the dirt next to him, taking no care for the fine expensive fabrics that made her dress. He tried to keep his hand away from her, but she took it anyway, examining the damage for herself. He expected her to ask him what he had done, or why, but her eyes seemed to know the answers already. She asked neither question.

"This is not going to help," she began, releasing him. The expression on her face showed her disapproval, but her voice remained calm as she spoke again. "What are you hoping to prove?"

He was ignoring her question. "Why did you tell me? Why did you tell me she was here?"

"You needed to see the truth," she answered. "And it was bound to show itself to you eventually."

"The truth?" He clenched his jaw again as he shifted, trying but failing to keep his hand from being jostled by the move. "That she's engaged to marry another man? Why did I need to see that?"

"Would it have changed anything if you hadn't?"

No, of course not, but that wasn't the point was it? It was too much to keep a handle on. If all he had to make peace with was Carnelian's engagement he might have been able to force it, or even pretend long enough until he believed it, but with everything else that happened in the last two days he was buckling beneath the weight.

"Life has taken everything that mattered away from me. I have nothing left."

"Everything?"

"What do I have? Margus is dead, as is my dream of becoming an Agent. You've taken Father's side, and now I've lost Carnelian as well."

"Was she not lost to you two years ago?"

He wanted to rebut that remark, but he couldn't. He had nothing to stand on. For all he knew when she left he would never see her again. It was only by chance that she had continued school at Delbin and was one of the Shaper students sharing the boat that would take them to the Tayedikal College. He would like to think it was all a sign that she was meant to be his, but so long as she had that gold ring on her right hand it could never be.

"Even if that were true," which he wouldn't admit that it was. "What else do I have to lose?"

"Your own life," she answered quickly.

"I would welcome that right now." In fact, he was inviting his demise, whatever form it chose to take, to come find him that very moment. It would rescue him from his mother's disapproval, if nothing else.

"You shouldn't talk like that," she warned. He shrugged, pretending not to care, shifting his eyes to a distant poplar so he could escape her scolding stare. "I'll fix this once, but do it again and you'll have the pleasure of explaining to your professors how it happened. Or…" she paused to think. "I'll have Tuldaric fix it for you."

He didn't find that remark amusing, but she ignored the glare he gave her. She held his damaged hand, covering the bloody knuckles with one of her hands. He wasn't certain what she meant by "fixing" his hand, but he assumed it would involved bandaging it up and having someone who wouldn't ask questions heal it. Instead, she spoke a few words in her native tongue, none of which he understood, and then a warmth radiated into the back of his hand. In a moment it was gone and it took his pain with it.

He pulled his hand from her, moving it and examining it. Other than the partially dried blood that coated it he could see or feel no injury at all.

"How…?"

"There are things about me your father has never known, and I want it to stay that way." She smiled, then leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I have always been on your side. Never forget that." She stood up, brushed her dress off. "The feast begins soon. I would like for you to join us." He didn't budge. "A good meal might be just what you're needing right now." She waited a moment longer for him to move. "Oh, there is someone I think you should speak with. Tonight, perhaps, after the banquet."

Andras cocked his head to one side. "Who?"

"Come with me and you'll see."