A/N: Whoot! Chapter three! FYI, I have chapter four and most of chapter five written, but I would appreciate a bit of feedback! Love, AnimeBishieLuver.
Chapter Three
Just as he finished speaking, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and two men strode in. The first appeared to be fuming, pointedly ignoring the one behind him, his black robes swirling around his feet. He was one of the youngest professors I'd seen so far, with shoulder length black hair and his hands stained with something dark. The man behind him appeared to be of similar age, with curly brown hair and soft, open features that were currently twisted into a scowl.
"Ah, Professor Snape, Professor Lupin, we were just about to begin our meeting over dessert," Dumbledore said, standing with his arms outstretched to meet the men. The first, Professor Snape, I realized, snorted and took a seat at the end of the professors to Dumbledore's right, Lupin taking the matching seat to his left. I stood to excuse myself, but Dumbledore laid his hand over mine to stop me.
"No, no, dear, you're the reason I called the meeting. We need you here to fill in necessary bits of information."
I settled carefully back into my seat, looking at the faces around me. They seemed friendly enough, with the notable exceptions of Professor Snape and Professor Lupin, who were still staring each other down over some sort of fight they seemed to have had.
"Now, Miss Diandar, the Lady Yunalesca was not terribly specific about where you're from and what you can do. Perhaps you can give us a bit more than, 'She is here to help fight in the war you must wage. Take care of her, and she will be a powerful ally for you,'" Dumbledore questioned.
I smiled. Lady Yunalesca had seemed cryptic to me as well, "Well, as I have mentioned, I am a summoner, as was Lady Yunalesca in her time. My title is actually Lady Palme, but you may call me Palme. I am also a mage," I began.
"Now, what do those titles entail?" Dumbledore asked.
"A summoner is a person who can call powerful beings called aeons to battle. A black mage is some who can wield elemental magic, and a few other spells, while a white mage has healing and protective spells, for the most part. There is some crossover between the two in the more advanced spells. I am both a black and white mage."
"I see. So this is all used in the middle of battle. So you cannot demonstrate either for us?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Oh no, I can. But I don't exactly want to fire my black spells at you," I snickered a bit at the unintended pun, "And summoning takes a lot of space. We have enough room in here, but unless I called Ixion, you'd be replacing your floor or ceiling."
"Ixion?" it was Professor Flitwick this time.
"Yes. My aeons have names, you know. Valefor, the bird aeon of Besaid; Ifrit, the hell-beast of Kilika; Ixion, the thunderous horse of Djose; Shiva, the ice maiden of Macalania; Bahamut, the dragon of my home town, Bevelle; Yojimbo, the warrior of a stolen fayth; the Magus Sisters, of Remien Temple; and Anima, who bears great suffering in chains. With the exception of Ixion, they all come straight from the sky or the ground when I call them."
"Might we see Ixion, then, and perhaps we can have the House Elves bring a dummy so you can show us your mage abilities?" Dumbledore asked.
"No need to bother the House Elves, Headmaster. I can tranfigure a chair," McGonagall said pertly.
"Alright, Minerva, I didn't want to bother you," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling.
"No bother at all," she said, standing. She pulled her chair away from the table and took her wand out of her sleeve. She tapped it on the chair's arm, and spoke in that same language Madame Pomfrey had used. I'll have to pay better attention to what they're saying. It might come in handy… My goodness, what happened to that chair?!
While I had been thinking, the chair had stretched and morphed into something larger than me with an ugly, stupid face. It was still made of wood, and when I knocked on it with my fist, it seemed solid, or at least very thick.
"Excellent work, Minerva," Dumbledore praised.
"I made use of a few growth lines still in the wood. Simple enough," she said, but she was smiling, "I thought a troll would be sufficiently menacing for this."
"It will be fine, but don't worry about me. I fought enough zombie shades in my time as a summoner not to be worried about a more human form, if that's easier for you," I said simply.
Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, "Zombie shades?"
"Yes. Sometimes, especially in Zanarkand, where there are enough pyreflies, the fiends project something that was once human, though no longer. The only disadvantage they have is that they always have a zombie spell on them, so they are easy enough to destroy," I replied.
"I'm afraid you've lost us again, dear. Pyreflies, zombie spell, fiends, what are those?" Dumbledore asked.
I laughed a little, "Pyreflies are the unsent souls of the dead that linger, and fiends are the monsters they become if they remain unsent. With the number killed by fiends and Sin, there are not enough summoners to send them all. Zombie spells are a form of black mage craft which turn all healing spells into damage. But I'm afraid I've just said enough to give you more questions. Perhaps you could hold your questions till after my demonstration?"
"Of course, my dear. Go on, please."
With that, I decided to cast first, summon after, "If you could all please step back against the wall? I'm afraid the summoning itself can be a bit dangerous if you're too close."
They did, with a few cautious glances I don't think I was meant to catch. I raised my chin. Being a summoner was a thing to be proud of, even if it made the people around me nervous. It was a strange reaction that I'd only received from a few Gaudo and Al Bhed. The followers of Yevon were familiar with aeons, and respected summoners as protectors, knowing our sacrifice.
I stepped away from the table with my staff in hand, taking a deep breath. Almost unconsciously, a smile lit my features. I loved summoning more than almost anything. I felt so free and powerful, and in tune with the consciousness of the aeons, especially the one I called. They were always there, of course, in the back of my mind, but it wasn't the same as summoning them.
I began the dance I'd learned so many years ago in the temple of Bevelle. It was something we learned before we started our pilgrimage. The aeons could teach us, of course, but it was better to have it engraved in our minds so that it couldn't be forgotten in the middle of battle. Dancing it always brought to mind the hours of drills in a backroom of Bevelle Temple, myself and two other apprentices dancing it over and over under the strict eye of a temple priestess. I shuddered to think that I could have shared the bitter old woman's fate.
Light sprung up around my feet and I hummed the Hymn of the Fayth quietly. Ieyui, nobomenu, renmiri, yojuyogo, hasatekanae, kutamae... My staff swung up almost of its own accord, throwing a ball of lightning at a spot in the air. I began to sing aloud. One thing all those drills had not taught us was the sheer joy that filled you from the aeon. As it took flesh, it was so happy, and the joy ran into you as you released it from its statue.
A horn emerged from the glymph hanging in the air, and I caught a glimpse of astonishment on the faces lined up against the wall as I spun to pull Ixion free just before my braids swung around and blocked my line of sight. Ixion came charging out with a battle-ready rear, throwing back his head and neighing a challenge, tongues of lightning running down his flanks.
I smiled, waving him over to my side. Ixion was my third aeon. The more aeons you received, the more distant the bond was. Ixion and I were reasonably close compared to say, Valefor, but distant compared to my bond with Bahamut. He strode up regally, his neck arched so the braids in his mane tinkled slightly. I ran a hand over his nose, using a very small amount of my power to push the lightning back so I wouldn't get shocked.
TBC
A/N: Well, that's it for now! Review!
