Over the next few days we begin to settle into our new accommodations. The total grandeur of them is simply too far beyond calling them a "dorm" or "our crib". Besides the main lobby, our individual bedrooms, the kitchen, and the playroom we find that there are individual studies for both Darcy and me, a gymnasium complete with weights, parallel bars, tumbling and yoga mats, rings and vaulting horse and a sauna off to the side, a dining room, an entertainment room, a meditation room and a bath. Darcy is playing the role of the explorer searching into every nook and cranny of our new apartment excitedly reporting back to me with big, bright eyes about every marvel she finds. I am still in a daze that we are here instead of locked away in the deepest, dankest dungeon of Cloud Tower. My mind is occupied with thoughts of how and why we are here but Darcy just accepts it all as if this is the perfectly natural thing to have happen and as if it should have happened long ago.
A month after moving, I am placidly asleep one night when the alarm goes off and Nanny's voice informs me that Stormy is in distress. "Why, for the Goddess' sake can't this happen at a decent hour?" I grumble, getting out of my bed and grabbing my nightgown on the run. I rush into Stormy's room to her screaming and crying as if she had seen a banshee. Darcy is already in the room holding and rocking her and trying to calm her down.
"What's going on?" I ask Darcy.
"She woke up and didn't know where she was," says Darcy. "Then she heard Nanny I guess and thought that she was a ghost."
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"She told me," says Darcy.
"She's talking!" I ask, astonished.
"Stormy, are you back with us?" I ask in Witchspeak and although Stormy turns her head she obviously does not understand my words.
"Stormy, you are safe. You are with Darcy and me," I tell her but this time she looks at me strangely as if something is not right and then reaches out for Darcy. Darcy takes Stormy into her arms and murmurs softly to her in a language I have never heard her speak before that night.
"What language is that you are speaking to her?" I ask Darcy.
"Gaelic," replies Darcy, "or at least the dialect of Gaelic we speak on New Witch Haven. When I entered, Stormy was screaming in it about a spook being in the room and without thinking I just replied to her in the same language. It's our mother tongue. We only started learning Witchspeak when we were five and then never spoke it much."
Stormy is clinging onto Darcy for dear life but seems to be less frightened. "Stormy," I whisper to her, trying to make my voice as gentle and soothing as possible. Stormy turns to look at me but, again, it is obvious that she is only reacting to the sound of my voice but not understanding a word being spoken to her. Then it occurs to me that her real name is no more "Stormy" than mine is "Icy". "Levina," I whisper and am rewarded with a quick turn of Stormy's head towards me and a shy smile.
"Leffi," says Darcy and is rewarded with an even quicker turn of Stormy's head and a bigger smile.
"Leffi?" I say, my hand over my mouth and giggling despite myself.
"What's so funny?" asks Darcy defensively.
"Say her name with an Alfean accent and maybe you'll get it," I tell her.
Darcy tries but, although she says it correctly several times, she is unable to grasp its meaning. "I don't get it," she finally says sounding frustrated and a tad peeved, "besides, you're the one who is into learning all these dumb pixie languages not I."
"Alfean is a Faerie, not a Pixie, language," I tell her, "nonetheless, 'Leffi' in Alfean means 'Faerie of Light'."
"You're joking!" replies Darcy, giggling herself. "If that's not irony."
"What else does she know?" I ask Darcy. "Does she know who we are now?"
Darcy utters a mouthful of syllables of which I can only make out "Hravyn" which is her real name. Stormy reacts by looking all around the room then looks confused at Darcy and shrugs her shoulders. Darcy continues to talk to Stormy at times pointing to herself and me. Stormy talks back to her less timidly and no longer exhibiting any fear. She suddenly wraps her arms about me and looks up at me with a shy smile and lights in her blue eyes. "Yes, you are my precious Little One," I tell her while rocking her in my arms although I am certain she has not understood a word of what I have said.
"So what does she know?" I ask Darcy.
"She thinks I'm her Aunt Mim," she replies. "Her real Aunt Mim is long in her mould but I do look a lot like her."
"What did she say when you asked where you were?" I ask.
"She thinks that I'm still a girl and you are the 'nice lady'," laughs Darcy.
"Then she most likely thinks that she is also a little girl. She'll be in for a shock when she sees herself in the mirror," I say, amused but wondering how traumatic it will be for Stormy to learn that she is really a young woman.
"Maybe and maybe not," says Darcy. "I don't think there is anyway she can miss even now that she has a woman's breasts and figure. But her memories and ability in Gaelic are that of an eight-year old."
"Well, an eight-year old girl is way better than a six-month infant," I reply, "and that is still quite a leap. Perhaps Alysoun was wrong in her prognosis."
"Thank the Goddess for that if it's true," is Darcy's careful reply.
"I'll take any improvement we can get," I tell her while in my mind I go over again my plan to get that Faerie Tecna to do a scan of Stormy which I hope might enlighten us further on her condition. In the midst of my thoughts I start yawing.
"Nanny," I say automatically calling to Stormy's personal automatron, "what time is it and what is Stormy's schedule?"
"It is the third hour, standard, normal wake time for Storm-Witch Stormy is in four hours, standard," replies Nanny, which despite her gentle voice sets Stormy to shrieking in terror and clinging onto Darcy.
"Well, we know now what frighted her," says Darcy while rocking Stormy and murmuring soothingly to her.
This brings up another problem. "Nanny," I say, "adjust Stormy's linguistic parameters to include New Witch Haven Gaelic."
"Linguistic parameter change is not immediately possible," replies Nanny apologetically in Witchspeak while Stormy looks around, her eyes wide with wonder. "A requisition for the required language unit has been issued."
I request a mild sedative for Stormy which arrives at the dispenser as a warm drink in a spill-proof glass. It does not take much to encourage her to drink it down but then she surprises us by asking Darcy if she can go to the WC. Darcy leads her to her private unit which she uses and flushes without instruction and then dutifully washes her hands afterwards as, again, I thank the Goddess for small miracles. We tuck Stormy back into her bassinet. Darcy looks at me with the expression of one about to fall asleep on her feet.
"Go to bed," I tell her, "I'll stay with her until she's asleep."
"Thank you," sighs Darcy, gratefully. "Call me if you need me," she says and exits.