94
Hershel reached into the basket above his head, and sighed when he felt that it was empty.
"I told Pippa days ago…" he muttered to himself, adding another thing to his mental list. He knew deep down it was probably unfair to be annoyed at the child for not being super observant of the chores he gave her when he wouldn't even claim her as an apprentice, but for all she went on about it, he would have thought she would be better at helping him.
He shook his head and decided he would just have to make something else instead. He could always grind Lumanium. It was tricky business, and he didn't like doing it when Pippa was here for fear that she would breath it in or knock it over or play with it somehow. He remembered back when she had accidentally dropped a sniffer treat in the Lumanium pot before taking it out to Baffa; the large creature was out for the rest of the day.
Hershel was chuckling to himself with the tent flap opened. He didn't look up.
"I'm grinding Lumanium, so you can go into the back and make yourself useful…"
"Excuse me?"
He looked up at the cold reply, and color rose up his neck when he caught sight of Myrah.
"I thought you were my niece," he finally explained softly, and she just raised an eyebrow. But then her eyes were sliding away from him, landing on the lattice of scroll cubbies nearby.
"Those must be them…" she murmured, coming forward. Hershel frowned, carefully wiping his hands on his work apron before coming over to cut off her approach.
"Those must be what?"
She looked up at him in slight annoyance.
"The history scrolls. The Healers' History scrolls. The very scrolls supposedly lost to time…"
"Ah." Hershel said, studying her. "And?"
She blinked.
"And I would like to read them," she said, her tone making it sound like that should be obvious. He scowled a little.
"You can't just come in here and demand to read them…"
"Why not? Theodynn made it clear that your Master let the Rulers read them. Why would I not be able to?"
That took Hershel aback. But he recovered quickly, crossing his arms.
"Because you still haven't even asked."
It was Myrah's turn to scowl. He thought she would ask, albeit sarcastically, but instead she started looking around the tent.
"So, this is the tent of a Master Healer?"
He watched her warily as she wandered a little.
"Smaller than I imagined," she admitted, and he snorted.
"Were you expecting a palace?" he asked dryly. She shot him a wry look.
"No. But surely your position entitles you to more than this."
"My title entitles me to the responsibility to help people…and keep the other Healers in line," Hershel argued softly. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you. I want to read those scrolls."
Myrah's gaze had landed on the painting Syn had made all those years ago. The Western Leader picked it up, her eyes scanning the faces of a much younger Hershel with a curly-headed girl and an older, irritated Oni.
"Archtivus," she realized softly, and suddenly Hershel was there, taking the painting from her.
"Yes," he confirmed quickly, shooting her an irritated glance. "Why do you want to read the histories? You have an entire library…surely you know the history."
"History isn't something you just know!" Myrah argued. "Every record by every different source contains additional facts. The only way to know anything is by studying it from all the angles."
"Is that so?"
He headed back over to his table and picked up the mortar and pestle.
"Surely you must let me read them, if you've let others," Myrah pressed again, and Hershel just shrugged.
"Fine. Read them if you want."
Her posture became less rigid and she headed over to the scrolls again.
"I'll only take a few at a time…"
"No."
She looked over to see Hershel looking up at her again.
"The scrolls don't leave the tent," he explained, and her eyes hardened.
"Well I can hardly read them here!" she argued. Hershel scoffed.
"Why not?"
"Because I am a leader…and a newly appointed one at that. I don't have hours to waste sitting in some tent in the Central Province…"
"They would take as long to read here as back at your fortress," Hershel argued evenly. Myrah shook her head.
"But it would require me to make the trip multiple times a week…"
"Really? The stretch between my tent and your fortress is a bit long for multiple trips a week, isn't it?"
The Western Leader realized suddenly what Hershel was getting at and she scowled.
"You are only insisting on this to be petty," she accused. Hershel smiled at that.
"Believe what you want…the truth is, the scrolls are under my care and I cannot let them leave the tent."
Myrah didn't look like she believed him.
"Then how did Cole translate them?"
Hershel gestured to the table he was working on.
"He did it right here, hours and hours every week. You can still see some of the ink stains…"
He smirked a little, as if in memory.
"He can get pretty clumsy when he's writing."
The Western Leader did not look amused.
"You can trust that I will bring them back," she said with finality. Hershel didn't look convinced.
"I'm not letting you take them, Myrah. Read them here or you don't read them."
"I could order you to allow me to have access," she tried, and Hershel laughed wryly.
"I'd like to see how that would go down. You aren't even in your province…and realm leaders do not have jurisdiction over Healers. In all your training you surely learned that much."
She exhaled angrily and finally headed over to the cubbies again. Hershel watched her go, and after a few minutes Myrah selected a scroll and pulled it free. Then she turned to fix the Master Healer with an irritated look.
"Is there somewhere I'm allowed to sit, Master Hershel?"
He rolled his eyes and gestured to the chairs by the fireplace with his chin. She headed over and sank down into Phos's old chair, and Hershel's gaze rested on her for another minute. The leader seemed to sense it and she turned to glare.
"Is there a problem?"
"No problem," he said quietly. "Would you like any tea?"
She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to decide if he was serious or not.
"I'll be fine," she finally said. "I'd rather get the reading in; I have to get back to the fortress soon."
Hershel shrugged and turned his attention back to his work. The tent was silent for the next half hour or so as Myrah poured over the scroll and Hershel refilled his Lumanium reserves.
"This can't be right…"
Hershel glanced up as Myrah muttered to herself.
"What can't be right?"
She looked up at him in surprise as if remembering he was there.
"Just…"
She cleared her throat and sat up. Hershel was wiping down the table with a rag and he raised an eyebrow as Myrah turned back to the scroll.
"This history is…it's different than the records I have."
Hershel shrugged.
"Isn't that why you wanted to read it? Because it would be different?"
"There are different perspectives, and then there are different facts. I mean…this takes Dragon-Oni battles and changes things completely. Famous Oni wins…all the legendary battles…"
She looked over at Hershel with sudden intensity.
"This scroll makes it seem like we were losing the war."
Hershel chuckled wryly.
"We were losing the war."
"No! We fought well; the dragons were backed into their corner…"
"Not until Shazier." Hershel watched her closely. "The other records made it sound like we were winning?"
Myrah glared at him.
"Maybe not winning…but holding our own. How else could we have held out for so long, if we were losing?"
"The fortresses."
She stared at him blankly and Hershel shrugged.
"The prophecy that Antirock was forced to create mentioned the fortresses; A dragon attacking one of our fortresses would have started the final battle, and without the Dragon Master they would have lost."
Myrah just scoffed.
"That's ridiculous. We fought so many battles…had so many victories."
"We survived. Lucky for us, the Dragon Master wasn't quite so eager to wipe us out when it came down to it."
The Leader stared at him and finally stood, taking the scroll back to the cubby. She shoved it in and Hershel shook his head.
"Giving up already?"
"I intend to read them…I just have to go," she replied, but she was clearly angry. When Hershel spoke again, the sarcasm had left his voice.
"Why does it matter so much what happened in the past? Who was right? Doesn't it all lead up to this point anyways?"
"It matters because you can't learn from the past if you don't know what happened."
The Master Healer studied her a moment and then nodded.
"I guess."
Myrah sneered slightly.
"Shouldn't you care more about the history of the realm? If what I've managed to learn about Master Healers is correct, then you double as the Guardian of such Histories."
"I know the history of the realm already," he countered, moving to put away the rag he was washing with.
"Because you've read all of these scrolls? This one account?" she replied, gesturing to the latticed cubbies with something approaching disdain. Hershel nodded and she took a step closer to him. "Why is it you've already decided to believe this take on History, when you've studied none of the others?"
"Because I know the man who wrote much of it, and the accounts here that he didn't write he still believed to be true," came the quiet reply. Myrah seemed dumbfounded and her gaze flicked back over to the painting of Phos with Hershel and Syn.
"Then they are the words of a cynic…" she started, and Hershel cut her off.
"Phos may have been rude…he may have lacked that decorum you think so highly of. But he was no liar…and I learned that he was always right."
"Nobody is always right, Master Hershel. And no one can know everything."
Hershel wanted to disregard the leader's response, but in his mind he could only hear Phos saying much of the same thing.
There are many mysteries of the world that not even I can explain.
The Leader was leaving now, and Hershel wondered if he should say anything else. Myrah still seemed upset. He opened his mouth, but suddenly the memory of their last encounter at the Western Fortress flashed in his mind. He had said something stupid then; why leave himself open for further humiliation?
Myrah paused and turned back as she reached the front of the tent, but by the time she had, the Master Healer had already disappeared into the back.
Amber didn't get a chance to talk with M. the night after the movie, so the first time she saw him again was in their Latin Roots class.
"Get into pairs…" the professor was droning, and Amber took a deep breath as she saw M. coming over. He seemed relaxed and she tried to figure out what she was going to say.
"You feeling better?" he asked, and she frowned at the question as they got into position.
"Feeling better? I've been fine…"
"You weren't fine yesterday," he countered.
"Let's start simple today with a cross body lead," their teacher continued, and Amber and M. did the move almost without thinking about it. Amber narrowed her eyes.
"I was completely fine until your mother showed up," she countered, and she felt a flash of anger come off of him.
"Look…you were pretty rude yesterday, but I covered for you. That doesn't mean…"
"I was rude?"
"Inside turn," came the next instruction, and Amber scowled as she went through the motions.
"M…your mother hates me!" she blurted, and he scoffed.
"That's a bit dramatic, Amber…"
"She does! I could feel it, M…she may act one way, but she…"
"Outside turn."
M's anger was building, and Amber became more frustrated. Why wouldn't he believe her? His mother was the one who left him seven years ago…who was lying to him now. Amber had never lied to him.
"I get that you've had a rough time, Amber. But you need to stop believing everyone hates you just because they don't understand you. You don't exactly make a great first impression…"
She stared at him in disbelief. When the instructor called the next move, Amber wouldn't budge.
"I don't think she hates me, M! I can feel emotions, remember? The second she saw me I could feel so much disgust and…"
"You're being ridiculous!"
The class was watching now; their quiet conversation was getting louder and they were no longer following the moves the rest of the class was.
"The world isn't out to get you, alright? And pity isn't the same thing as Hatred. Pity is…it's like sympathy, kind of…"
"She doesn't pity me. I know what pity feels like!" she spat at him. "Pity is the way you looked at me for months! And if she told you that's how she felt, then she was lying to your face…"
"That's enough!" M. yelled back, but the professor had come over and cut in before either of them could say anything else.
"I agree; this has gone on long enough."
M and Amber looked up and both flushed as they realized the entire class was staring at them. There were a few snickers, but the professor didn't seem the least bit amused as he glared down at them with folded arms.
"I believe that you both ought to find different partners today," he said coldly, and Amber and M. hesitated only a moment before walking away from each other.
It took a few minutes to reconfigure the class, but soon they were both going through steps once again. Amber and M. continued to glance at each other for the rest of class, and Amber finally forced herself to stop. It wasn't fair; she was the one telling the truth, but he didn't believe her. What was worse, she could feel that she made him mad. Really mad. In fact, she had rarely felt him this out of sorts.
It made something twist inside. There was no doubt that M's mother loathed her, but Amber was also realizing that this reconnection meant a lot to M. She couldn't really put herself in his shoes, but she had felt the excitement, the nervousness, the longing…and now the anger. She huffed to herself angrily. That woman was a faking, lying fraud. But was she really going to put her friend in a position where he had to choose between his mother or her? Her stomach clenched at the thought; given how he had reacted a few minutes before, she really didn't know who M. would pick in that sort of ultimatum.
The class finally came to an end, and Amber watched M. leave and wondered if she should chase after him. She bit her lip and headed out the door herself, but she couldn't see him down the hall. Had he started running in order to avoid her?
"Amber."
She jumped and turned to see that he was hovering by the door, presumably waiting for her. She felt a rush of relief, though it was tampered by the fact that his emotions seemed all over the place. He was rubbing the back of his neck and finally sighed.
"Look. I don't know what's going on…but…"
He swallowed, his expression hardening.
"I don't want to mess anything up, alright? I want us to be friends. Heck, I couldn't wait for you to get back. But this thing with my Mom…"
He trailed off, and she could feel his emotions mixing more. Amber wasn't sure what to expect, but she also could tell that M. was still mad at her and it filled her with indignation. What had she even done to warrant him to be mad at her?
"This is really important to me, Amber. And if you really can read feelings or whatever then you should know that! It's like…my second chance. And I can't mess this up."
Amber just listened silently, feeling both belligerent and stuck. She did know how he felt; but the thing was, he was emitting so many emotions she wasn't even sure if he knew how he really felt about all this. She wanted to point out that if his own mother was making him this mixed up inside it couldn't be a good thing. But instead she stayed quiet, just listening.
"So…like, if you don't like my Mom, then whatever. You don't have to. But don't try to ruin this for me, Amber. Don't make it into something it's not…"
"I wasn't trying to ruin anything!" she snapped. "I was just saying…"
"I get it, ok? It was an awkward situation…probably my fault. I invited you and didn't check with her first and it was an awkward first impression all around."
Amber's fists were clenched in the injustice of it all, and M. sighed.
"I won't do that again, alright? She won't see you anymore and you won't have to see her…but I still want my second chance with her. And….I still want us to be fine."
He hesitated then, and met her eye.
"So…are we fine?"
No. They were not fine. Amber wanted to rail on him about how ridiculous he was being. He was basically telling her that not only did he not believe her, he was blaming her for trying to ruin things for him. She did know how much his mother seemed to mean to him…but she also knew the woman was a liar. Amber was his friend; didn't she have a right to tell him that it wasn't going to end well?
"She lied to you, M." Amber finally said. "I know that you want to get to know her again…that you want her in your life…but maybe you shouldn't."
His expression changed almost instantaneously, and his mixing emotions tanked towards bitter and offended feelings. It made her kind of sick, knowing how much of a blow her words turned out to be.
"I'm not asking for your permission to get to know my own mother! And I won't listen to you saying all these awful things about her, either! You don't even know her!"
"M…"
"Just forget it, ok? You're as bad as my father."
Amber was stunned, but M. was furious. He stormed off and she watched him go with her own conflicted feelings. On the one hand she felt angry and justified…wishing he would just listen to reason. But on the other side she felt guilt, even though she didn't feel like she should have to. That was the definite downside to feeling other's emotions; she could tell that M. felt hurt and betrayed by her words.
She wondered if she should tell Dani about this. She felt a twist of unease as she watched M. angrily turn the corner. Maybe it was a good thing she was starting to make new friends at school…because she might have just lost the only one she had ever really had.
95
The candles flickered and Myrah rubbed her eyes wearily. Behind her, the door to the library opened.
"There you are."
She could hear Bula bustling over and sighed without turning around.
"Did you need me?"
"We were supposed to discuss how the heir's visit went, but you've been missing all day. I swear I checked the library earlier…"
"I've been here much of the evening."
Bula scoffed, looking at how far the candles had melted.
"So it seems…it's past evening now, Myrah. You should have been in bed at this point."
Myrah didn't answer as she scanned another portion of the scroll, and her senior advisor scowled as she took a seat at the table.
"At least tell me you've eaten something!"
"Yes, I had something earlier," Myrah replied, her tone and the look she flashed Bula making her irritation obvious.
Bula didn't seem to notice as she leaned forward.
"So?"
Myrah sighed and finally closed the scroll so she could fix her advisor with a long look.
"So what?"
"The meeting with the heir. If he came back again so soon, it would suggest he trusts you. Though he brought that mountain of a man with him. What, do the Rulers think we'd let their son get attacked in the Western Fortress? What message are they trying to send, having him show up with a bodyguard that massive?"
The Western Leader shook her head.
"I believe he's a well-trusted member of their inner circle. I don't think they were trying to say anything other than they don't trust Theodynn on his own quite yet."
Bula muttered something that sounded like she disagreed, but she finally shrugged it off.
"Then the meeting seemed to go well?"
"Well enough."
Bula nodded to herself, leaning back with seeming relief.
"It's hard to see much of the fruit of the labor yet, Myrah…we're still planting the seeds. But I'm sure that after a few years of working closely and building trust the binding can be made with relative ease…"
"That's fine," Myrah cut in. "Now is there anything else you needed?"
Bula seemed taken aback, and she finally looked down at the scroll Myrah had.
"Narshadi's Accounts of Great Oni Victories," she recognized with a puzzled frown. "Why the sudden interest in Dragon-Oni battles?"
Her eyes suddenly sparked with interest and suspicion.
"Is the union breaking down? Did the heir drop some hints that suggested that…"
"No. Nothing like that," Myrah chided angrily. Bula blinked at her tone.
"Then, pray tell, why have you insisted on sequestering yourself here with these histories when you should have been meeting with me to follow up? I'm only concerned with your future, after all. The least you could do…"
"I know the history of the realm."
Myrah's statement cut off her advisor as she pushed herself to her feet and gestured to the records all around them.
"Ever since I was introduced to this place as a child, I have spent countless hours researching it. You remember I was never just going to be another advisor. The goal was leadership…even eventual Rulership, even as young as I was. I had direction."
"Of course you did," Bula agreed, her expression bewildered. "Where is this all coming from?"
"I learned of all the mistakes from the past and I was not going to replicate them. I refused to be another pointless figurehead or spineless push-over or arrogant idiot. I was going to become a great leader. I dedicated myself to learning all I could to get there."
"I remember, Myrah. I was the one to help you do so! And you've made it; you're a leader now!..."
"But what if these accounts aren't even right?"
Myrah tossed the scroll in her hand back onto the table with disgust.
"All those hours…all that effort to learn everything I could to be the greatest leader the West has known…what if it was all for nothing?"
"How could it be for nothing? You know the histories, Myrah…better than anyone!"
"Not better than the Healers, apparently!" the leader snapped, turning to face her advisor for the first time. "Years of dedicated research and learning just to find that the Healers apparently have a more accurate account of the realm's history that overturns it all! How is that possible? How could a single wall of scrolls contradict an entire library and a lifetime of study?!"
Bula held her hands up; Myrah knew she rarely got like this and it was no doubt throwing her advisor for a loop. But at the moment she didn't care.
"Now, Myrah…I've told you many times that those Healers are shifty folk. I'm glad we don't have any here in the West. Playing by their own rules, listening to their own leadership, disregarding the status of people like us. Take that Master Healer, for instance; if anyone else treated you like he did we could have them executed but oh no, he's exempt…"
"This isn't about Healers, Bula," Myrah cut in coldly. "This is about finding out that everything I thought I knew…everything I based my leadership goals and plans on…it could all be wrong. Or maybe not all of it is even wrong, but at least some of it is. And how would I ever know which parts? How am I ever to know what I can trust in history? Different perspectives I can handle…but when facts themselves seem totally different…"
She sighed and sank down into her chair.
"It makes me question everything."
Bula gave a start.
"Now, I don't know what has gone and made you so spooked, Myrah. Surely not just histories…there's got to be something more to this than that. Because if it really is just wondering about history I say just let it go right away. History is history. If you don't know the truth by now, then I doubt that there is anyone in the realm who does. Nobody knows everything, you know…"
"I know," Myrah cut in. "I'm not trying to know everything. But I need to be sure and confident in enough things to know that I'm on the right path. I can't become another victim of my own mistakes. I need to know that the things I've learned…the things I thought I knew…are right."
"Things like what?" Bula asked. She sounded wary now, and Myrah's brow furrowed.
"Are Oni as strong as we think we are? Did the powers from our past play more of a role than any of us were led to believe? Are they important now?"
"Myrah…"
"And what of affection? Of love? Do they really make us weaker, like I've always been taught?"
"Of course they do! My girl, you're being ridiculous. You've read one conflicting story and suddenly you're letting your whole world collapse over nothing!"
Myrah turned and met Bula's eye.
"It's not just the different accounts. These talks with Theodynn…his views have been nagging at me in the back of my mind for weeks."
"I warned you that he would have some misguided opinions; you can't blame him. It's the way he was raised! His incorrect perceptions are something that you can remedy, in time…"
"But should I be trying to? You say that love is a wasteful, misguided emotion that leaves us weak. I certainly have read enough accounts in our supposed history to support that. And yet Theodynn seems to put affection above everything else; it's all he's ever known. And how can I continue to tell him that he's wrong when there is so much in this realm that I still don't know? When the things I thought I did know could be entirely incorrect?"
Bula was rubbing her head, the way she did when a migraine set in.
"You haven't been getting enough sleep," the advisor finally diagnosed. "I've noticed you've been out of sorts ever since Heavy Metal started going downhill. I'm sure that many leaders go through these kinds of…thoughts. But Myrah, you sound crazy. You've been taught and trained for years, and you cannot throw that all away because of some conversations from a naïve and poorly raised boy and some record you read somewhere that seemed different from the many correct accounts we have here."
Myrah was silent as she listened and she finally sighed. Bula fixed her with a look.
"Where on earth did you find this new account anyways? You mentioned Healers…"
"Theodynn brought it up," Myrah cut in. "Healers taught his family about the history of the realm."
Bula snorted, and she looked relieved.
"Ah, that explains it all, then. Honestly Myrah, I'm surprised at you for panicking over that. Not only would such an account be affected by the shifty Healing renegades, that Outsider father and Slave mother of his would have significant detrimental views on the true history of the realm. Bias, you see. Whatever history Theodynn was taught, it will have been drowning in biases."
Myrah was silent and Bula pushed herself to her feet, chuckling wryly.
"Indeed, the best course of action is to get him in here as much as possible, learning from the more accurate sides of history. Which of course will also mean he's spending more time with you. A win-win scenario."
The Advisor seemed content once again, and didn't seem to notice Myrah's continued quietness as she headed to the door to the library.
"I'm off to bed now, and I suggest you do the same. Affection. Bah…you had me worried there, Myrah," she said with another chuckle. "You almost seemed to be defending it for a few moments. But you wouldn't dare get caught up in a mistake like love. If only the heir would be easier to convince, but you'll get him there." Here Bula gave Myrah a comforting smile. "You'll surely get him there."
The door closed and the Western Leader sat a few minutes longer before sighing and rubbing her face again. She finally stood and blew the candles on the table out, plunging the library into darkness.
"How about this one?"
Amber frowned as David made a face, trying to stir up some emotion within himself.
"Um…you seem…eager?" she tried. She had never actually tried to pick up on fake emotions, and it was sort of strange. But after Dani had told her other friends about Amber's innate ability, this was the way they had come up with to test it out.
David shook his head.
"No, I was doing anger!"
Amber couldn't help but smile a little.
"Maybe you were thinking of anger…but I can only pick up on what you're actually feeling. And you were feeling more excited, entertained, confused…maybe even a little wary?"
David blinked and Dani laughed from her seat next to him.
"Yeah, David…she isn't going to feel anger unless you're actually angry!" she said. "It's not enough to just think of what you're feeling…you have to really feel it!"
"Fascinating," Jennifer muttered from over where she was sitting and tuning her violin. Dani turned and pointed a finger at her blonde friend.
"Annoyed! Irritated! Skeptical!" she called cheerfully, and then turned to Amber for affirmation while Jennifer scowled at her. "Did I get it right?"
Amber turned towards the blonde. Jennifer did seem irritated…but the Oni frowned as she felt something deeper.
"Yeah, she's irritated…" she started, and Dani beamed proudly. "But she's also…really sad."
Jennifer's eyes snapped over to the Oni while a flush raced up her neck. Dani turned, her elation at being right suddenly dampened.
"Jen! Why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad," came the terse reply as the girl glared at Amber, as if daring her to say otherwise. The Oni kept quiet, but then the girl with the gap in her teeth (who Amber had learned was named Conny) spoke up.
"Wait…where's Matt?"
Everyone glanced around for one of the boys who usually hung out with them, and Dani gasped in what seemed to be a sudden realization.
"Oh noooo! Jen, did you and Matt break up?"
Jen stiffened immediately.
"We didn't break up. We were never even dating!"
"Yeah, but you liked each other!" Dani pressed. She had run over and wrapped the prickly girl in a hug. "What happened?"
"We weren't dating! Geez, Dani, we're only thirteen!" came the irritated reply. "Besides, I have far more important things to focus on than stupid boys anyways. Like my future as a famous violist. Just a few more years and I can audition for first chair in the Ninjago Symphony."
"They're not going to give a teenager first chair," somebody muttered, but whoever said it was hissed to silence by the others in the room.
"That makes me so sad, Jen! Awww…you guys were so cute together."
"Yeah, well…now we can be cute apart," Jen said angrily. "Get off, Dani. Are we going to Jam or are we just gonna make Amber read everyone's fortune and make someone disappear?"
Dani shook her head sadly. The bubbly girl was very empathetic, Amber decided. She could tell that the pianist really was sad to learn about Jen's latest development, but the blonde just seemed to be humiliated. The Oni was realizing too late that she probably shouldn't have voiced the girl's feelings to the room.
"I'm sorry," Amber finally blurted, and Jennifer turned to glare while Dani turned to wave off her apology.
"I'm the one who asked, Amber. It's my fault. And now I've gone and made it a huge thing…" she shrugged sheepishly. "I'm good at doing that."
The others in the room moved to assure Dani otherwise, but she waved them off as well.
"It's fine. We should get jamming though…we don't have much free time left."
The others settled into their positions and Amber took her normal place in the audience corner. She bit her lip as she looked over at Jen once again, but the girl's expression was stony and Amber realized that the violinist was actually trying to block her emotions. She wasn't very good at it; Amber could still tell that she was upset. But she was making the effort and it made Amber feel kind of weird; nobody had ever had to protect their emotions from her before. But then again…she was realizing that nobody really ever knew that they would need to. Not that they did need to…she wasn't like the Alchemist. She wasn't going to use people's feelings to manipulate them. But she technically could, and she realized that she didn't actually blame Jennifer for being wary.
Happy feelings and music began to fill the practice room, but Amber still felt a little sick. The cynical part of her couldn't stop wondering if she really wasn't meant to have friends…if she was just doomed to lose them all one by one.
96
Hershel slid off the hoofer and winced; his backside was just going to keep getting sorer. Just another reason he really didn't like this method of travel.
Syn looked up from the stew she was making as he pushed his way into the tent.
"You look beat," she commented, and he shrugged as he pulled off his satchel and took it over to the table. Syn shook her head. "You shouldn't be this busy, with fever season over. Tolan and I only find a few things per village we visit…"
"It's the trips to the Western Fortress that's taking so much time," her brother pointed out, and Syn's expression clouded.
"I still don't understand why you agreed to that. I mean, I understand the need for more healers, but going all the way there multiple times a week? Are they even getting any better?"
Hershel shrugged again and Syn gestured to the chair.
"Come sit down, I'll get you some tea."
"I'm alright," he said. "I was going to talk with Phos tonight anyways. See if he has any tips for working with brainless people."
Syn rolled her eyes.
"Why talk with Phos? You already sound like him," she countered, but then her expression became more concerned. "You don't get any real sleep when you have those visits, Hershel. What you need is a good night's rest and a day off."
He scoffed softly.
"I'm fine, Syn…really."
"Why don't you at least transport to the West? The hours you spend traveling…"
"If I transport, I'd be even more tired," he pointed out, but he sounded a little guarded. Syn watched him closely as he came over to sink into Phos's old chair. "Tell Tolan thank you, by the way. For letting me borrow his hoofer."
"You can tell him yourself when he gets back with Pip tonight," she said, and Hershel shook his head.
"I'll probably be with Phos by then."
Hershel was staring at the pot boiling over their fire, and Syn sat in the other chair, watching her brother closely.
"I could go to the west to teach them a few things, you know. If it's just traveling healer stuff…"
"No, that's ok. I can do it."
"C'mon, Hershel. At least let's split the workload. Then you wouldn't be dealing with stupid people so often."
He smiled at that.
"Thanks, Syn. But it's my responsibility; something I got saddled with. I'll see it through."
She frowned.
"You know, Hersh, you need to get better at saying No."
He raised an eyebrow and she gestured to the satchel on the table.
"You became the Master Healer, you get roped into all this extra work by that Western Leader…heck, even Keyda and Cole call in favors. I mean, I don't mind helping them but you are allowed to say no sometimes…"
"Syn…"
"Tolan still needs help, but you aren't ever around anymore to train him," she said, but then she flushed and sighed. "Which…I get isn't the greatest argument for telling you to do less. But I'm worried you're getting stretched too thin. And you've been quiet a lot."
He looked back at the fire.
"I'm always quiet."
"It's a different kind of quiet, Hersh. It's not like when you're thinking of stuff you have to do. It's more like something keeps distracting you. You cut yourself chopping herbs yesterday because your head was in the clouds…tell me the truth. Is there something wrong?"
He turned to meet her eye and gave her a comforting smile.
"I appreciate it, Syn. But I'm fine. I promise."
"Your professors say that you're doing well in your classes."
M. nodded as he spun the spaghetti on his fork lazily.
"I told you, you don't have anything to worry about. I'm keeping up with everything."
Marty IV watched his son eat from across the desk. Dinner was something he still insisted on, but often he was so busy he worked through their time together anyway, and M. usually managed to eat quickly and slip out before his father could say much to him at all. Today, however, Marty had put his laptop aside.
"And…how's everything else been?"
M. glanced up then, his brow furrowing.
"Everything else? You mean like tests and stuff? Or performances?"
Marty cleared his throat.
"I meant social life."
"Oh."
M. gave a shrug.
"It's been fine," he said, and then took a large bite of spaghetti, filling his mouth. The Headmaster watched with an unreadable expression, but then looked back down at his own food as his tone became nonchalant.
"I've heard that you and the Oni girl haven't been spending as much time together…any reason why?"
M. swallowed quickly as he glared.
"Geez, Dad! Are you having spies report on me or something?"
Marty's eyes grew hard.
"Easy, M. It's just something I've heard. I wondered if everything was alright, considering how invested you were in getting her back into the school."
M. shrugged angrily.
"Things are fine Dad. We're still partners in some of our classes…we just don't see each other as much. She's got this roommate now…"
Marty watched as M. stabbed at a meatball.
"Some musician nerd…who then introduced her to all her other musician nerd friends and Amber spends a lot of time with them now. It's not a big deal; we still see each other in class."
The Headmaster chewed thoughtfully.
"Alright," he said, and dropped it. M. hunched around his dinner, suddenly intensely trying to get it down. The Headmaster tried a different topic.
"And…how are things with your mother?"
M. slowed, his angry expression becoming a little distant. In fact, he seemed uncomfortable.
"Things are actually really good," he admitted, and he seemed to be avoiding his father's eye. Marty frowned and leaned forward.
"Oh?"
M. swallowed.
"Look, Dad…if it's the same to you, I'd rather not talk about mom."
Marty's eyes became flints.
"Why? What's she done now? Why wouldn't you…"
"This is why. Things are fine with Mom…and I guess they're pretty fine with you too right now. But every time I talk to her about you or you about her…" M. shrugged again awkwardly. "It just gets all…heated."
"What have you told her about me?!"
M. sighed.
"Nothing. Like I said, I don't bring you up at all. And I'd rather not talk to you about her."
The Headmaster seethed a few minutes longer as they finished their food, but he had finally calmed by the time M. pushed himself to his feet.
"See you tomorrow," the teen offered, and he went to leave his plate.
"M…your plate," his father reminded, and M. turned.
"Oh yeah…sorry I just got used to leaving the dishes."
The Headmaster narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what he meant, but M. scooped up his dish and made a break for the door.
"Goodnight, father."
"Goodnight M. Keep working hard."
M. hesitated at the door and then gave one nod.
"Sure."
"Can you make it turn blue?"
The musicians gathered around as Amber focused on the crystal in front of her. She frowned in concentration, and a moment later the gem had bruised to a deep, clear blue. Dani squealed.
"Oh my gosh! That is the exact shade of Reggie Blue's hair!" she cried and Amber couldn't help but smile in amusement. But then the crystal faded to a light yellow and everyone moaned in disappointment.
"What happened?" Conny asked, and Amber sighed.
"I told you…the crystal picks up on emotions in the aura. Blue is grief. It's kind of tricky to keep the emotion going sometimes."
"Wait…so you have to feel a certain way to change the color?" Dani asked. "I didn't mean to ask you to be sad!"
Amber shrugged.
"How do you even do that? Make yourself feel a certain way?" Jennifer asked. Her tone was as skeptical and judgmental as ever, but from her position hunched forward in the crowd and her thinly veiled emotions, Amber could tell she was as curious as the rest of them.
"It's easiest to have a set memory in place for each emotion," Amber explained softly. "Then I just have to think of that memory and the emotion comes easier."
"So you have something that makes you sad, no matter what?" Dani asked. Amber nodded, staring at the crystal as the memory washed over her. The crystal went blue again and Dani shook Amber's shoulder.
"Noooo, now you're thinking of the sad thing again! Think of something happy instead!"
Just then the door to the practice room opened and everyone turned in surprise as M. Openheimer walked in. His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the scene, and Amber noticed his expression darkened when he caught sight of her with the crystal floating in her hand.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked. Actually, it sounded more like a demand.
"Sure, mate, what's up?" David asked in mock sincerity, and the musicians snickered while M. glowered.
"Amber…" he said, and the crystal landed in her palm.
"Yeah, just give me a second," she said, threading the crystal back on the chain and then clasping it around her throat. He opened the door and she headed out of the room with him while the musicians watched them go. Rather than stop outside the door, M. walked a little ways down the hall.
"What did you want to talk about?" Amber asked. Things had been rather cool between the two of them lately. Dani had mentioned as much on several occasions, but Amber had always told her roommate that things were fine, just strained. They were both busy. M. was meeting with his Mom or Dad most meals. That sort of thing. While they seemed to function alright in class, this was the first time M. had sought her out during free time in a while.
M. was studying her, and Amber could pick up on random feelings that he seemed to be trying to hide. Was that…jealousy? What on earth was he jealous of her for? He had plenty of friends. She had seen him with some of his old dance chums during free hour or lunch.
"Where's your dance necklace?" he finally asked, and Amber looked down at the crystal hanging around her throat.
"In my room," she replied easily. "Why?"
"You just…you usually wear it."
"I had to wear this one today."
"Why?"
"So I could show them…"
"Your little parlor trick?" M's tone was surprisingly bitter. "Maybe you shouldn't just show people that kind of stuff, Amber. They're just using you for their own enjoyment."
That stung. Amber flushed and narrowed her eyes.
"What did you want to talk about?" she repeated, this time with more of an edge to her voice. He fidgeted.
"We haven't hung out in a while," he finally pointed out.
"We've been busy," she reminded tersely. He shook his head.
"I get that you've been playing catch up, Amber…but I swear you're with those Musician weirdos more times than not…"
"Weirdos?"
Amber's annoyance deepened. What was M's problem?
"They aren't weirdos, M. They're my friends."
He scoffed.
"Really?"
"Is that hard to believe? You have plenty of friends too, M…why can't I…"
"Sure, you can have friends, Amber. But like…are these guys really your friends? They aren't even dancers…"
The Musicians' gripes about dancers immediately came to mind and she took a step closer, her eyes flashing.
"The Musicians are every bit as talented as the Dancers in the school, M. Just because they aren't rich…"
"This has nothing to do with them being rich, Amber!"
"Then what is this about?" she snapped back. He just stared at her, and she realized he was angry again. It seemed all she was good at lately was making him angry. But then he sighed and backed off.
"Look…I just wanna spend some time with you, ok? Outside of class…like we used to do all the time."
His tone was softer and Amber felt her guard going back down as she regarded him.
"You've been avoiding me for days," she finally pointed out. "I thought you were mad at me."
"I wasn't avoiding you…you were avoiding me."
She scoffed.
"You're the one who stormed off last, M."
"Because you had no right to say that about my Mom…"
"I was just telling you the truth!"
The tension was building again and M. shook his head.
"I can't do this. Let's just agree that we're gonna hang out soon…and not talk about my Mom. I just…I don't want you talking about her anymore at all, ok?"
Amber glared at him.
"Fine."
"Good."
"Whatever."
Amber turned to leave, but then turned back again.
"Why not hang out now? The Musicians won't mind if you tag along."
M. scowled a little at the mention of Amber's new friends and shook his head.
"Can't. I have places to be," he finally said, and Amber watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to head back towards the Dance wing. Or maybe he was leaving the school altogether, off to spend free hour with his mother. The Oni sighed.
"Sure."
"Are you alright, Marty? You seem a little out of it."
M. sighed at his mother's question.
"I'm alright," he lied, trying to focus on the float in front of him. His mother had met him at an ice cream shop in town; she was dressed in a yellow day dress and large white sunhat. She sipped thoughtfully on her lemonade.
"Girl problems?"
He looked up at her in confusion and disgust and Matilda just laughed.
"Sorry…maybe you're still too young for girl problems. But I don't blame you if you don't want to talk about them; Openheimer men always keep things close to the vest…"
"It's just…Amber's been acting weird lately."
Matilda paused.
"The Oni girl, right?"
"Yeah. Like, I get it…she has new friends. But it's weird because she's never had other friends. How does she know they're even good friends? Like really, they could just be using her for her powers. Or something."
His argument didn't sound convincing, even to him, but Matilda's fake fingernails were tapping on her chilled glass.
"Why hasn't she ever had other friends? Because of her looks?"
M. glared at his ice cream.
"Yes? No…I don't know. When she was first at the school especially, she was pretty intimidating."
"Intimidating how?" his mother asked innocently.
"She was always angry…and she used to have this look that just looked like she was gonna murder someone, you know? I guess it's cuz she could feel how everyone felt about her, which made her mad at them…but it was a pretty freaky look. Didn't really win her a bunch of adoring fans."
Matilda nodded.
"Resting faces have ruined so many first impressions. Secret to success, Marty…always wear a smile."
He used his straw to suck up whipped cream while Matilda leaned back in her wicker chair, seemingly enjoying the sunshine coming through the large window behind her.
"You said something about her friends using her for her powers? Does she use her powers at school?"
M. had been lost in his thoughts, replaying the past few conversations with Amber. He glanced up.
"What?"
"Amber's powers? You've seen them before?"
He shrugged.
"A couple of times. Like, she does this thing where she can change a crystal into different colors by manipulating the feelings in the power…or something. I don't know. I mean, it was pretty cool when she showed me, but I guess I always thought it was like a sign of trust? Like something she doesn't just do on a whim…but there she was today, showing a whole room full of musicians like it was no big deal at all."
"She used her powers in a room full of people?"
"And they all had like the stupidest looks on their faces like she's a trick pony or something."
Matilda took another long draft from her lemonade.
"Well, I'm sure she's shown you lots of things she's never shown them."
M. just shrugged, and Matilda leaned forward.
"Come on…she has shown you other things, right? Or is that really the extent of her power?"
"Well, sure, she's shown me more things. But like I doubt she's going to just transport out of the school in front of them, or slam her annoying, weirdo roommate into a wall like she did to me…"
M's tone was bitter and his mother's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"She slammed you into a wall? With her powers?"
Here M finally looked up, guilt sweeping across his features.
"Slammed is probably the wrong word. We were having this argument and we were both really angry…"
"But she used her powers on you?"
"Not…exactly." He winced. "She's never like hurt anyone or anything. It was just that one time she got really angry. But we worked it out; we actually started hanging out more after that."
Matilda nodded, but her mind seemed far away. M cleared his throat.
"Dad doesn't exactly know about that one. I mean, he heard about the time she transported backstage, but I never did tell him about that other thing…"
Her eyes focused and she finally smiled at him.
"I have no intention of talking to your father, Marty," she assured, and he sagged in relief.
"Thanks. He doesn't really like Amber…"
"No? He let her back into the school."
M. hesitated.
"Well…yeah. She's a good dancer, Mom. She belongs back in the school. But I mean the whole thing was actually Grandpa's idea to start with. He's the one who gave her the scholarship and made us partners."
"Yes…I remember hearing something about that," his mother said. She was toying with her straw with two fingers, and she finally glanced down.
"It seems I'm out of lemonade. Are you almost finished with that float?"
M. looked at his ice cream.
"Yeah, I think I'm good. Thanks, Mom. It's….it's been good talking to you."
She beamed at him.
"Of course, Marty. Don't fret too much about your friend; these sorts of things tend to figure themselves out in time."
He nodded and they both stood to go. M. gave his mother a quick hug goodbye, making sure not to muss her outfit in any way. As he took his leave and walked back to the school, he couldn't help but think of all the ways his conversations with his mother differed from those of his father. Marty IV would have never reacted like that to all the things M had said about Amber, but his mother was always just so cool about it. She was a good listener, he decided. His father never listened; Marty Openhiemer the IV talked at you, not with you; he told you things and you were expected to listen. Even when you answered his questions, he treated it like you answered them wrong half the time. M. pictured his disapproving scowl and shook his head. His mother always listened. When she asked questions, it actually felt like she wanted to know the answers. Like she was genuinely curious about his life, not seeking to control it. It just…it felt good to have someone listen to him for a change. His grandfather was a good listener too, but things had been kind of strained lately after the whole kicking-Amber-out-of-school stuff and then Marty III's grand Ninjago tour.
All in all, while talking to his father generally left him feeling worse, M. headed back to school feeling so much better.
27