"I've never quite understood it," he mused. I glanced up from my studies, too absorbed in the little readings I'd been offered on my long-sought subject to remember what he had said. What was it?
"About the Harrowing?" Jowan asked a bit more irritably than before. I blinked, still too stuttered by my own lost thoughts to remember. He waited for a moment, then finally heaved a great sigh and flopped down beside me in a chair.
"Honestly, Isthalla! How am I ever going to properly complain to you when you're always stuffing your nose in a book nowadays!" he whined while throwing his arms up in the air and dramatically flopping on top of my books. I felt a brief, sharp moment of irritation that he would so rudely interrupt me, then remembered this was Jowan. My best friend and fellow crime master since a child; he was entitled to his fancies, however ridiculous. I tried my hardest to remind myself of that.
"More than you ever have, I would say," I snorted. Jowan let a slow, appreciating grin spread across his lips as he took on the words as a gesture for friendly banter. How he did love to pull a good row with me every now and then-of course he always lost. However, he still seemed rather focused on the beforehand topic, dragging it back like a well-beaten dead cat I wasn't too fond of seeing again.
"I just don't understand it, is all! Sometimes I wonder if they are purposely dragging out my Harrowing just to amuse themselves!" he continued on with an insufferable moan. I rolled my eyes and snorted again.
"Jowan, even the Templars aren't that creative," I sighed while standing to my feet and snapping the book shut. "Honestly, quit worrying. You whine more than that Sanja girl does these days. It's quite annoying." She was, however, a hard mage to contest with in the matter of insufferable whining. Jowan was beginning to pull a close second, though.
"What if they never call me for my Harrowing?" he continued on, his words now turning into a nag on my ears. I heaved a loudly and irritable sigh of obvious discontent that should have told him please stop dragging on about this, but for the hundredth time he didn't seem to take the hint. I pretended I hadn't heard, and continued to put back the books I'd spent the last hours attempting to absorb in some false hope a new message would spring up from the depths of their pages. They yielded next to nothing. Less than nothing, my bitter thoughts added. I waited until I'd secured the very last book on the shelves, carefully so, before turning with a snap of my heel on Jowan and frowning.
"Jowan, honestly. You are being absolutely ridiculous about this. Not to mention overreacting-and for Maker's sake would you quit making that face at me?" I scolded while slapping him on the arm and striding past. Honestly, he was a pain to deal with sometimes. Like a child that would never shut up. I tried to ignore the pleading steps following right behind me, back to the apprentice quarters beside my bed.
"And for another thing," I continued on while folding my laundry and angrily stuffing it into the bag, "I know for a fact you will get to your bloody mage title, if it's so important to you." I shoved the last of the robes into the satchel, pleased with my exertion before snapping back to face Jowan right as the doubtful words formed on his lips.
"How?" he demanded. I smirked and raised a brow.
"Like any other way we get what we want," I responded smoothly. He knew that voice well, the voice I used when I was intending to do something entirely unruly and devious and fun. Which was often. I still had no idea how I would get him to his Harrowing, or titled as a mage, but I had made a promise. Perhaps a few bribed Templars and sweet-talked enchanters would do the trick, but it wasn't a concern for the moment. The fact was I had found a way to shut Jowan's bloody trap shut about it, and that just made the rest of my day perfect.
"Isthalla you are an angel," he beamed affectionately while kissing me on both sides of my face. I sighed and rolled my eyes, shoving him off me.
"Come off it, quit buttering me up before I change my mind and try a new hex on you," I lightly scolded before escaping from another shower of affection from him that briefly trailed to my neck. After a few more planted, earnest kisses-one across my jaw and neck-I finally broke into a stuttering laugh and slapped him off me. He bore me a happy, bright smile before planting one more kiss on my hand and bounding off.
"I'll pay you back for it, I promise!" he called over his shoulder, but I just smiled and waved him off, knowing Jowan-of all mages-was the most likely to forget what he owed another person. Though I didn't mind. The silly, foolish, devious mage that he was-he was still my best friend, as odd as the phrase sounded to me at times. The only male I could stand for more than a few hours, too, no less, without retching or wanting to hex into oblivion. I assumed it was the effects of growing up together with alike minds; being in trouble with a friend more often than not was more fun than going in alone.
Once he'd left I was reminded of how empty the apprentice's quarters were, and just how alone I felt. Today was my Harrowing. I would be put to the test many before me had taken, and either be killed, turned into a Tranquil, or make it out alive. Of course I didn't have much of a worry about passing it - I had no concern about that. It was the other matters weighing on my mind. The things I had spent countless hours in the library trying to find in vain for the past six months and failing miserably, the books I would look up from reading and when inquisitively asked "What are you doing?" I would easily lie and say I was studying for my Harrowing.
I had been doing everything but.
What was beyond my comprehension and everything revolving around my frustration was that we had every library book imaginable on how to tear another person limb-from-limb using combinations of hex spells to the history of every famous abomination and how they obtained their titles, yet we had nothing… absolutely and wretchedly nothing on the subject of blood mages.
Truly, I didn't understand why. Of course the obvious blood magic is forbidden term came to my mind, but the obviousness of that statement continued to sway towards the logic of it: why didn't we even have a history about it? About the dangers of it? What it was composed of? Why was it the Templars were only allowed to know about these things, of all indignations. Did they purposely keep the mages oblivious to it in hopes they might be wiped out with their lack of knowledge? The most perplexing thought was that I had sworn I'd seen a book with the word "blood magic" on it in the library the previous winter. It had disappeared. That or I had imagined it.
No, I couldn't have. It was impossible that I could mistake a book title so distinctly, and thereafter searching for it the past six months and yielding no result was…disturbing. Even First Enchanter Irving had nothing to say about the matter. He simply gave me a wary, keen look that confused me more than worried me and said I shouldn't be looking into such 'dark subjects'.
Right, like the books on demon possession and incantations for raising the dead weren't "dark" enough as well. It was not my battle to fight though, and I'd left it at that. Left a bit empty and more frustrated, but I would not contradict Irving. Regardless of my feelings about it. Amid my thoughts while lingering in the open doorway of the apprentice quarters, I heard a voice interrupt my thoughts.
"I-Isthalla," the words were spoken as more of greeting with a worked-in, questioning feeling at the end. I broke from my prison of confusion to find myself staring at a slightly familiar face. Angular, strict face. Brown eyes. Brazenly red hair. Foolish little grin betraying the corner of his lips. Right, what was his name?
"You pop up everywhere don't you…." I trailed off while giving him an expectant look to finish my sentence and clear my memory with his name. He straightened up and held a look of stuttering surprise.
"O-Oh, Cullen," he finished, letting that same little grin flicker on his lips. Honestly, he looked like an overeager child lately. I worked my mouth into a frown and raised a brow.
"Well, unless you have a point for gawking outside of the apprentice dorm like a fooli-" I began lazily; irritably.
"Oh, I do! I mean to say-" he cut himself off to clear his throat and put his Big Boy Templar Voice on. How cute. "I am to accompany you to the Harrowing Chamber for your… initiation," he finished with an unsure expression. I grinned a bit, feeling the malice seeping into my voice as I spoke.
"Then I suppose you're the one appointed to strike me down should I go all to hell and turn into an abomination, then?" I laughed in a bitterly amused way. Cullen didn't seem to find it so appropriate, and only made a slightly sickened face before adjusting the heavy metal collar of his armor and stepping to the side so I could exit the archway.
"No, well. I am your appointed Templar should it go astray, but I do not relish the thought," he trailed off, then shut his mouth since obviously he said something embarrassing. I found the awkwardness terribly amusing, if not cute in some fashion. He'd been here for six months now, yet still retained that gawkish and rather awkward façade of a lost little puppy in a scary new world. I kept waiting for the Templar-ness to kick into his system, but so far it had failed miserably. Oh well, I could at least drag it out while I still had the chance. It was a terribly fun pastime to tease such vulnerable targets, especially one so hopelessly weak and soft.
"I do wonder if there was a bit of ironic purpose in appointing you for such a task," I continued on while striding down the hallway with Cullen in my wake. He seemed ardent in his belief that it was anything but, and caught up beside me with a wider stride while trying to hide the stutter under his voice.
"Of course not! I-I mean, that would be nonsense!" he professed valiantly. I held back a chuckle, only offering a small, whipping smirk in his direction before turning back to the front, smug, and beginning the ascent up the stairs to the next level. The Templar seemed to have trouble keeping up, amusingly.
"Well I believe it makes perfect sense to use such a thing against you to try and teach you a lesson. I mean, really, consorting with a mage-you should know better, Cullen," I continued to egg on in a mocking, dramatic voice. I couldn't hold it back anymore. A wide grin cracked across my lips just as we began to round the bend toward the chamber stairs. Cullen fell short at the bottom, stopping to turn intently to me and prove his point. His cheeks were flaring red.
"I have not consorted with any mages for that matter, and I don't believe this is very appropriate to be discussing right now," he demanded in an uneasy voice that came out as more like a pleading whimper than a direct order. He was still trying to find his legs, the poor thing, and I couldn't help but feel bad he was failing so miserably for a moment, but it passed when I realized he probably was secretly enjoying every second of this. Somewhere deep down past his Templar-ness and stuffy armor, he liked the thrill of it. The prospect. Every other templar in the tower had proven that thus far, and he was no different. He was still a male after all, and a human. Two things best associated to what she considered to be h-
"There you are!" a familiar, motherly voice scolded from the archway outside the chamber steps. I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes towards the sound of slapping, impatient shoes against the stone. Wynne, all huffed up and flustered as ever, appeared with her hands flung in the air while striding up to greet us both. "You are supposed to be in that chamber right now, Isthalla! I don't know what you've been distracted by all afternoon but if you wait any longer I can promise you'll be sleeping in the apprentice quarters for a long time to come. Now go! Quickly!" I didn't need to be told twice.
Gently shooing us up the stairs, I shrugged off the feeling of her impatient hands and began the ascension up towards the chamber, listening to the uncomfortable sound of Cullen's armor shifting beside me. As we stopped at the very top to the large, foreboding doorway, I leaned in for one last word to pick up on our conversation from earlier, and in truth to put my mind a little more at ease now that I was standing in front of the Harrowing Chamber, about to have my fate decided by a singular test that could mean life or death.
"I don't suppose you count that little midnight chat in the chantry we had six months ago as a violation of Templar rules, then?" I harmlessly tittered in his direction just as the doors were swung open and we were greeted by four other Templars, their helmets on to hide any possible scrutiny of living faces behind the veil, and tried to hold my chuckle in at seeing the sudden gaping expression falter on Cullen's face as I stepped ahead of him and into the chamber.
I felt a grim comfort in the fact he would be the one to kill me, should it come to that. Or at least that's what I secretly hoped for during the flashing moment where I stepped up to a smoking pedestal and glanced over my shoulder at him, asking for help. For answers. I saw equal fear and apprehension written on his face, worked over by a struggle to remain as stone-faced as the other Templars in the chamber. Suddenly, my bright optimism and confidence were lost by the image of four Templars brutally murdering me on the Harrowing Chamber floor as Irving, my guidance and leader since a child, watched without batting an eye. The hidden look of slight worry on his face as I glanced back didn't help me, either.
For the first time, I felt doubt trickle into my bones in the same instant I touched the white glow and was sent reeling into a place I had never, in all my practice and studies, been prepared for.