Book One: Eve's Daughter

By Mistress of Magic

Disclaimer: I don't own the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy by Phillip Pullman, but I'm a big fan. This is my fanfic. Enjoy!!

Sadly, I hurt all over right now, people, so don't expect too much from this chapter, although some of you might still like it. *hollow laugh* The reason why? Yesterday, one of my brothers and his friends ganged up on me, and threw stones. I kid you not. Said I was a witch, they did!

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Part Five: In Ten Years' Time/ Next day, noon

Kerim, an aging half-gyptian who sometimes worked at Jordan College, was deeply troubled, as he had truly been during these last few weeks.

As he walked the usual route to his station at Jordan from the canals where he lived alone in one of the oldest and smallest narrow boats ever seen in Oxford, he solemnly stared down at his shoes, thinking hard. He did not whistle on his way to the College, as he normally would have if anything different had happened...but because of this, he was destrought.

Kerim would have never in a thousand years have thought that this would be the way it would end for the little girl he had protected in secret, and spied on completely unseen for the rest of the gyptians by order of Lord Faa. He had been very fond of Lyra, dropping in unseen from time to time to make sure she didn't cause too much trouble unintentionally or no for the servants and Scholars during her half-wild, half-civilized childhood.

It was still a difficult thing to believe that the same little girl, although a girl no longer, Lyra Belacqua, had been murdered only a few weeks past.

Every gyptian family also knew about this, and also shared Kerim's concern more or less. Each person who had known Lyra coped with her strange assassination in their own way. It purely frightened some, and simply confused many others.

The old Ma Costa had wept upon learning of Lyra's death as she would have wept for her own child. She also wept for Lyra's child.

What could have happened to her? And why? Kerim thought.

Since the young woman's mysterious death, men and sometimes women of some higher authority had been coming in and out of Jordan, searching for any sort of possible clue, asking questions, and taking things out of what was formally the young woman's bedroom, and wondering what should be done with Lyra's daughter, although these people were no detectives or agents for some orphanage.

Her daughter, he thought. Little Nydia...what's going to happen to her?

As Kerim began to finish the route, deep in serious thought, he took no notice of the woman under one of the sapling maple trees amidst the row of ten that grew on the side of the dirty cobblestone road, who could have only been a witch.

Not sure what move to make next, and slightly indignant because of it, she stood with her snow goose daemon, in the bit of light shadow the tree gave off like a tall sundial. She had kept out of sight here throughout most of the night, and looked as though she had allowed herself next to no sleep in quite some time.

The witch watched Kerim from her hiding place, and studied him. The old man seemed to be part gyptian; he dressed simply, wearing a faded blue linen shirt with a stiff collar which was tucked into an old pair of trousers made of some dark cloth. His hair, not very long, which was decidedly more silver than black during these last few years, was more or less neatly combed back from his forehead, and tied back with a thin piece of string. As he made his way down the length of the road, his thick black brows were knitted in what could have been frustration.

"Who do you think he is?" Kasia asked Serafina suddenly, his voice causing a pause in the witch's own thoughts.

"A gyptian," Serafina replied calmly, putting one pale hand on the top of Kasia's graceful head. "I think we can trust him, Kasia. I wonder if he could tell us where Jordan might be..."

"I suppose we should ask him, then," Kasia said as he and the witch, cloud-pine in hand, left the shelter the small tree gave off.

Serafina Pekkala quickly caught up with the man, just as he was turning around the bend in the street, and said, "Excuse me, Sir---"

"Yes?" Kerim muttered distractedly, finally noticing the witch. Not completely torn from his previous thoughts, he chose to regard her for a moment before either of them continued, never having been much of a talker himself.

This woman looked like nothing like anyone he had ever seen in his life, however long it had been. Her daemon stood firmly planted at her bare feet, staring up at him with unreadable black eyes that were like twin onyx marbles encircled with rings of sky blue. His eyes fell on the woman's face again. Her eyes were the same kind as her daemon's, although bright green in color, and they were possibly the most strange feature about her; the eyes seemed to hold all the ages of heartbreak and mystery of the universe. She faced him with a kind of stoicism he could not remember ever seeing in a person. Her clothes were in tatters, and she wore a garland of little red flowers around her brow.

Indeed, she was different from everyone and everything else in all of Oxford, completely out of place. She must have come a long way from somewhere, wherever that somewhere was.

It was then he noticed the strong branch of what appeared to be some sort of pine tree in her hand. Why was she carrying a thing that with her? It made him wonder. He wanted to ask, "Who are you?", and then, "What are you?" before anything else, but had no wish to offend this beautiful stranger. His small, thin yellow and green snake daemon, sensing his human counterpart's surprised thoughts, quietly slid out of one of the wide pockets of Kerim's shirt to curl around his neck, staring silently at the witch.

"Excuse me," the woman politely said to him again, her voice high with anticipation, "If you know, would you please tell us where Jordan College is?"

"Jordan College, you say, Ma'am?"

"Yes," said the witch without hesitation.

For a moment the old man eyed the uncanny woman and her daemon uncertainly, and with a trace of newfound feeling that might have been anger or even apprehension, or a combination of both.

But she seemed completely oblivious to this fact, and only stood cloaked wordless in the guise of patience, waiting for whatever answer she might get.

Kerim was considering weather he should or should not question the strange woman. What business has she at Jordan? he thought. Was she one of the people who had been lurking around the College, asking unexpected questions of their own?

For some reason, Kerim did not think she was. She was different. But all the same, he found in increasingly difficult to trust anyone he did not know very well these days.

Still, the old half-gyptian thought, I'd better be giving the lady an answer, I suppose.

He said simply, "Of course, Ma'am." The man beckoned for her to follow him with a small, weary movement of his fingers as the woman sincerely thanked him.

As he guided her around the bend and past several flat buildings, he said, "My work is at the College," sensing a conversation was needed to fill up the still silence between them.

"Is it?" Serafina Pekkala said with some sudden interest. "What do you do there? What is your name?"

Kerim explained as well as he could how he sometimes worked as one of the servants, or a janitor, or did any small odd jobs around the College that were needed. "The name's Kerim, Ma'am," he said finally.

"And my name is Serafina Pekkala," Serafina Pekkala said politely to him. "My daemon is called Kasia." There was no need for him to know she was a witch, Serafina decided, unless he asked it of her. She did not know now a person from this place would react to this, although in truth Kerim had a fair good idea of exactly what this woman was.

"This old lady's Severia," Kerim replied, motioning to the snake. He tried to crack a half-smile, and succeeded in keeping it. "Did you want to see the Master?" he asked her. "I'm afraid he is not here today. Next week he should be coming around for a bit of a visit, though."

Serafina Pekkala smiled at him, meeting his eyes to show she meant him no ill will, then said, "No. To tell you the truth, I was wondering if I could talk to you or someone about Lyra Silvertongue-Belacqua. You see, I was a close friend of Lyra's."

At the sound of Lyra's name, Kerim must have froze a little in midstep or his expression changed because the witch said very quickly, "Were you too a friend of Lyra's?"

"That I certainly was, Ma'am," Kerim said quietly. "Knew Lyra since she was just a little sprite, I did." His voice showed his sadness as the two approached the city of Oxford's grandest and richest College.

"I take it that you also know her daughter, then?" Kerim decided to ask. He needed to know where this small talk was leading; he may have been wrong. What if this Serafina Pekkala was not a witch, and one of the orphanage workers after all?

"No, I do not know her. I have never seen her. I only knew her mother, and know of what happened to her although how remains a mystery. I mostly want to see if her child is safe."

At this, Kerim raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"

"I am concerned of what will happen to her," Serafina Pekkala answered immediately. "Do you know anything?"

"No, Ma'am," Kerim said, "That I don't. And there is more people than just us who want to know a thing or two on the matter, too."

"The gyptians," Serafina mused. "I know them. I was---am, a friend of Lord John Faa's family....I loved Farder Coram very much," she suddenly added with sadness, but it also struck Kerim that it was a kind of sadness without bitterness.

Kerim said nothing at first, then, "It was Lord Faa hisself, it was, who told me to keep a good eye on little Lyra." Serafina looked at him, and he suddenly winked at her, with another smile. "I ended up having to keep both."

"I see," the witch replied.

"Well, here it is," Kerim said as the two approached the grandest and richest College in the city of Oxford. "This is Jordan College."

Serafina Pekkala slowly looked upwards at the immense structure, at the strikingly imperfect, plainless beauty of it. The building was obviously very old, and was falling apart in some of the oldest places, while being rebuilt here and there in others. The place had been constructed in both stone and wood, supported by two intricately carved Greek-style dark granite pillars, and finished off with a tall pair of heavily lacquered oak wood doors accompanied with two heavy brass knockers molded in the shape of two grand lions' heads that were not necessarily for use, but perhaps for looks, instead.

In all, it was unlike any manmade structure the witch could ever remember seeing in all three-hundred years or more of her life.

"Quite impressive, isn't it, eh?" Kerim said with a slight chuckle. "Come with me, I'll lead you in. The Scholars shouldn't mind overly much. We've been having all sorts of new faces trespassing as of late, we have."

"Trespassing?" Serafina Pekkala asked, knitting her brow. "Who?"

"I'm not sure on that one," Kerim answered. "People may be wanting to take young Nydia away from us, I imagine...But we did raise little Lyra right, didn't we?" his face and the emerald-scaled face of his daemon both reflected Serafina's concern.

"I know you did," Serafina Pekkala said to him trustingly. "Otherwise, how could I have loved Lyra as I did? The child was like a daughter to me..."

"She was like that to us all, I'm sure," was Kerim's reply as he pulled one of the massive doors open, and held it while the witch walked in.

They made their way down the long, red-carpeted corridor that led to a scarce few of the College's spare rooms, and passed Jordan's large kitchen where the staff in charge of the cooking were working away at the midday meal.

"Nydia's room's up the stairs," Kerim said. "On the second floor. Hers is the same room as Lyra's was."

The witch and the gyptian passed by the dining room and another office whose door was shut, and made their way up the long, steep flight of rickety wooden stairs until they reached a new corridor, this one at least half the length of the one upon entering Jordan College, and uncarpeted. Lyra's small bedroom was the second door on the right, and the door was hanging only slightly ajar when Kerim opened it.

"We don't leave the little thing alone, of course," he said without really a need, for inside the room sitting on the narrow cotlike bed, was a gray-haired woman who was well into the winter years of her life. She was a gyptian judging from the dusky-dark skin and wise, tear-dampened dark eyes framed by a fringe of thick, black eyelashes. Serafina Pekkala could see that the baby was in the old woman's arms, apparently peacefully sleeping.

Ma Costa abruptly gazed up at the two familiar faces in the doorway, and then, without a word, gingerly patted a place on the bed next to her.

"Mrs. Costa," Kerim said quietly, "This woman is Serafina Pekkala, a friend of Lyra's and of Farder Coram's gyptians. She wanted to come to see Lyra's daughter."

"Ah," Ma Costa whispered seemingly neither to Serafina or Kerim. "And who else could she be then?" She met the witch's eyes. "Yes, I know you. Farder Coram and my little Lyra talked about you and your witches on more than one occasion, I should say..." The old woman gave a quiet, half-hearted laugh. "Serafina Pekkala. Please sit down. It's a shame you never had a chance to see the babe and Lyra before this."

The witch took her place next to Ma Costa, while Kerim chose to remain standing, not sure weather the cheap bed was able to support two women and a full-grown man or not. For the first time, Serafina Pekkala saw Lyra's daughter, Nydia.

It did not seem to the witch that the child resembled like Lyra, at least not for now. Nydia's hair was a tawny shade darker than Lyra's had been, which promised not to be perfectly straight like her mother's, although all else seemed to be more or less the same.

But it didn't matter. In Nydia the witch saw Lyra above all other things. Turning to Ma Costa she said, "She'll have her mother's spirit."

At this, the old gyptian woman smiled, causing the fine spider's web of lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes to become more prominent. "Yes, that's we're all sure of," she said, glancing at Kerim, who gave a curt nod of his head.

"What will be happening to her, if you know?" Serafina Pekkala wanted to know at last.

"I suppose she'll be raised among the servants' children right here, much like her mother was brought up," Ma Costa said with a sigh. "We're with her when we can be. If it's not Kerim there, or one of my boys or their wives, it's me. At least, that's what will happen if our gyptians can do anything about it....I'd gladly take her in meself, but I'm an old woman. What good could I ever do a child this age? I don't know, but I do know that we'll all do everything we can to keep the little mite with us."

"I understand," Kerim said, putting a voice to Serafina's opinion.

Ma Costa then sighed heavily, and Serafina Pekkala put a hand on the old woman's thin shoulder. "It's alright," Ma Costa said wearily. "It's just---just---" she was unable to put her thoughts into words at this point, and a single tear slid down her weathered cheek, catching at the corner of her lips. At last she asked hopelessly, her voice cracking as more tears came forth, "Why did my Lyra have to die?" The woman's ancient hawk daemon let out a small, sad screech, sounding like a single dwindling note from a reed pipe.

The witch caught the old woman in her arms as a thin convulsive sob escaped her lips and all of a sudden her entire body was racked with tears. Serafina too shuddered while comforting the old woman as if the room had suddenly grown cold. Throughout this, the baby remained safely asleep.

Serafina Pekkala could only stand to say, "I know. Many people loved her, as you did. This was never your fault. Whoever was involved in her death will pay all in good time."

Then Ma Costa sniffed quietly, and sat up straight. "Yes. I know they will, Serafina Pekkala. Kerim."

"A man from the church tried to take Lyra's life once before," Serafina mused, almost inwardly. "But he was stopped that time. My witches and I think that it may be other people from this church who succeeded in murdering her this time...We think they may be after Nydia this time, too, so she will not carry on her mother's legacy. I will not let that happen."

Without warning, the three noticed that the baby was awake, although she did not seem to be about to cry. She lay silently, and her eyes were open halfway. Her tiny daemon, whose current shape was that of a periwinkle moth, fluttered in the air for a few seconds and then folded its wings as it resumed its perch on the little girl's tawny-dark hair.

"So this is Lyra's daughter," Serafina Pekkala suddenly said matter-of-factly. She was smiling broadly, as was Kerim, and thought, Yes, this one will be exactly like Lyra, although some of Will's definitely in there, too. The smile deepened, and she lightly touched the wisps of Nydia's hair with a gentle hand.

She retrieved the slender branch of cloud-pine which she had previously left leaned up against the wall facing westwards, and said, "I have to go now; there is other business I must attend to soon." She was eyeing the two gyptians very seriously. "You two do your best to keep the child to raise her here at Jordan. I will come back to see her in ten years' time. We will see what happens by then." And then she took of her crown, and turning to face Kerim she said, "I trust you will be 'keeping an eye', as you said, on her?" The witch waited until Kerim nodded positively, then plucked off one of the little crimson flowers from the crown. "Here. Take this, and never lost sight of it. If anything at all ever happens to Nydia, use this flower to call me. Wherever I am, I promise I shall hear your voice."

Ma Costa remained sitting, her eyes bright with bald-faced wonder. Again, the witch smiled, knowing for sure all would be safe in the end if they could ever help it. "I hope all of you always stay safe, and always keep her safe, for Lyra's sake. And goodbye for now." She glanced at the baby one last time before leaving. "Goodbye, Nydia." Until I see you again.

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Mistress: Wow, that was a lot longer than I thought it was going to be!

Catina: Me too!

Mistress: *glances at Catina* Now, who asked YOUR opinion?

Catina: *looks down at feet* Well...I...I don't know, I---

Mistress: Shut up. I need to think! Things are really starting to move around now!

Catina: How many times for how many chapters have you been saying that for?

Mistress: *sniffs* I don't know! Didn't I tell you to shut up?

Catina: *says nothing*

Mistress: That's what I thought. Now, I need to start working on the next chapter. I hope I'll have some more time for this new one than I did for this one I just finished writing.

Catina: I'm sure you will.

Mistress: *smiles* See? Now, that's the kind of things I don't mind hearing you say. Everything else...

Catina: How 'bout, 'On To the Next Chapter'?

Mistress: Excellent.