Author's Note: These next few chapters will introduce new characters that I have long awaited the chance to show you all, but who have ultimately benefited IMMENSELY from my massive hiatus from the story. These characters gestated within my brain the entire time, occasionally developing new traits or expanding on others, until they now barely represent what they would have been if I had shown them two years ago. They are much better characters now, bringing much more to the story.
These chapters will also likely bring some much needed levity to an otherwise melancholy story, at least for a while. Enjoy!
Chapter 16: Living With the Girl With No Fear
(3 weeks post-Incident)
"I want to make one thing abundantly clear, Emmaline." The statement was declared in a voice that was low, deliberate, and extremely standoffish. This was the voice that greeted Emmaline Silverheart as she walked into an aged kitchen that was clearly rarely used or even remembered. She had moved towards a collection of bags sitting atop a greyed-out mauve countertop, rummaging through them when that declaration assaulted her on this very first morning of having a roommate. Looking up, she found herself being examined mercilessly by a pair of faintly glowing green eyes, staring over the spine of an open book recently placed upon an ivory table cloth. The owner of those eyes set down a mug that was either fashioned from a skull, or fashioned like one. Her complexion belied her multitude of days without sun, looking well-tanned even in the dimly lit house; despite the early hour she was already dressed in a loose black t-shirt and grey slacks. Her wavy black hair was neatly combed and allowed to fall down her back unrestrained. The ensemble was simultaneously casual and presentable.
"This is my sanctum sanctorum, my refuge. I am not the Hero of the Spiral here, I am not Miss Skulldreamer. I am not Assistant Professor Skulldreamer, I am not Malistaire's protégé. And I am definitely not your tutor," the woman continued harshly, pausing to bat aside a three-branch candle stick that had floated in front of her. It continued its steady float through the air down the table. "Here I am simply Rowan in all my weird, freakish glory. I will not pretend to be normal, unless I desire to do so," she motioned at the steamy mug of morning tea, "because this is where the freak-flag flies, Emmaline. So you best make peace with that today, because I do not appreciate a roommate."
"I actually don't mind," Emmaline replied, calmly removing a box of cereal from one of the bags and opening it. "Pretending to function like a normal person is very tiring, so I would never impose such on you in your own home." She started pouring the cereal into a bowl she found in the cupboard that looked clean. "Can I also… as you put it… let my freak-flag fly?"
"Not your sanctum," Rowan snapped, "not your flag post. You fly your weirdness in the basement, Emma- you know what, your name is Emma now," Rowan waved Emmaline away casually. "Emmaline is just too many syllables to bother with."
"Very well," Emmaline sighed, accepting her fate with grace as she retrieved a carton of milk from the ice chest.
"You could actually tell me 'no'," Rowan commented coolly, still-glowing eyes narrowing as if daring Emmaline to do so while the girl poured the milk.
"What good would that do, anyways," Emmaline softly questioned while shrugging before returning the milk and searching for a spoon. "This is your house, your rules. I'm the unwelcome guest here- ah ha, thank you Henry," she gratefully took a spoon from the dapper rat, who grinned back. He's the only one who likes me here. Moving to the table Rowan sat at, Emmaline looked around before deciding to take a seat far away from her new landlady. Rowan took note that the girl was wearing an oversized wool sweater and black leggings, but had on no socks despite the frosted floor. "So arguing over little things like nicknames and not breathing would be a pretty horrible way to start our relationship." After securing her hair in a hasty ponytail, she took in a spoonful of cornflakes and watched the candlelight flicker as the candelabra moved back towards Rowan, having recently turned at the end of the long rectangular table. Rowan emitted a low snarl.
"We do not have a relationship," she countered. "I'm the prisoner, and you're the warden. I don't make friends, and I certainly don't want to be yours." Rowan felt an emotion arise after she said that; a fear seemed to well up somewhere around her. She perked up and honed her magical senses onto it. When she realized she was sensing fear from Emmaline, she smiled and her eyes glimmered. So you do have fears…
"That's a shame," Emmaline frowned, looking down at her bowl in defeat. "I wanted to know you better since I'd met you last year. You seemed very cool." Emmaline stopped short of putting her spoon in her mouth again, pulling it back to examine the cereal it held. It no longer looked like corn flakes; now it appeared she was holding a spoon full of bait worms. She raised a white eyebrow for a moment, glanced at Rowan, and released a bored sigh. "Really? Worms?" She shook her head and casually lifted the spoon to her mouth. She ate those worms, swallowing them without concern. "How did you manage that illusion while wearing the amulet?"
"It's more of a magic trick than a spell, using so little mana it likely doesn't register with the amulet," Rowan surmised, her glowing eyes dimming. Emmaline glanced at Rowan now, blue eyes hopeful, before they returned to her bowl of worms. "No, I will not teach you. I am not your tutor, remember? There are books on the subject in my library upstairs. Once you do a little research you'll see how simple it is."
"Oh… okay," responded Emmaline, crunching another spoonful. "When you say simple though, do you mean simple for you or simple in general? Because Dworgyn told me you were summoning ghouls at twelve." She pointed her spoon at Rowan and lifted one eyebrow, though did not make eye contact. "I question your perception of spell difficulties, given that information."
"Is that sass, Emma," Rowan inquired with a dark smirk, "didn't know you had it in you."
"Not meaning to be sassy," Emmaline's voice shrank in intensity, her spoon lowering to the bowl again. "Just making an observation." There's that fear again. Feels like… anxiety. Rowan mused, but Emmaline's voice cut that musing short. "Is there anywhere in the house that I can't go?"
Everywhere, Rowan immediately thought, anger coursing through her at the mere daydream of Emmaline roaming the halls, but she held back speaking as such. The girl was here because Rowan needed her here, unable to contain her other persona adequately on her own. At her flare of anger the amulet on her neck glimmered softly, drawing her attention. It was a simple design; a silver disc inset with a teardrop cut from onyx and hung on a silver chain long enough to let the bauble rest just above her breasts. By the time she had lifted the amulet enough to examine it without removing it, the glimmer had faded.
"It is configured to glow whenever it activates, so that we can tell when the Grim Reaper has tried to take control, and will vary in luminosity based on how hard he tries to take over," Emmaline explained as Rowan examined the amulet, which was the size of a coin. "If I may, what were you feeling at the time the onyx reacted?"
"Anger," Rowan growled, and the amulet glimmered again, "at the prospect of sharing my house with you."
"I see," replied the Initiate, returning to her wormy breakfast without any visible signs of disheartenment by the revelation. But there was a minute of silence, and in that silence Rowan could sense Emmaline's anxieties. However, even at this proximity, they were too faint for her to analyze deeply.
"My bedroom," declared the older Necromancer after she settled down, "is off limits, but otherwise wherever the house allows you to go, you may go."
It was just a single candle in a dark room, flickering light softly upon rice paper walls. There was more décor to this small room, but the lack of illumination concealed it in shadow; besides, clarifying the mind required honing one's perceptions and ignoring small distractions.
The flame burning to melt the candle; the candle melting to fuel the flame; each feeds the other in a cycle.
His breath left his body slightly quicker than intended, and the steady flame flickered. Before the tiny fire settled the entire room was immolated. The rice paper curled and receded under the unwavering heat, smoke curdling into storm clouds below the ceiling. A red haze clouded his view and the smoke clogged his airways.
"Focus on my voice… Steady your breathing. A steady breath creates a steady mind," stated a calm, steady voice from within the inferno. His breath was burning his throat, and flooding his nostrils with the scent of ash. Breathing was physically agonizing. "And a steady mind maintains a steady breath."
The flame burns to melt the candle. Air entered his lungs slower now, a steady stream trickling toward its destination. The candle melts to fuel the flame. He felt his lungs fill, the stream halt, and in that moment of bodily stillness evicted the inferno from his senses. Each feeds the other in a cycle.
"Yes, well done. Maintain your focus upon the candle, and contemplate the perfection therein." The voice that had calmed him continued as he exhaled. "How minor changes in the world around it fail to change the perfect balance struck between fuel and flame. How the fuel does not overcome the flame and the flame does not overcome the fuel. How the fire burns so silently, casting light so softly; never intruding upon others yet always keeping its presence known."
He blinked, briefly lost focus, and the room was again consumed in fire, the conflagration racing up his arms and nesting itself deep into his lap. His next breath was full of embers that became a fiery rat scratching down his throat. He would have coughed, but a sharp chill traced a line under his jaw. It was an unnatural cold for a room so filled with heat; like a knife taken from a coffin buried in permafrost, wielded by a hand that refused to exude a degree of warmth.
And then the frozen line disappeared, and he screamed, lashing out with both hands to snuff that innocent, effeminate fire with his palms. Shaking fingers clung to the hot, slick wax and hurled the candle anywhere. He heard it tear through the rice paper door and hit the floor beyond with a wet smack. A troll roared from the other side of that rice paper and wood flooring splintered, shadows upon the paper showcasing the rise and fall of its primitive club.
"We'll resume this tomorrow, then." The voice of his sensei was collected and unaltered by the outburst of his pupil. "You shall spend the rest of today replacing my flooring, child."
"No more candles." Kane's voice was surprisingly hoarse, given that the smoke and ash were all imagined. "No more flames." There was terror in his violet eyes as he knelt on the floor, staring at his trembling, wax-burned fingers.
"As you wish."
Emmaline and Rowan mostly kept to themselves for the first half of the day, and if they were ever in the same room together, it was for brief periods without any acknowledgement from either party. Not verbal acknowledgements anyways; every time Emmaline was in proximity to Rowan, the woman would take note and watch her movements, but otherwise say nothing. Emmaline also said nothing, and even seemed unaffected entirely by the ominous stare of Rowan.
So far she had spent the first two hours of the morning scouring books on runes and wards in the library, occasionally walking across the balcony to the stairwell and down to the lounge room in the right wing of the house. There Rowan would see her, as Rowan sat upon a high-back cushioned seat, her black shirt melding in with the black upholstery. She'd glance up from the paper she read to watch Emmaline as the girl examined the Death ward rune circle on the floor. The paper was yesterday's edition, straight out of a street trash bin and fresh out of the mouth of her lovingly eager heckhound Shadow. She sent him out to wander the streets of Marleybone regularly for such brief glimpses into Marleybonian news. But it was far less interesting than this girl with little fear.
She'd watched Emmaline stub her toes twice in those hours; once on a chair by the door, and once on the low coffee table in the middle of the rune circle. Each time she would utter a delayed 'ow', limp awkwardly, and leave the room. But the echo of her footfalls never changed rhythm as she moved between the rooms, suggesting she had stopped limping after she exited. She still hadn't even put on socks, even though the floor had not gotten any warmer since this morning. And then there was that aggravating alarm that chirped from her wrist on the second hour, until Emmaline finally shut it off and ran towards the bathroom.
Rowan could hear the plumbing flush and grit her teeth when she felt the whisper of Life magic being cast in her house fifteen minutes later. What the heck is she doing in there, she wondered, then sneered. Maybe this would be a good time to mess with her a little when she gets back.
When Emmaline did return to the lounge room, it was with her head held low and wearing socks. She went straight to the table, kneeling to organize the tomes laying upon it to an arrangement she desired and only as she reached for the last book did she catch sight of an ethereal foot resting in front of a nearby chair. She looked up to see a ghostly ghoul reading another paper in a chair like Rowan's, though across the room from her. Behind her newspaper Rowan grinned.
"Oh," Emmaline uttered the word with surprise and delight, "hi George!" A smile spread on Emmaline's face as Rowan's smile fell. Both she and the ghoul simultaneously lowered their newspapers and raised their left brow inquiringly.
"George?" The echo the two created in unison was ethereal.
"Oops…" Emmaline shrank back in embarrassment, "mistook you for the ghoul I summon sometimes." She dropped her eyes from the ghoul and placed the last book in her desired position.
"You named the ghoul you summon," questioned Rowan.
"Do I really look like a ghoul," the spirit interrupted, folding his paper to give an interrogating stare at Emmaline.
"You look very handsome, Father," Rowan commented. The ghoul huffed at her, which came out more like a whistle through his teeth gaps. Emmaline's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her sweater sleeves.
"You are obligated to say that, dear, you're my daughter," he replied. He turned his head to Emmaline again, who was staring at him still. "Be honest girl, do I really look like a common ghoul?" Emmaline held her index finger and thumb out, spread perhaps an inch apart. "Well I'll be damned." The ghoul leaned back in the chair. "Honesty has finally arrived in this house of lies," jested the ghoul.
"Emma, this is Roderick, my father," Rowan began the introductions with a labored sigh. "Father, this is Emma, the girl with no fear." Her hand waved between the two.
"Emmaline Silverheart," she reintroduced herself, holding out her hand. She feigned a shake when Roderick put his hand through hers. "A pleasure to meet you."
"Are you really not afraid?" Roderick asked, leaning back again.
"I do have fear of some select things," Emmaline admitted, before glancing at Rowan. "But I won't tell her what, and so far she's done a rubbish job of trying," Emmaline whispered loudly at Roderick, hand blocking her mouth from Rowan's view.
"I like her," Roderick chuckled, glancing at a pouting Rowan.
"I suppose that's good," Rowan huffed, picking up her paper again, "because she's my new roommate."
"Oh may the Raven help you, girl," Roderick whistled.
"Help who?" Emmaline asked, head tilting slightly.
"Both of you."
"I don't need help! I can handle this!"
"Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?!"
It wasn't the first time Alia had heard such a phrase concerning her, and honestly it had lost most of the edge it held when she was younger.
"Try living under the shadow of a prodigy older sister your whole life," Alia snapped back at Talon from across her bedroom, "and then tell me you wouldn't feel the urge to prove someone wrong when they say you can't do something!"
"I am the progeny of two prodigies, Alia," Talon mentioned with a sneer, "I think I am very well acquainted with living in the shadow of greatness!" Alia's shoulders sunk; he had a point. "And well aware of the desire to push beyond one's limits, but I am worried for your health." His voice lowered in intensity when Alia did not shout back. "You are pushing yourself too hard at my expense, and I've heard you raging about your grades on more than one occasion."
"It was your idea to keep this within the family, so word doesn't get out," Alia spat back at him with a more subdued voice, still fuming. She turned her back on him to resume what she had been doing before the conversation started, angrily shoving clothes in her dresser. "Which so far, the rumors are close to the truth, but most think you just had an accident, not a psychotic break!"
"We all thought you could handle this Alia," Talon scolded her, "but we were wrong. My jaw is healing but still feels like it grinds inappropriately and I am convinced my ribs are resetting wrong. You just don't have the training to get this done on your own, and I'm too weak to use magic right now." Alia turned to him, folding her arms and huffing.
"So are we changing priorities now?"
"No, we are still going to keep this private," Talon shook his head, "and that's why I am sending you after Lenora. She's a Healer on Unicorn Way, and her mother was my Healer as a child. We are childhood friends and I trust her."
"If you two are really so chummy, how come we haven't met her before?" Alia responded, eyebrows rising. "A proper Theurgist would have been useful in the war."
"Unfortunately we had a falling out regarding the war," Talon sullenly explained.
"And that war ended four years ago Talon," Alia added, the pitch of her voice increasing with every word. "If you two have had no contact since then, what makes you think she'll help you now?!" She threw her arms out in disbelief at notion.
"Just tell her 'it happened again' and she'll understand," Talon instructed, leaning back on his pillow with a wince. Alia's brown eyes danced with electricity, ignited by his nonchalance and secrecy.
"That's the most cryptic Kraken crap I've ever heard, Talon!" She balled her fists. "I'm not using some stupid code words to bring some strange woman into my house to treat you when I can do it myself!" She turned again to her dresser and punched the drawer just to hit something. It hurt, and made her cradle her hand briefly.
She heard Talon growl in rage and pain, and heard the crackle of flames before she felt the heat. A year of war against the forces of various worlds meant she was swift with shield spells, the storm sigil flaring before she had even turned around. By the time she could see Talon over her shoulder, it had activated around her, absorbing a fist-sized meteor that Talon had thrown from his right hand in a moment of rage. The flames of the meteor danced across her force field, obscuring Talon from view.
"RAVEN'S CLOACA," She screamed from within the ball of fire, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU COULD HAVE BURNED THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE TO-"
Alia stopped short when the flames dissipated and she could fully see Talon; his body was slumped lifelessly to one side, dangerously tilting towards the nightstand with no sign of self-adjustment. Her anger dissolved rapidly, being replaced with gripping terror concerning what Talon may have inadvertently done to himself in his fit of anger. She raced to his side to prop him up and check for a pulse, her own pounding in her ears from the adrenaline of the fight and fear. Her tension eased when she found his heart still beating.
"Thank the Raven, Spider, and Tree," she whispered to herself, "you just fainted, that's all. Gave me one hell of a fright, you oaf." She hugged him for a moment, and then set about repositioning him and the pillows so he wouldn't fall over again. Satisfied he was secured she repositioned herself at the foot of the bed and stared at the floor.
Thinking it over, she wasn't surprised he had fainted; it was his first time since the Incident casting any spell. Be it the physical pain of movement or the exhaustion from mana channeling, he was bound to have some serious side effects while still so injured. It was also the first time he had lashed out in anger at her with such severity. If these kinds of fights become more common, I'm going to have to get him out of here soon or my house will go the way of his cottage, she concluded, rising from her bed and heading to the kitchen to get something to snack on while she read up on fainting. She had no idea what to do with this new situation.
Maybe I do need help, the thought was a bitter pill to swallow, but for both their sakes she needed to face the facts.
The house rumbled and groaned, shuddering every few seconds in agitation. It was frankly starting to get on Rowan's nerves, but she had to endure. Besides, it would only last for as long as it took Emmaline to draw that rune circle all over the house.
A brilliant idea, honestly, Rowan mused as the house once again groaned and shifted. It made walking up the staircase a little… interesting… but Rowan just took it carefully, one step at a time. The makeshift crutches crafted from Kane's naginatas kept catching on the steps as they bucked and heaved an inch or so, but she was managing. Her leg had healed much over the last week, but most of the repair was the bone itself; she could still feel severed muscle so couldn't risk the bone being inadequately supported.
Just five more days, Rowan thought, forcing a deep breath, and then letting it go slowly. Even for her, rhythmic breathing had calming properties. Then this leg will be healed and you can stop hobbling everywhere. She paused again when the house let out a deep, guttural growl and shook hard. She groaned in tandem, and then continued to the top of the steps.
"Will you stop moving?! You're throwing off my lines!"
Rowan heard Emmaline's irritated remarks through her open window, which she proceeded towards slowly. Once there she set one crutch aside to pull away a curtain and observe the scene with mirth.
Emmaline was hovering over the house on a flying broomstick she owned, surveying her work before swooping close to the mansion and extending her arm. She held a can of white spray paint, one of many hanging from a tool belt she wore, and let loose upon the roof tiles, eliciting another bout of groaning from the building. This went back and forth as Emmaline painted, surveyed, and then corrected her work.
Rowan turned her sights from the comedy to her right to view the grounds themselves, noting the large perimeter circle of the rune was already painted on her decrepit lawn. She smiled; the girl worked at an efficient pace. And Rowan was honestly impressed with how quickly Emmaline had theorized, researched, and worked out this plan. From breakfast until just around midafternoon, she had been studying the rune in the lounge, several textbooks, and taking a litany of notes.
Turned out she had been doing all the calculations and ruminations on how to take two-dimensional runes and transcribe them onto three-dimensional surfaces. It required some tweaking of some of the shapes, and a few extra stability sigils in select places, but all of it was something Rowan had never considered and therefore never researched. She had reviewed Emmaline's notes on the matter when the girl presented her idea, marveling at how this girl managed the complicated math required to adjust the rune in just a few hours. If it worked like Emmaline thought, then even if her amulet and Emmaline failed, the house itself would serve as a containment field for the Angel of Death.
What amazed Rowan most, though, was how this second year student struggled to summon a banshee, could barely control her fire elves, had a complete lack of self-preservation in her dueling classes, and yet appeared to achieve competence in intermediate and even some advanced concepts of runic arithmetic in a single day. At this current skill level she could be manufacturing formal dueling arena runes by graduation.
"I gotta admit, Emma," Rowan shouted over the moaning mansion, "you're a rubbish wizard, but you've got a potential career in rune work."
"Thanks!" Emmaline grinned widely at the compliment, slowly hovering close to Rowan's window. Now Rowan could get a good look at the girl's broom, she noted it was capped with a cast iron dragon head, and had four spiked tails around the bristles. She imagined it would have been a popular gift for children in Dragonspyre back in the day. "But it would go a lot quicker if your house would cooperate." The porch snapped like snarling dog jaws beneath her. "And if I was doing this by daylight." Emmaline glared at Rowan briefly.
"I told you, do it by day and the bobbies will have you in Miguel's new wizard prison by sundown," Rowan reminded her, leaning on the windowsill and gesturing at the moon. "Do it at night, under the moon, and you add to this house's haunted and bewitched reputation, which will keep people away." Emmaline sighed and rolled her eyes, which titled her head and –briefly- her, forcing her to adjust her seat. "But do try not to fall off that broom. At least, not before you're finished with the rune." Rowan wickedly smirked, and received a surprisingly nasty glare from Emmaline, who was apparently reaching her tipping point for tolerance tonight.
"You're a horrible woman, Assistant Professor Skulldreamer," Emmaline spoke the line with the politest tone imaginable for such a statement, purposely seeking to get under Rowan's skin.
"And yet," a seemingly nonplused Rowan stood upright and gestured at Emmaline, voice thick with sarcastic delight, "you're still here."
"Obligation," was the curt reply.
"Necessity," was the response received just before Rowan slammed the window shut.