Chapter 13: The Arch-Mage
"Wake up, my child," the voice said. It breathed spite and venom, it was malice itself. And yet she felt something else in it. A touch of emotion that perhaps no one had ever noticed. Loneliness, void. Silent plea that had never been answered. It was a voice that resented her for what she was, yet it was longing to become just that. It yearned for warmth it had never known, and it could only give coldness in return. "Wake up, so that you see. Awaken, so that you feel me devour you. You belonged to me long before you were even born. Open your eyes."
Yrith turned with unease, clutching the blanket that was wrapped too tightly around her. Her magic was swirling inside her, rising like a high tide. It was flooding her with fire and ice, piercing her skin, suffocating her. Day by day, it grew stronger, more overwhelming. With each passing moment, it filled her with new feelings and perceptions. She saw images flick before her eyes, leaving her with a feeling of utter helplessness. Everything she saw, she could only observe and ingest. She could not erase the bitterness from her tongue. And in the end, all the images dissolved into darkness that clouded her mind.
"Wake up."
"No…" she moaned quietly. "Leave me…"
"Miss Ravencroft. Wake up!"
Something was shaking her, clutching firmly her shoulders. No, someone was. She would not let herself succumb. She fought against the grip, but she could not move. Magic, she needed magic. She was so full of it… She let it flow, fill the palms of her hands. It was cool and soothing. Now she only needed to…
"Miss Ravencroft!"
Her eyes flicked open. She gasped, staring into the face of Singird Larkwing. He was leaning over her, hands still on her shoulders, but he retreated with a sigh as soon as the glow of her magic faded. They stared at each other for a while. She felt his cold hand on her forehead. Then he withdrew a handkerchief out of nowhere and wiped the sweat from her, gently like a caring mother. She closed her eyes, absorbing the tranquility of the moment.
It had been like this the last few days. He was there when she felt scared or uneasy, he was there to wake her up from her nightmares. In the times of loneliness, he would exchange stories from their childhoods with her, and in the times of despair, he would embrace her, uncertainly at first, but as time passed, his grip grew firmer and tighter, and she found herself wrapping her own arms around him, seeking his warmth and claiming it for her own.
She lay there, thinking of all those times, until he removed his hand.
"You were dreaming again," he said, an obvious fact, but his words brought comfort.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," she muttered as she raised herself on her elbows, just for the sake of politeness. She doubted her own words. The room was bright with sunlight and his desk carried a humble breakfast. A wooden plate with a slice of bread and two small pieces of goat cheese, and a jug of tea, no doubt smuggled though one of the Khajiit routes.
"You did not. How are you feeling?" Hearing his tone, she looked into his eyes. He did not say it out of care or obligation. Those eyes were bright with expectation. There was purpose in his question.
She shrugged. "Could be worse."
"You are handling your dreams better than before."
"They're not that bad… yet. But I keep hearing a voice in my head. As if someone was constantly watching me. Do you think I'm… hallucinating?"
"I don't know, but we cannot discard the possibility that someone really is watching you. Let us rid you of your dreams, Miss Ravencroft."
"How?"
"Your magic is returning. You might as well keep your end of the bargain." Yrith stared at him. He crossed the room, waving to her casually to get up. From the inner part of the window ledge, he took a bowl with fresh, cold water and placed it on her end table before disappearing behind the curtain that divided his room.
"My end of the bargain?" she sputtered, jumping from her bed at once. "You did not even keep yours!"
She heard a sigh beyond the curtain, accompanied by sudden footsteps. "Let me just make this clear, Miss Ravencroft. I did not…"
He fell silent. Just as she was taking her night robe off, he returned to face her. She froze, covering quickly the bared parts of her body, and he was just as quick to let the curtain fall back in place. Yrith's heart was racing. It was just Singird Larkwing. Her own teacher. But she suddenly could not find a way to steady the frantic pounding and stop the hotness from flooding her cheeks.
Fast as she could, she washed herself, heedless of the cold that bit into her skin, and took shelter in the safety of her robes. She peeked into his half of the room, treading lightly to the other side. Master Larkwing was sitting by his desk, eyes on a still closed book. He did not raise them when she approached, only shoved the meal over to her side of the desk and beckoned for her to take a seat. She did, biting into the cheese.
"Don't forget the bread," he reminded her.
'Yes, dad,' she thought to herself. They spent a few moments in silence. Then he broke it, clearing his throat.
"So, as I was saying, I did not say anything to gr… Urag gro-Shub. In fact, he said you'd told him yourself when I confronted him."
Yrith let the cheese sink back onto the plate, swallowing hard the bite she had taken. She replayed every moment she had spent with Urag since the death of her parents. This just didn't fit. She had never mentioned anything concerning their death. He had addressed the topic several times, but every time she would just shake her head or reply with an evasive "I don't know." There was just no way…
"Urag? Did Urag really say that? But I didn't… why would he lie to you about it?"
"I have yet to understand that. Do not let your mind be clouded with doubt, Miss Ravencroft. That old brute is ruthless and likes to speak in riddles, but I can assure you he'd give his life for you."
Yrith nodded, pushing the plate away. She rested her head against the table, letting in the soothing coolness. "A lot of people let their minds be clouded with doubt lately," she said pensively.
"Way too many of them," he agreed. "Eat your breakfast. We will be going out."
"For a stroll?"
"For training. Now eat." He opened his book, engulfing himself in its pages. She wanted to ask him for details, but she knew it would be pointless.
She ate her meal, if she could call it that, in silence, watching his face. He was so calm, so serene. Over the time she had spent in his room, she had adopted a habit of watching him, often at the expense of her own reading. He liked to immerse himself in texts on magical science, or any textbooks or history books at all. When he put his books aside, he took a place by the window, gazing far into the distance, watching the thin horizon line where the Sea of Ghosts met the sky. Much like her, his mind was almost never present. He was always deep in thought, often taking long to react when she had something to say. At times, she pondered what it was that occupied his mind so. Occasionally he would give her a look full of concern, staring at her for a long while before retreating back to his own world. For some reason, it always made her smile.
When she finished her breakfast, Master Larkwing motioned her to follow him, leading her to the Hall of the Elements.
"Are we going to practice Conjuration?" she asked on the way, listening to the echo of their quick-paced footsteps.
"No. Conjuration alone won't save your life when you stand face to face with real danger. We will hone your reflexes."
Yrith paled. She was prepared to shine before Master Larkwing, but now her confidence crumbled like a house of cards. She was not fast, she could not rely on her instinct. Whatever Master Larkwing was expecting of her, she was sure to fail him. And most of all, she hoped they would not be practicing Destruction.
The huge brass gate of the Hall of the Elements opened before them upon the touch of Master Larkwing's magic. He led her in, to the fountain where he halted, scanning the place as though he was searching for something. Yrith shifted her weight nervously.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"First off, wait for Master Tolfdir. He should be here any mo…"
The door to the Arch-Mage's quarters, the only one in the College that Yrith had never used before, opened with a loud, long-drawn creak. From beyond it emerged the man in question with a look of a madman in his face, beads of sweat coming down from his temples in glistening streaks. His overcoat was askew, stained with dirt down on the side that touched the ground. Master Larkwing welcomed him with a raised brow and Yrith could almost feel the disapproval that tried to force its way to his lips.
"Master Tolfdir," he greeted coolly. "Did anything…"
"No, everything is perfectly fine, thank you," Master Tolfdir hurried with his answer, huffing as he adjusted his garbs. "Please, just… don't ask."
"Very well."
Yrith wondered what kind of thing might have happened at the Arch-Mage's quarters. She had never seen the infamous head of the College herself. At times, she even doubted her existence, but once in a while, she heard a word or two about her. Curiously enough, no one ever spoke of the Arch-Mage in superlatives, despite the fact she had been elected for the position by the Collegium. She half hoped Master Larkwing would insist on knowing, but true to his word, he did not bring the subject out.
"Shall we begin then?"
Master Tolfdir was busy beating his overcoat. He raised his head at the question, staring absently at the two of them for a good while before finally giving a slow nod. "Yes, yes, I suppose we should," he said as he straightened his back. "Miss Ravencroft. It has been a long time."
She hinted a curtsy. "Good morning, Master Tolfdir." She felt her cheeks redden. The last time they had seen each other, she demonstrated to him the poorest use of magic on Nirn. She was surprised he had agreed to waste his time on her.
"So, we are here to train you today. Do you feel prepared?"
She shook her head and felt a lump settle in her throat.
"That is good. Relax those shoulders of yours a little. We are not putting you to torture here. It is good you don't come ready. Life is often going to find you unprepared."
That did not make Yrith feel any better. On the contrary, she felt all the color retreat from her face. "Are we going to train Alteration then?" she peeped.
"Indeed. Master Larkwing has asked me to help with your first lesson. The practice of Alteration magic will help you gain control over your powers. You will learn how much power exactly you need for specific tasks and how to manipulate your magicka. And, of course, you will also hone your instincts on the way. Alteration is what I would call easy to use and hard to master. But we will be working on your mastery right from the start."
"But… I don't even know the basics."
"You know them in theory, right?"
"I've… read a few books, but…"
"Then you have all you need. You are only going to practice one spell today, and that will be telekinesis. And before you say anything," he raised his hand to shush her as she opened her mouth, meaning to point out that telekinesis was an adept spell and she could hardly do the novice ones, "yes, you can perform it. There is no special trick to telekinesis. The only reason it is considered an advanced spell is that it requires a lot of magicka. I take it you have plenty of it, correct?"
She nodded.
"Good. Then Master Larkwing, if you may."
Pulling up his sleeves, Master Larkwing let out a stream of magicka, directing it to the place where the glowing pillar from the fountain met the ceiling. Upon the clash, a dark sphere appeared in the light, seemingly absorbing all of it. Yrith stared at it as it descended, stopping two feet above the fountain's surface. She raised a brow at it, posing a silent question.
"We can thank Master Neloren for that," Master Tolfdir said in response. Yrith wondered how many more hidden objects lay scattered around the College. Knowing Drevis Neloren, there could be thousands of them. "Well then. Would you be so kind, Miss Ravencroft, to pull that ball out of the fountain?"
Yrith waited for further instructions, but there were none. Her gaze shifted to Master Larkwing, but he returned it without a word. Master Tolfdir was looking at her with expectation.
"Pull it out… with telekinesis?"
"Exactly. Just a stream of magicka to latch onto it and take it out. Go on."
Yrith stared at the sphere, flexing her fingers. Just how in Oblivion was she supposed to use a spell she had only read about? Then again, she had done it before, when she summoned her atronach for the first time. And she had killed her parents with it…
She took a deep breath. There were two skilled magisters with her this time. She would learn it properly. And so she called forth her magic, felt it tingle on her fingertips before she released it. It lunged forward, claiming the dark sphere ahead, but the moment it touched the fountain light underneath it, Yrith felt a shockwave hit her and send her staggering backwards. A force so strong it overwhelmed her, a presence so grand it made her feel like the smallest speck of dust in the vast greatness of Mundus. It spoke to her, absorbed her…
She gasped and broke the connection, shivers running down her spine.
"Miss Ravencroft? Is everything all right?" Master Larkwing wore that concerned look of his, the same one she woke up to from her nightmares and the one he had shown her after the Spirit Blight incident. But perhaps this was just her own power acting up. Perhaps she just needed to get used to it and understand it, and there was no need for him to worry.
She shook her head, feigning a smile that was all too weak and unconvincing for her liking. His frown did not go away.
"If there's anything troubling you…"
"I'm fine. I just… I guess I really can't control my magic too well," she smiled sheepishly. She turned around quickly, summoning her magic again to avoid further questioning. Whatever it was, she'd be prepared this time.
The impact hit her again, but she simply let it wash over her, ignoring it as she tried to grab the ball. Her magic slid around it, encompassed it, but no matter how much of it Yrith used, the ball would not budge. She pushed and pulled and tried to shove it out of its place, but it stayed there as though it was chained to the fountain. Master Larkwing strode over and put a hand on her arm.
"Try to use less power and work on your technique instead."
So he said, but how? She had read all about it, how her magic should be an extension of her arms, how she should be able to manipulate things with it. But even so, the ball was just an orb of magical energy, impossible to grab. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to recall the words from the books. And the moment she did, the world changed around her.
The stream of magic she was holding up spread evenly throughout the space. She could touch anything and everything around her, feel its fabric, its substance, even its origins. She could see, even if the colors were inverted and strangely distorted, yet her vision came in sharper than ever. It was similar to what she saw in her dreams, dark, yet so clear. She could feel the objects around her, become a part of them and let them become a part of her. She could feel the College, an organism which felt and saw just like she did.
That was what she had felt before, a being that stood guard above her and everyone inside, an entity that was perhaps older than Nirn itself. She could connect with it and explore the whole grounds with her mind. She could locate every person and every snowflake. The moon orbs held by the statue of Arch-Mage Shalidor sent a slight tingle her way, a focal point in itself that connected the College with Masser and Secunda.
She pulled away, too overwhelmed to continue, and focused on the Hall of the Elements instead. She felt the fountain, the sphere, and the two people standing at her sides. The elder was calm and wise, regarding her with an eye that had seen its share of the world. The younger was full of energy he did not want to expose. Passion he kept to himself, feelings that seemed cramped within that small body of his. His heartbeat was fast and his eyes fixed on her person. The feeling of sudden proximity made her own heart race. She retreated and reached for the ball.
Pulling it out of the fountain was so incredibly easy. She felt more than control. She felt harmony, as though there was no difference between moving the fingers on her hands or manipulating objects that were twenty feet away. She smiled as she felt the dark orb getting closer. Keeping it at the same height, she navigated it toward herself, stopping it a foot away. The sound of Master Tolfdir's voice next to her made her wince and open her eyes at once.
"Splendid!" he praised. "That was an exemplary display of the use of telekinesis. I must say I am impressed. Wouldn't you agree, Master Larkwing?"
Yrith could only devote a small portion of her attention to the two teachers. The sounds and the sudden burst of images before her eyes made it difficult to concentrate on the sphere. Her magic worked differently with her eyes open and with so many impulses assaulting her senses. She had to reduce it to a tiny stream which was so much harder to handle. The ball bobbed up and down in the air, trying to slip out of her grasp. Only now she realized that what she had used to draw the ball out of the fountain was not the telekinesis spell at all. And judging by the disgruntled sound that came from the side of Master Larkwing, he knew it too.
"I would like to know," he said, his tone low and reserved, "why it is that Miss Ravencroft is suddenly struggling to keep the ball in the air?"
"Oh, I am sure this exercise must have been exhausting. Shall we take a break?"
Yrith wildly shook her head. A break would mean a chance for Singird Larkwing to ask about what she had done. She was not prepared to answer his questions. Not when she did not understand it so well herself. She bit her lip in shame, feeling the sting of guilt for cheating Master Tolfdir. She needed to make it right and she needed to do it now.
"Very well, if you insist, we shall continue. In the next exercise, Master Larkwing and I will push against each other. While one will try to take the ball to the ground, the other will drive it upward. Your task will be to maintain its height at a steady point."
Yrith froze. She could barely maintain her hold on the ball as it stood, yet now she was to face the combined forces of her two masters. She felt defeated before she even started. How could she ever hope to control her magic?
"Ready?"
With a deep, shaky breath, she nodded. She resisted the urge to clench her fists, concentrating on the stream of magic coming out of her hands. The two teachers at her sides exchanged a silent sign and let out their magicka. The ball quivered, and suddenly it was so much harder to control it. It became heavier, then lighter, then heavier again, almost touching the ground. She needed to find a way to keep it steady. Perhaps if there was just one person pushing at it, she could balance it from the other side, but this was almost impossible. The only way she could think of was to cut the pressure out. Prevent them from accessing the ball. But she was certain that was not what Master Tolfdir meant.
She spent a while trying, gritting her teeth, but time did not seem to help. She felt as though she hadn't the slightest control over the ball and it was entirely in the hands of her two teachers. She sent in more magicka, but it only shook the ball to no effect. She let it encompass it, but that only helped the two masters who used her own power to manipulate the ball. She let out a helpless sigh.
"How?" she asked, fighting the desperation from sneaking its way to her voice. "How am I supposed to do this?"
"Try to…"
"Figure this out for yourself," Master Larkwing said in a voice cold as ice. "No one is going to help you when you face an enemy."
"But I am not facing an enemy!"
"Then treat it as if you were."
"Master Larkwing, aren't you a little too harsh with her?"
"No. She has all the knowledge she needs. She only needs to use it."
Master Larkwing's words stirred anger within her. How in Oblivion was she supposed to train her reflexes and control when she could not even master the basics? She tried to recall everything she had read on Alteration and the telekinesis spell, but no book she had ever touched mentioned similar exercise. She assumed it was something that could only be learned by practice. But she was so bad at it.
Then again, Master Larkwing had told her to treat them as enemies. And an enemy had to be defeated at all costs.
She decided to close her eyes again. She felt their magic… and took it away. The more they would send, the more control she would gain, and the ball was steady in her power once more. She opened her eyes ajar, trying to maintain it. It was difficult, yet not as much as the first time. The two teachers ceased their attempts.
"Well then, that was an interesting take on it, but you did gain control in the end," Master Tolfdir commented. "Although, as much as I am ashamed to say so, I feel compelled to ask how."
"It does not matter. Miss Ravencroft failed. What she did had nothing to do with telekinesis. That was not control what she displayed. She overpowered us."
Yrith could not raise her eyes to meet Master Larkwing's. The anger in his voice sent shivers down her spine. He was right and it was vexing. She felt so powerless, so useless compared to those who only had a portion of the power she had, yet wielded it with such mastery. She was small and weak, a child who understood nothing of the world, and she was supposed to face a person capable of spellbrewing. Yet again, the thought made her tremble in fear. Why did it have to be this way? What had she ever done to deserve this?
"It would count as a success though," Master Tolfdir opposed, only to fall silent again under the heavy look of Singird Larkwing.
"In this particular situation? Yes. In a hundred of others? No, it would not. We will try this again, Miss Ravencroft, and you will do it properly. Shall we move to the third exercise, Master Tolfdir?"
The elder mage shook his head in resignation as he raised his hands to cast a spell. A labyrinth appeared before them, its walls glowing with magicka. The tunnels turned and wound their way to the center of the maze that was the focal point. Yrith stared at it, following the path to the fountain and trying to memorize as much of it as she could. No doubt she would be asked to navigate the ball through it. She needed to be prepared.
"Studying the maze will not help you," Master Larkwing said as if it caused him utter pleasure to shatter her hopes. "You will now be forced to react quickly to changes while keeping the ball under control. You will need to constantly find new routes. We will be shifting the walls as you proceed."
Yrith scolded herself inwardly for being that naïve. As if Master Larkwing ever made anything easy for her. She looked at the walls, trying to imagine how she would twist them if she wanted to make the passages difficult but not impossible. Then again, if she was Master Larkwing or Master Tolfdir, she would probably choose to react to the ball's movement. This would be the biggest challenge yet, and she had failed the previous two. She contained a sigh, waiting for the signal to start.
It came all too soon for her liking. Shakily, she led the sphere to the maze, calculating the path ahead. It already took a large portion of her mental capacity, and she was terrified of the moment she'd be forced to change route. The two masters waited, letting her well into the labyrinth so she would not have the option to back away easily. Then, it was Master Tolfdir who struck first, much more mercilessly than she had anticipated. He cut off not one, but two of the passages ahead, forcing her to go back. She realized a moment too late that by doing that, he had opened a different path she could have taken. A careless mistake. In a fight, this would have cost her life. She gritted her teeth.
Master Larkwing proved to be just as ruthless. The two of them faced Yrith like a worthy opponent, constantly trying to drive her into a corner, tricking her as she worked her way through the maze. After a while of drifting and turning, the ball was locked inside with no way out. She let out a breath, cutting the magical connection. The maze shifted back into its initial state and Master Tolfdir guided the ball out.
"Perhaps we should end here for today," he said, but Master Larkwing shook his head.
"We will take a break. I can accompany Miss Ravencroft to the courtyard if she needs fresh air."
"I'm fine," she muttered. Of course she needed fresh air. Alone, without anyone lecturing her on how she should man up. She retreated to a niche between the tall pilasters that circled the Hall of the Elements, hugging her knees as she sat on the window sill. It was not even noon, and yet she felt tired like never before. She rested her back against the cold wall, refusing the piece of a sweet roll Master Tolfdir offered her, miraculously conjuring it from the depths of his robes. She kept her eyes closed and let just a tiny bit of magic out to feel her surroundings. It was somewhat soothing, giving her a feeling of security when she knew about everything around. Inadvertently, she reached out to Singird Larkwing, feeling his heart. She did not find any anger there, only concern. She opened an eye to look at his face. He was discussing something with Master Tolfdir, his gaze constantly drifting toward her and back, and he wore the same ice-cold expression she had seen on him moments before. She let her magic retreat. At times, he was so hard to read. Yet when she thought about it, this unapproachable nature of his was somewhat appealing.
The exercise continued after a short while. Yet again, Yrith led the ball through the maze, struggling with the control, wincing every time the passages shifted. Time dragged, but she stubbornly shook her head every time Master Tolfdir offered to end for the day. Occasionally, she took a peek at Master Larkwing's face, searching for a trace of softness, but she never found any. In and out, the sphere kept advancing and backing again, reacting to the changes. After a while, it became an almost automatic process, but Yrith still could not find her way. She was driven to a dead end for the umpteenth time.
Impatiently, she closed her eyes and reached out with her magic. Then she opened them ajar to feign concentration. She could feel the masters' hearts, the movement of their fingers as they controlled their magic, the strands of magicka extended toward the maze. She could anticipate what they would do before they even sent the impulse. That was it. She would succeed this time. The ball obeyed her perfectly and the road ahead turned according to her expectations. She could see the paths and all the alternatives. It was so easy to navigate the sphere to the center and connect it with the fountain again. At last, she succeeded. But the only thing she gained was a piercing look from Master Larkwing that stabbed her in the heart.
"I would suggest you do it properly next time, Miss Ravencroft."
She could only reply with silence. Shame mingled with the feeling of injustice. She had been, after all, encouraged to imagine she was in a real fight. And it was natural to do anything in a real fight. She pursed her lips, stifling the words of defense.
"I suppose we should give Miss Ravencroft some time," Master Tolfdir said, raising his hand to placate his agitated colleague. Yrith stared at him. So even he now realized what she had done. And even he disapproved.
"Perhaps."
"I will excuse myself for now. Miss Ravencroft, I suppose we will be meeting each other soon. Think on your use of magic. And practice. There are many ways to hone your instincts and they don't have to be magical." With a short nod to Master Larkwing, Master Tolfdir left the room. Yrith pinned her eyes to the floor, unwilling to look in her mentor's face.
They spent the way back to Master Larkwing's room in silence. Yrith listened to their breaths, to the sounds of the magical fountains, the weeping wind and crunching of the snow under their feet. She thought of what to say to him, but nothing came to her mind. Upon entering the Hall of Countenance, they passed a disenchanted Mirabelle Ervine, giving a piece of her mind to J'zargo, the only other Khajiit in the College beside Ha'risha.
"It is moonsugar again. How many times has it been now?!" The Master Wizard stood with hands on her hips, eyes flaring like a thousand of heated suns. Her slight Breton posture was much more threatening than that of Urag gro-Shub on his bad days.
The Khajiit stood proud, furry ears shooting upward while he gazed at her with no sign of remorse. "J'zargo has been telling you it is not for skooma. J'zargo does not drink skooma. But moonsugar slows down the effect of potions. J'zargo needs it for his experiments."
"I am not interested in your excuses. There shall be no moonsugar on the College grounds. Are we clear on that?"
Yrith could not hear the Khajiit's answer. His voice faded as the door snapped shut behind her. There she was again, in her prison and haven in one. Crossing the room, she threw herself on her bed. The curtain hid her momentarily from Master Larkwing's sight before his magic reached it.
"This will stay open," he said curtly. Without another word, he sank to his chair, staring out of the window in silence as he so often liked to do. Yrith observed his silhouette. It was just like in the morning, his frame motionless and his mind so distant, yet now there was tension that had not been there before. She closed her eyes and once more, she let her magic touch him, observing him from the inside. His heart was unsteady, like the ocean waves in a storm and the ice floes that flip-flopped on top of them. Then its pace suddenly quickened at she retreated, but not fast enough to go unnoticed.
"What are you doing?" he asked. There was no anger or agitation in his voice, but it made her hot in the cheeks nevertheless. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her, his face demanding answers.
"I…"
With a soft sigh, he motioned to the empty chair by his desk. "Come sit with me, Miss Ravencroft."
She shuffled to his side of the room, feet dragging like a prisoner going for his execution. Master Larkwing stood up and opened a barrel standing by his cupboard. It was filled with ice wraith teeth preserving a few pieces of fish. He took one out and placed it on a plate just by his seat. She stared at him in anticipation. He took his time, imbuing the fish with detection magic as he always did. The blue glow from his fingers made the features of his face sharp, emphasized by the dancing shadows.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. Yrith frowned. Surely small talk was not the reason he had asked for her presence.
"A little tired," she said. Lies. She was tremendously exhausted, but also anxious. By the look in his eyes, he already knew.
"Say, is it more exhausting to try your hardest to achieve what has been asked of you, or to cope with the emotional strain that comes with finding a way to elude it?"
Her hands clenched into fists before she could even process the words. She jumped on her feet to look him in the eye, bright red in the face, eyes fire and lightning. "You… what do you know? You have no idea! I was happy, you know! I have this power and it is my only worth! There's nothing else I…"
"Sit down."
"I can't use magic like all of you do! I'm useless, I know! Is it fun to spit in my face and laugh at my expense?!"
"Miss Ravencroft, sit down! Now!"
She sank into her seat, shaking, tears welling up in her eyes for the umpteenth time in his presence. She wished to run away, but there was nowhere to hide. She wanted to punch him in the face, but she would never dare. He stood there, calm as ever, pulling at the strands of his magic like a bard would on the strings of his lute.
"Do you know why I tried to teach you the way I did?"
She shook her head.
"Then take a guess."
"To torment me," she muttered. Despite himself, Master Larkwing struggled to keep a straight face.
"I am not amused." He was clearly amused. Yrith wondered if he did it on purpose to stop her tears from falling. Either way it worked and she felt a hint of smile tug at her lips.
"To teach me some basics…"
"True, but why do you think I did it?"
Why indeed? She gazed into his face and felt shame burn her cheeks again. As if she had not known that Singird Larkwing always had a reason for everything. He had always stood by her side like a silent guardian, without a word of complaint, and she could only return the favor by cheating and acting like a spoiled brat. She bit her lip.
"To… protect me… somehow?"
"Correct. And do you know how the basics can protect you?"
"I… no. I don't know. They're… limiting."
"Indeed, they are limiting. Which is exactly why you need to master them. They guide you to use your wits and be resourceful. They force you to fit within the constraints of your limited options and discover paths you wouldn't have otherwise considered. They teach you to think outside the box. That is why every beginner must start with them, and that is why a lot of skilled magicians failed in what they did. They also provide foundation for the common principles of magic, and these principles are what most magic users follow when they use their powers. And even if they don't strictly follow them, they are somewhere beneath everything they do. To understand them is to understand half of your enemy."
Yrith pinned her eyes to the floor. She had no words to counter that. She felt defeated by the logic in Master Larkwing's reasoning. The momentary silence felt heavy on her shoulders, but fortunately, it did not last long.
"I am not against you finding new ways of handling your magic," he said in a tone much gentler than moments before, "but you do need to grasp the common knowledge and practices. Knowing these will also help you know your own weaknesses. It will ultimately make you stronger."
"But…" The room was darkening as the day slowly retreated. Perhaps he would not see the struggle in her face in the dim light, but she could not bring herself to raise it. "I don't know how. I'm not capable of…"
Master Larkwing let the magic fade. He rose and joined her, putting a hand on her back. She shuddered as he spoke, so close to her she felt his breath on her face. "You are fully capable of casting magic properly. You only need to try."
"But…"
"Do you think others don't struggle on their first try? You made progress today. Considering you had never tried this before, the step you took was a tremendous one. It was your telekinesis that made the ball move through the maze, that much is a fact. Do not feel ashamed of not succeeding. You should only feel ashamed of giving up when you have not tried your best."
The tears started falling again, not in streaks, but in rivers, leaving salt on her lips and soaking her robes. In the end, it was he who encouraged her again. She wanted to jump on her feet and embrace him like he had done so many times before, but fear of growing too close stopped her from acting.
She looked up through the blurry film on her eyes, drawing a breath to speak, but a fierce knock on the door took the words away. The two of them turned after the sound. Yrith quickly wiped the tears from her face, struggling to put up a neutral face.
"Come in," Master Larkwing said, stepping before Yrith to hide her. Again, she felt a wave of immense gratitude.
The head of Lady Faralda peeked in. Yrith could not see her face, but she could clearly recognize her voice. There was more than disconcert in it.
"Apologies for interrupting, Singird, but we are being called out. Everyone is to assemble in the courtyard, students, teachers and staff alike. From what I understood, it was another murder and it was close."
Immediately, Master Larkwing tensed. He took a moment to ponder his reply, drawing a long breath to gather his determination. "That is grave news. But shouldn't I stay here with Miss Ravencroft?"
"No. Take her with you."
"If the murderer is the same person who is after her, wouldn't that be exactly what they want?"
"Hardly. I would like to see them try against the whole Collegium."
"Very well. We'll be there in a moment."
Lady Faralda gave a quick curtsy before excusing herself. The room fell silent, lit by the crimson gold of the setting sun as it found a gap between the clouds. Yrith stood up, still shaken. Master Larkwing handed her a handkerchief to wipe the rest of her tears as though he had one prepared for every occasion. She accepted it with a nod of thanks.
"Miss Ravencroft, whatever happens, stay by my side. Grab me if need be, just don't let yourself be dragged away." His tone was urgent, making her heart shrink with worry.
"Do you think something will happen?"
"Chances are one on one. I do hope it is just me, but it's always better to come prepared. Shall we go?"
She nodded and the two of them left the room. When they reached the courtyard, it was already filled with people. As soon as they emerged from the Hall of Countenance, she could feel Ha'risha's glare at her. At the same time, she spotted Cain and Leyna waving at her. She waved back timidly, nodding toward Master Larkwing upon Cain's invitation to join them. The Dunmer stooped his shoulders, earning a pat from Leyna.
Around the statue of Arch-Mage Shalidor stood almost the entire Collegium. Lady Faralda discussed something quietly with Master Tolfdir. Drevis Neloren stood like a silent sentinel, eyes roving over the whole courtyard as though he was expecting a sudden explosion. Sergius Turrianus and Arniel Gane were frozen like two statues, minds somewhere deep in their own worlds. Phinis Gestor was rubbing his temples. Next to him stood Mirabelle Ervine, her eyes shifting between the College entrance and the gate to the Hall of the Elements. She looked agitated, enraged even, lips pressed into a thin line.
The advanced class students marched toward the crowd from the Hall of Attainment, led by the ever-frowning Nirya. She then joined the teachers, pretending to listen to their conversation in her self-important act while being completely ignored.
Yrith followed Master Larkwing to the bundle of teachers. He stopped a few steps away from Lady Faralda.
"I just hope this won't influence my negotiations," she heard her whisper to Master Tolfdir. Then she turned around to greet Master Larkwing. "You are here. Make yourself comfortable."
He raised his brows. "Whatever might you mean?"
"She means the Arch-Mage is not here yet," Master Ervine remarked, crossing her arms over her chest. "It seems she is not quite bothered with the current situation."
"Somehow I do not find that surprising," Master Larkwing said, voice ice-cold. Yrith wondered what kind of history he had with the Arch-Mage. She was eager to see the legend in person and caught herself glancing at the Hall of the Elements even more often than Mirabelle Ervine.
The sun had sunk well beyond the horizon when the huge brass gate finally opened with an ear-splitting creak. The blue light of the fountain revealed the figure of an Argonian woman. Her head was proudly raised while the hood of her robes hung from her back. She was thin, skeletal almost, with nothing but two proud horns in place of her ears, reminiscent of an emerald skinned dragon. From her left horn hung a set of brightly colored feathers which reached to her neck, coiled with a number of golden chains. Her eyes of green and gold glided over the gathered crowd, wild and hungry, as though they belonged to a beast which was constantly forced to choose between hunting and becoming prey to another. At a closer look, many scars lined her face and neck and wrinkled her skin. Her expression, however, was a gentle one, likely the calmest face present.
The small crowd of teachers split in two groups and formed an aisle for her. She stepped forward, into the light until her features were bluish pale. She nodded to the students and beckoned to them in greeting. Master Tolfdir hurried to her side and whispered something in her ear, but she returned it with a simple shrug and a dreamy smile. He shook his head and knit his brows as he retreated. The Arch-Mage turned to face the mass of bodies before her and everyone fell silent.
"So many people gathered here on this occasion," she spoke. Her voice was just as dreamy as her smile, too soft for an Argonian. Not even an Altmer would be ashamed of singing in such beautiful alto. Yrith watched her wrinkled body and savage face, mind trying to connect it to the voice that came out of that mouth without success. "So many bright minds, both young and old. I suppose this is where I deliver my grand speech."
Mirabelle Ervine cleared her throat. "This is not a parade, Arch-Mage. We are dealing with…"
"Yes, yes, of course. It is very unfortunate. Very unfortunate indeed."
"Arch-Mage…"
"Corpses, torn flesh, deformed eyeballs and…"
"Arch-Mage!"
The Arch-Mage shrugged theatrically, giving an angelic smile, if that was even possible for an Argonian. "People get so dull these times, don't you think?" she said matter-of-factly. "People die every day. The routine gets boring, but you can find beauty in decay. Nevertheless, dear Miss Mirabelle, you are the Master Wizard. I hereby name you my spokesperson. Please, be so kind to explain to these souls what happened. I have important matters to attend to."
"You always do." Mirabelle Ervine spoke in a quiet voice, yet every word carried through the courtyard, clear and razor-sharp. "Very well. I will deliver the speech, but please, be so kind to stay and make a decision… for the sake of these souls. I believe a moment or two will not affect the state of those… important matters you speak of."
"Clever words. I suppose I could stay and listen then. The floor is all yours."
Master Ervine took the Arch-Mage's place, clearing her throat. "There have been two murders in the city of Winterhold," she said, plain, with no flowery language and no sidetracked comments to adorn her speech. "One was the Winterhold guard captain. The other one was an elven courier."
Quiet murmurs spread through the crowd along the few gasps and sighs. Yrith could hear both thrill and concern, students and teachers alike whispering to each other excitedly. Mirabelle Ervine raised a hand to silence them.
"The two of them were stripped of their belongings," she continued. "The culprit is unknown. They were found just under the College bridge, broken from the fall, but there were clear signs of magical injuries on their bodies. This is a dark day for all of us. We have lost the last bit of faith that rested here in Winterhold. I ask of you to tread carefully and not leave the College. The outer world is not safe anymore. Now Arch-Mage, if you will."
She stepped out of the light circle around the fountain, beckoning for the Arch-Mage to take her place, but the Argonian did not seem to follow. Instead, she nodded, putting a hand on Mirabelle's shoulder.
"Very well said," she sang. "You would make a much better Arch-Mage than I am. Now if you would excuse me…"
"Arch-Mage! All of us are waiting for a decision. And perhaps some instructions on what to do are in order."
"Decision? Is that not what you are here for, Master Wizard?"
Mirabelle Ervine took a deep breath, and another one after that. Yrith could almost feel all the curses she had ready on her lips, but pride and dignity did not allow her to let them be heard. "No, Arch-Mage," she whispered. "I only see to their completion."
"Then I grant you the permission to…"
"Arch-Mage!" That was Tolfdir, unable to hold his own anymore. Yrith had never seen the old Master so agitated. Master Ervine raised a hand to silence him, eyes still on the Argonian.
"Arch-Mage. We need the decisive word."
"Very well. Then I suppose from now on, no one will leave the College without an officially signed permission until the issue is resolved. And… someone should probably resolve it." Every word was said with a smile, in a light conversational tone. The Arch-Mage played with the feathers on her horn, staring somewhere into the distance. The murmurs rose to a storm upon her speech. Even Master Larkwing at Yrith's side growled with poorly concealed impatience. "I suppose that is all."
"Is it really? How are we supposed to conduct the investigation?"
"Well then," the Argonian said without changing her tone, ignoring the question entirely, "I believe this College should have enough competent mages to deal with a petty matter like this. Now if you'll excuse me." With that, she waved to the teachers, turned toward the entrance to the Hall of the Elements and disappeared behind the massive studded door.
Shocked silence reigned after her departure. Teachers exchanged incredulous looks, students stared with their mouths open. No one noticed the snow which started falling from the skies, fluttering around and landing on their clothes and hair. They just stood there, a sea of statues frozen in time. Yrith looked from person to person, waiting for the silence to break. Then, the lone voice of Phinis Gestor spoke, sounding thunderous in the quiet.
"What in Oblivion was that?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Then several heads nodded and the courtyard filled with quiet mutters of agreement. Mirabelle Ervine sighed and wiped her forehead.
"Everyone is to return to the Hall of Attainment," she said wearily. "You will receive further instructions as soon as we make the final decision. No one," she looked over the gathered people, "absolutely no one is allowed to leave the College without our approval." She raised her hands, releasing a vermillion bolt out of it. It spread over the main gate as it reached it, sealing it shut. "This seal will not break upon the strongest of impacts if you do not carry the Sign of Accord with you. Please, report any strange sightings or suspicious acts to me or Master Tolfdir. Dismissed."
The students, now chattering amongst themselves as if someone set the time back in motion, slowly dispersed in all directions. Master Larkwing exchanged a few words with Lady Faralda and Mirabelle Ervine before prodding Yrith toward the Hall of Countenance. She followed obediently, eyes on the last few of the students, searching for her friends to tell them goodbye. Cain was nowhere to be seen, but she found Leyna dragging her feet through the snow. She raised her hand to wave at her, but lowered it instantly. The Altmeri girl's face glistened with tears. Yrith froze at the sight, wishing for a chance to talk to her.
"Miss Ravencroft, don't fall behind."
She sighed, feeling her heart sink. She could not be there when her very first friend was suffering. She could not give her a shoulder to cry on. And Cain was still nowhere to be seen.
For a split moment, her eyes met with Leyna's. Yrith opened her mouth to call to her, but her friend only shook her head. She gave a sad smile that seemed like an apology. Then she turned around, white-gold mane waving around her like a veil, and retreated to the depths of the Hall of Attainment. Yrith stared at the closing door, head full of questions and face long with worry. Master Larkwing was calling to her, but she could not hear his words anymore.
This chapter is dedicated to all those who suffer extremely low self-confidence. Think of Singird, guys. You can do it!
Huge, huge thanks to all those who favorited, followed or reviewed! You guys are awesome, and even in the days of my absence, you did not stay behind. I apologize for the super long break – I was moving to another city and the process dragged incredibly. I had to spend a few weeks with no internet connection, then I worked overtime every day and it just kinda blew out of proportions. Still, thank you all for waiting! 3
LunarLeap: Once again, thank you so much for such wonderful review! It is so refreshing to see someone who takes time to truly appreciate other person's work, and I am infinitely grateful for your kind words. Thank you!
Guest: Thank you! Hope you keep enjoying it!
With that, I am out. See you guys around!
Mirwen
