Chapter Three: Letters From Abroad
"Who is it this time, Korthus?" Tylia inquired, sitting on her bed as the lithe hawk glided in. She dropped four envelopes on the coverlet and took her place on the perch Tylia had set up for her the first day.
Korthus was a Jhondraelael sholol1, a companion hawk, about the size of a European merlin, but with metallic blue feathers on the tips of her wings. While Tylia had always thought of them as 'Jhondraelael hawks', the truth was that sholol were intelligent, with a culture and language of their own. They could even understand the speech of two-leggers, if they were exposed to the language. Unlike pa'das that Bonded to their Pasaer, hawks such as Korthus chose their Jhondraelaer, though the association was often kept within families. The sholol who had chosen Myrdyl—Karian—was Korthus' father. The shololwho claimed Tylia's Grandpapa was Karian's mother, Kestral. Sholol could leave their chosen Jhondraelaer, while pa'das were with their Bonds for life.
Among the other useful things that she did, Korthus carried Tylia's mail for her. As the hawk let loose another string of bird-sounds in answer to her question, Tylia scooped up the envelopes. She smothered a happy—but very loud and undignified—squeal when she saw that one envelope was black, addressed in silver and the other was addressed in rich green ink. The third was plainly addressed from a Jhondraelael friend of hers, but the last she did not recognize.
"Grandpapa, Uncle, Maerosi and who?" Tylia asked the hawk.
Korthus gave a bird's shrug and trilled, which signified an unknown. The person had wanted to send her a letter and so Korthus had shown up. It had taken a moment to convince the person—the man—to allow the hawk to carry the letter, but in the end he had been very kind and had given her some venison before she left.
"Well, he can wait, whoever he is," Tylia replied, tossing all but the plain envelope aside. Maerosi was chatty, as most Jhondraelael females were, talking about whom this aunt had been flirting with and that that cousin was sick. The only real news she got from this favorite of her informal Breezes was that she had been chosen to be one of Her Majesty's eisadael2, a high honor and an excellent place to gather important information, all unwitting, of course.
Tylia tossed the letter to the end of the bed; she would script an equally chatty response later. For now, she slotted open the letter addressed in green in a slanting, looping script that Tylia had always loved as Korthus creeled and soared out the window again. This one was from Grandpapa Myrdaeraes, a man she mimicked almost as much as she mimicked Thaeraekaes, his father.
This letter was more formal, full of secrets. In every letter, Myrdaeraes gave her his latest gleanings, knowing both that she liked to stay informed and that she could keep her mouth shut. Today's letter included many new things, as well as the appointment of Maerosi to eisadael and one other thing:
'The Serdyr are becoming strong again. While most Pasaelaer are becoming ever more friendly with Jhondraelaer, this group continues its hatred. I cannot understand it. My Breezes can no longer stand to keep their posts within the Serdyr, and I will not force them to do such terrible things, as they must to remain. Three of my Breezes I have lost in the last cestal3 year to the Greater Winds4, two more I fear will take that option. Among those five are three of my best; two already lost. My information on the Serdyr will soon dry up; this will not do. They are our greatest threat, both Jhondraelaer and Pasaelaer.'
The letter was signed 'with heart and hope, Myrdaeraes.' Tylia stretched out on the bed with a sigh, knowing full well what her Grandpapa wanted from her, what he meant by 'with hope.' The only thing that worried her was whether she could convince some of her Pasaelael friends to agree to collect information for her. Perhaps her Uncle could help.
The black letter, written in silver ink—real, molten silver, cooled on the paper—was from said Uncle, Vlosorbb. She loved this man, whose name—like so many Pasaelael names—translated into something unpleasant by human standards. Her uncle's name translated to 'Bloodspider' in English. Spiders were revered in Pasaelael tradition and religion, and many Pasaelaer had names reflecting that. Vlosorbb's letter was short and worried, which worried Tylia. Her Uncle was one of the most collected, calm people she knew. When he worried, she worried.
So unlike her Grandfather's, Vlosorbb's handwriting was rough, even, well, spidery. He was much sought-after as a scribe in the Underdark's hierarchy, though it was certainly not a chore that he was required to perform.
'To my niece,
I am not pleased with the state of things here in the Underdark. 'An unpleased Sekevlos5 is a dangerous Sekevlos,' as the tonaikvlos6 always say. It's this group; the ones that call themselves 'Trantzvlos7' You know I bear them no allegiance, Drathirdalharil. (Tylia shook her head at her Uncle's insistence upon translating her Jhondraelael name into the Pasaelael language.) You know I disagree with their ways. But more and more often, they find ways to make their demands appeal to our minds. They are corrupting our young people. Those whom you counted as allies here have renounced you as such, shaming themselves and their Houses with such behavior. Only one I know still holds you an ally: Vloschath Kenret.
Our house, that of Zauval, has come under scorn of late, because of Jallilvlos' choice of a mate and because our matriarch neither exiled nor killed her and nor will she order you killed. That Jallilvlos seems to have gone into a self-imposed exile makes no difference. Our matriarch will not submit to this pressure from our peers and Her Ladyship does not say that we are to be punished. Nor does she say that the scorn must stop. What do you think of this? You know that I value your input, d'ssussun lu'olath8 or no. Tell me your thoughts.
—Vlosorbb'
With a sigh, Tylia rubbed her temples, allowing the black paper to fall. Why these two great men, both centuries older and wiser than she was, thought she could help them was beyond her, but they did. It was kind of flattering, actually: Myrdaeraes was Personal Spymaster to the Jhondraelael King and Queen, as well as the Chief General of Their Majesties' armies; Vlosorbb was Consort to the current Lady of the Spider, the highest ranking male in Pasaelael society. It was a position of high honor and responsibility, equal or exceeding Myrdaeraes'.
She would simply have to do her best not to disappoint them.
Placing Vlosorbb's letter with the other two, she picked up the fourth. It was a plain letter, like Maerosi's, save that the address was more detailed, written in a precise, clear hand. It worried Tylia a little; the address read: 'Miss Tylandraes Windguard Zauval; Northern Bed, Fourth Dorm Up; Ravenclaw House; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' The information was accurate. How a stranger had come by such detailed information on her without her knowledge piqued Tylia's curiosity a little.
She slit it open, pulling out three pages. One was in English, written in a clear, precise hand. The other two pages were covered in Jhondraelael and Pasaelael scripts, well written, though it was obvious that a human had written them. Tylia didn't bother translating the pages—being more interested, for the moment, in this mystery man. Instead, she placed those papers aside.
'Miss Tylandraes:
Please forgive me on two counts. The first is that I would be so informal as to call you by your first name. I have heard that both your cultures prize formality, but I do not know whether you go by one or the other of your last names, or some combination of the two. The second is that I would send this letter to you when you do not know me. I was going to send it through a relative of mine who knows you, but this charming little hawk showed up on my windowsill and quite insisted that she take it to you instead. I gave her a bit of venison; I hope it didn't do her any harm. Give her my thanks, if you would, she seemed quite intelligent.
I'm sure that by now you're curious as to who I am, if you haven't peeked at my signature already. (Tylia had not, and resisted the urge to do so now.) My name is Theodore Lupin, called by some 'Teddy.' A young relative of mine—the same one I referenced above—mentioned you to me and you caught my interest. I have always been fascinated by Jhondraelael culture and that of the Pasaelael as well. I have heard whispers, but never met one myself. And then I recieved a rather rude letter from my godbrother saying that he has a mysterious 'Elven' hybrid on his hands and that he knows both of her parents!
The enclosed pages are scripts that I can only assume are from your two cultures; I have never seen their like before. Can you translate them for me? I have been curious for some time as to what they mean. I would be in your debt. It would please me to no end if you would reply to this letter.
Hoping to be friends,
Theodore Lupin'
Quite a chatterer, that one. Tylia jumped slightly at the suddenness of Petrius' calm, clear voice in her mind. Petrius was stretched at the foot of her bed, and she could hear rustles from her dormmates. Well, both of them, anyway.
"What do you mean?" Tylia asked quietly, turning so that her head was at the foot of the bed, nearer to the pa'das.
The young Master, telling his godbrother of you, Petrius replied with a feline shrug.
"I suppose he must have become quite frustrated with me." Tylia shrugged the near-accusation away easily. "I'm sure he wanted someone to talk of me with."
And this new Master, this Lupin, so long a letter to someone he has only ever heard of. Very chatty.
"From what I've heard, he's very friendly," Tylia replied to this latest comment. "And he's like me; he lives a double life."
Oh?
Before Tylia could explain, two of the girls in her dorm struggled out of bed. One, Beka Smith, sneered at her.
"You're not talking to that great ugly cat of yours again, are you?" she drawled. She was from the States, and it showed in her soft Southern accent.
Unlike her explosive reaction to Albus' insult to Petrius, Tylia merely watched Beka with tired resignation. Beka was one of those people who could never like Tylia or Petrius: they were simply too different. She insulted Petrius out of fear; Albus had done so out of carelessness. Petrius, on the other hand, rose gracefully to his feet, a snarl lifting his lip to show one of his long, gleaming fangs. He made no sound, but took a single step toward Beka. She squealed and backed up so quickly that she tripped over her own trunk and landed on her bed. The other girl, Eileen Morani, laughed. She had liked Tylia and her companions from the first day, and they had liked her. She knew of Petrius' pride and his dislike of insults.
"Beka, haven't you heard that such cats are like hippogryphs?" Eileen inquired, a laughing trill in her voice. Petrius turned curious eyes on her, his snarl smoothing out. "You told me yesterday that you had been transferred into the Seventh Year Care of Magical Creatures Class, and that your first lesson had been on hippogryphs. What was the first thing that the professor told you?"
"Always let the beast make the first move?" Beka replied, spitting venom at the girl who was defending Tylia.
"Alright, fine," Eileen sighed, her silvery eyes flashing her annoyance as Petrius growled at Beka. She squeaked again, but got to her feet and began to collect the day's clothes as he trotted back to Tylia's bed. "Tylia, sweet, what should have been the first thing Beka heard during that lesson?"
"'Hippogryphs are very prideful creatures,'" Tylia recited easily; it was information that Myrdyl required her to memorize. "'Never insult a hippogryph: it may be the last thing you ever do.'"
"It's just lucky for you, Beka," Eileen agreed, crossing the room to stand near Petrius. She nonchalantly reached down and scratched the large feline behind the ear and was rewarded by a loud, rumbling purr that made Beka jump again. "That, while hippogryphs run mostly on instinct, Petrius, here, is intelligent."
Beka harrumphed her opinion of that statement and darted out of the room, her red curls flying behind her.
"So much for defending yourself, eh, Pet?" Tylia laughed as Beka fled.
As if I would speak to that! Petrius replied in his haughtiest voice, giving her a scandalized look. A being that attacks another simply out of fear and ignorance. You demean me, Tylandraes.
"I apologize," Tylia replied, still laughing. Until, that is, she caught sight of the shocked look on Eileen's face and realized that Petrius must not have spoken to her before.
"Was that you, Petrius?" The pa'das looked up at her and gently rubbed his head against her still hand.
Of course it was me, he replied easily. Why did you stop? Surely you're not surprised, or at least not too surprised; you said yourself that I'm intelligent.
"I've seen you do some uncanny things," Eileen agreed uneasily, though she resumed scratching his ears as she met his unnerving ruby gaze. "But I never imagined you could talk, much less that you were telepathic. Can you read my mind? And I only said those things to shut Beka up. She's so judgmental."
I can read minds of a sort, Petrius replied cryptically.
"What he means is that he can hear a person's thoughts when their minds are loud and undisciplined," Tylia interpreted with a crooked grin. "When they're upset, or angry, or just have no control over their minds. I don't think he can read yours. You're too...organized."
Quite, Petrius agreed, sounding just a bit put out that he had been explained. Eileen nodded, looking slightly relieved, and then laughed as Petrius thrust his large, wet, cold nose into the base of her neck.
"Thanks for sticking up for him," Tylia added as she watched Eileen begin to get dressed.
"No problem," Eileen shrugged expressively. "I'm hungry. Wanna come to breakfast?"
"Sure, but there's a reason I never take my meals with the school, you know," Tylia warned as she gathered up the letters and locked them in her trunk.
"Oh? I noticed you were never there," Eileen returned, looking up from tying her shoes. "Most people—not me and my group, but people like Beka—think you're just stuck up."
"I get tired of the looks and the whispers," Tylia admitted with a sigh. "So I take my meals in the Kitchens, same as I get Petrius' food."
"Well, come down with me," Eileen encouraged. "I'll introduce you to some of my friends, and we can ignore the looks and the whispers together. If the people I introduce you to turn out like Beka…well, then I shouldn't have been friends with them in the first place, huh? I've never heard my friends whispering about you…well, not after the first week or so, when everyone was."
"And only you had the nerve to talk to me instead of about me, at first." It wasn't true anymore. Tylia had sixteen Breezes in the school alone, plus a couple of people she counted as friends, but it had been true five years ago, when she had started at Hogwarts.
"I'm not afraid of anything that's new," Eileen retorted sourly. "C'mon. How can you walk around the school in the dead of winter with no shoes or socks?"
"It's not so cold," Tylia shrugged with a smile. As the two friends reached the hallway, Eileen stooped over to let her fingers brush the heavy stone floor. She shivered and Tylia laughed.
Many of Eileen's friends accepted Tylia only grudgingly, which was the best that Tylia had come to expect from most cestal. One, a Seventh year gentleman, accepted Tylia's addition to the group with enthusiasm.
His name was Raoul Dupont and he was an intimidating figure. When he rose to welcome the two girls, Tylia examined him with a cool eye until he grinned and shrugged, resuming his seat without gracing her with the bear hug that he had given to Eileen.
Raoul stood 6' 4" to Tylia's 5' 10", had curly black hair and intelligent black eyes. He was burly and muscular, as though he worked out—or sparred—often. He smiled easily and she was to learn that he very rarely showed any display of temper.
"Sit down, Ash," Raoul told her with a grin, offering her the seat between himself and Eileen.
"'Ash?'" Tylia inquired without taking the seat. Eileen laughed and stood on the offered chair to ruffle the taller Ravenclaw's hair.
"C'mon, Tylia, he's harmless," she assured Tylia with a smile as she jumped off the chair and resumed her own seat, selecting her breakfast as she spoke. "And he likes nicknames. Mine's—"
"Ebony, for her hair," Raoul interrupted easily, piling his own plate as Tylia took her seat at last. "I'd call you 'Silver,' but she's already got that one."
Raoul jerked his thumb toward the Staff Table, where Jallil was just finding her own seat. Mother and daughter locked eyes for the barest moment, nodded and looked away.
"You nickname the teachers?" Tylia asked idly, transferring sausages and eggs and toast to her plate.
"Raoul nicknames everybody," Eileen retorted, tossing a bit of sausage over Tylia's head toward the man. Tylia laughed when he caught it effortlessly in his mouth.
"Nice to see a girl who eats like she wants to live," Raoul commented. When she turned questioning eyes to him, he pointed first at her plate and then down the table to a cluster of girls, all of whom combined had perhaps half the food on their plates that she had on hers alone.
"I like living," Tylia replied with uncharacteristic frankness. "Living is so much more interesting than being dead, as far as I know."
Her comment was rewarded by a bass chuckle as she began to eat. When she had devoured upward of seven sausages, six people—four girls and two boys, all Ravenclaws of varying years—walked up to the table where Tylia and her two friends were sitting. Four of them sat down after glancing between Tylia, Eileen and Raoul and shrugging. A Fifth year girl and Sixth year boy remained standing. When Tylia looked up and across the table, she noticed that both looked openly incredulous.
"Eileen, really," began the girl. Eileen looked up, her eyes hard. "Just because you're forced to room with It doesn't mean that you have to bring It to breakfast."
"Raoul, don't tell me you're talking to That," the boy added, raising his eyebrows to the larger Ravenclaw.
'It.' 'That.' And I thought I would be free of such terms if I ate with a friend, Tylia thought, and her eyes were impassive as she looked at the two, though her thoughts were full of self-loathing for her optimism.
"Karla, no one forced me to invite her," Eileen retorted with surprising mildness, given the way her bright silver eyes were snapping with anger. She put slight emphasis on the feminine pronoun. "I brought her on my own. She's a good friend of mine. Tylia's welcome to eat with me and my friends anytime."
Eileen smiled at Tylia, who smiled back slightly, but did not look away from Karla and her companion. Raoul smiled at the boy and gestured for him to sit in an empty seat across from them.
"Jacob, really, such a thing to say!" he laughed easily. His laugh was a bass rumble not unlike Petrius' purr. "Come, sit down, and talk with her. Tylia's a sweetheart, and she has an excellent sense of humor. You know how hard it is to find a girl with one of those!"
He smiled apologetically in Eileen's direction, who waved it away. Jacob shook his head at Raoul and looked to Eileen.
"It's not welcome to sit with me!" Karla replied sounding exceedingly stuck up.
Eileen stood up slowly as a light blush appeared on Tylia's cheeks. She wasn't one to let others fight her battles, and it embarrassed her to let Raoul and Eileen defend her now, but these were their friends.
"Then I suggest you sit somewhere else, Karla Parkinson," Eileen replied, a warning very clear in her voice. Tylia thought that if she had been on the receiving end of that ice-cold comment, not to mention the glare, she would have shuddered. As it was, she made a mental note to stay on Eileen's good side. "Perhaps you should join your older brother at the Slytherin table. You're starting to sound like him."
"Eileen, that was uncalled for!" Jacob objected as Karla sputtered, apparently too shocked and affronted to speak. "To insult a friend in defense of That! You don't even know what It is! It doesn't even defend Itself!"
"No friend of mine would insult another!" Eileen snapped back, glaring at Jacob. Tylia stood up slowly and she could feel the eyes of her fellow Ravenclaws on her, as well as those of several of the teachers.
"I am Tylandraes Windguard-Zauval," she began in a clear voice that she knew would carry. As much as she would hate the whispers that this would cause, it had become necessary. "I am Jhondraelael and Pasaelael and Orondralas and I am proud to be so. I am the only blending of two high, fine cultures that have existed since before humans could form coherent thoughts. Two great families come together in me and two clashing races find a modicum of peace. Accept me and be still, or reject me and be silent. I do not ask that you be my friend, only that you not taunt me and whisper behind my back. If you have something to say, let it be heard."
Tylia knew that there was a great deal of pride in her voice, but Myrdyl looked pleased. Jallil voiced a shrill whistle that sounded not unlike the hunting cry of a sholol and Tylia knew that she, too, approved. The entire hall was silent as the halfbreed gave her two insulters look for look, as calm as though they were debating something in class.
A woman with short, spiky blackish-red hair and deep blue eyes walked down from the staff table and stopped just next to Jacob.
"Do we have a problem here?" she inquired, raising thin, arched brows as she looked over the odd group.
"I don't think they've decided yet, Professor Sinistra," Tylia replied honestly without taking her sharp jade eyes off of Jacob and Karla. Iris Sinistra was head of Ravenclaw House and Tylia respected her a great deal. "I have no problem here. Nor do Eileen or Raoul, I think." Both nodded their agreement. "These two, though, are not so sure."
"Miss Parkinson, Mister Tebok? Is there a problem here?" the Astronomy teacher repeated coolly.
"No, Professor," Jacob sighed, turning and walking down the table to take a seat elsewhere. After a moment, Karla jeered at Tylia and followed.
"Not bad, Miss Elf," the Professor murmured for Tylia's ears alone, leaning over the table so that no one else would hear. The Fifth-year nodded and Iris returned to her place at the staff table. The Astronomy teacher always called her 'Miss Elf' when they were speaking privately. She held that it was easier than trying to say her tongue twister of a foreign name.
Tylia and Eileen sat down slowly and Tylia immediately went back to her food. Eileen and Raoul exchanged a glance over Tylia's bent head.
"You'll make yourself sick, eating like that," Raoul suggested uneasily.
"Will not," Eileen replied when Tylia said nothing, but merely continued to eat rather quickly. "Her physiology's different from ours. Right?"
"Right," Tylia agreed after another moment as she finished the last of her food and stood up. Eileen caught her by the arm as she turned to go.
"About Karla and Jacob—" she began, her silvery eyes dark with worry.
"Don't worry about it, Eileen," Tylia interrupted gently, smiling at her friend. "I'm used to rivvil9 like them. And thanks, again, for sticking up for me. You too, Raoul. It was great to meet you."
"Ash!" Raoul called as she walked away.
"See you at lunch!" Tylia called without looking back. Eileen grinned with relief, knowing that Tylia wasn't upset.
1Literally 'wingfriend;' an intelligent species of hawk that associates itself with Jhondraelaer
2Armsmaiden, a position of high prestige and moderate power in Jhondraelael society
3Human
4The commonly accepted Jhondraelael term for suicide
5Literally 'trueblood;' the Pasaelael word for themselves
6Literally 'dirty blood;' the Pasaelael word for Jhondraelaer
7Literally 'real blood;' the Pasaelael word for the Serdyr
8Literally 'of light and dark;' a Pasaelael phrase for someone like Tylia. Note: There are ruder terms. Vlosorbb uses a polite form because Tylia is his beloved niece
9Humans; Tylia uses the Undercommon version here rather than the Jhondraelael because it sounds more foul