Chapter Four: Replies
Content—for the most part—Tylia returned to her dorm. She liked her new friend. He was easy on the eyes and very nice. She smiled that vicious, Pasaelael grin again as she thought that people like Karla and Jacob and Beka should be very glad that she wasn't as vindictive and vengeful as her mother was.
The Orondralas shook her head, amused at the world at large, as she removed the four letters from her trunk to script the expected replies. If she didn't reply to even one of them—except perhaps Theodore Lupin's—she would never hear the end of it as long as she lived. And, seeing as she was the daughter of two near-immortal races, that could be a very long time indeed.
The first three would be easiest. Maerosi's was long and chatty, telling the newly appointed eisadael about her various Interests, new developments in her classes and of the rumors that Myrdaeraes wanted whispered about in the palace. Of course, Maerosi was never to know that the rumors came from the Spymaster. With a slightly bitter smile, Tylia sealed the envelope. She didn't like using Maerosi, as useful as the much older Jhondraelaer might be.
The written reply to Myrdaeraes was brief and formal. She told him everything she could, things that she had heard of from Maerosi or her parents, things that he would want to hear. She thanked him for his information, sent him her love and signed the letter 'With strength and love, Tylandraes.' Myrdaeraes would know that she was doing what she could.
For Vlosorbb, she wrote in copper as he had written in silver. She used a special Pasaer-made pen that melted and froze the copper almost simultaneously. She wrote asking Vlosorbb to pass her best wishes on to their Matriarch and her thanks to Her Ladyship and again signed in a manner that told him that she would try to help.
But it was the return letter to Theodore Lupin that she had been anticipating most. This relationship should get very interesting, very fast. Before she began the reply, she scanned the two pages covered in Aelael scripts, her eyes widening as she read. How had he come by these words?
She began to write, admiring her own handwriting after paying attention to the scripts of others. Hers was small and clear, with plenty of flourishes. She liked making her letters look nice.
'Theodore.
You are forgiven. I give you credit for being polite, as well. Some humans have not even that much common sense. Please, call me 'Tylia,' almost everyone does. Your letter is welcome; it intrigues me that you should have heard of Jhondraelaer or Pasaelaer—it surprises me that you should spell them both so accurately.
As for the 'hawk,' she calls herself Korthus and she is what Jhondraelaer call a sholol, a 'wingfriend,' in English. She is highly intelligent, and was pleased with the snack. I thank you for being so kind to her and it speaks well of you that you knew her to be intelligent; so many two-leggers are not now so wise. She says that you are welcome.
Albus Potter mentioned you to me. From what little he said, I take it that you study magical cultures or some such; he assumed that you would know of me and seemed quite astonished that you did not. How did you first hear of my two peoples?
The translations to your scripts—which were very well scribed, for a human—are simple for me and yet involve complications. The first three state the names of weapons and also the names of their original owners. The complication comes when it is realized that these three weapons are considered 'lost' by their cultures, as they have not been seen in well over two millennia. Where did you find them? They were lost at the beginning of the Aelael War. In any case, the final script is from a music box that was also lost a good deal of time ago, which once belonged to my father's family.
The return of these items would be greatly appreciated, if you would care to part with them. The action—a human giving back freely a lost treasure of their peoples—would also go a long way toward assuaging the mistrust between our three kindreds.
Friends.
Tylandraes Windguard Zauval'
A rather long letter to say very little, Petrius commented dryly.
"Do you realize what this human has?" Tylia demanded, looking up at the large feline. He yawned, evidently uninterested. "The sword he has belonged to the Lady who was martyred during the War. The knife and bow and quiver belong to the Jhondraelael Royal Family and were lost when the Crown Prince was killed in the second battle of the War. The music box should, by all rights, be in the hands of my Grandmama, Thaeraekaes' wife. The sword belonged to one of the Ladies at the beginning of the War."
A further yawn proved his supreme disinterest in such petty, two-legger matters.
Humanoids get so caught up in matters of the past, Petrius commented as she sealed the envelopes and addressed them carefully and clearly. Why can you all not live in the present?
"If we did not learn from the past, we would have no future," Tylia replied earnestly, putting the letters into her school back until such time as she saw Korthus again. Knowing the sholol, it might be anywhere from an hour to a week.
Forget the future, Petrius suggested. Tylia glanced at him, startled to hear the gravity in his mind-voice. His scarlet gaze was steady and deadly serious. Forget the past. Live in the present with no fears, no worries, no anxiety at all.
"With no interests, no cares, no love, no passion," added the shocked hybrid. "What an utterly dull existence that would be for me! I get bored far too easily for that!"
This is true, chuckled the pa'das, sounding thoroughly amused.
"Were you testing me?" Tylia demanded suddenly, the barest of accusations creeping into her voice.
Of course not, Petrius replied, a chuckle still rolling through his voice. I was entirely serious. However, I am also aware that that type of life rarely appeals to two-leggers.
"Bloody hell," Tylia muttered, sounding not unlike the British students at Hogwarts.
And who's hell would that be? Petrius inquired quickly, his voice light, innocent and curious. Certainly not a Pasaelaer's.
"Hush, you!" Tylia rose from her bed and grabbed her school bag and headed off to the library. She had four essays due next week, plus one due in less than two weeks, and none of them were finished.
She spent the entirety of the morning in the library working alternately on an essay for Alchemy and one for her Potions class. It was two weeks until the end of term and the Christmas Holidays that her human companions loved so much. Tylia, in contrast, had no fun and interesting holiday to occupy her time during the two-week break. She might, just might be able to convince her parents to send her to visit Myrdaeraes and Vlosorbb. Hopefully she'd be able to take a friend or three with her. Scorpius in particular crossed her mind when she thought of that.
Jallil had assigned two essays: the one due Monday was to cover the history of the Alchemist's Alphabet, the one due on the last day of term was on the two key rules of Alchemy and their importance. The Potions essay, also due Monday, was on Felix Felicitous (which they would not be making in class, more was the pity). The other two papers due that week were for Charms (on counter spells) and Ancient Runes (on the definitions Muggles had for Draconic runes, also known as Anglo-Saxon Runes).
For lunch, she returned to the Dining Hall and ate with Eileen, Raoul and their group. When Karla and Beka sneered at her on their way to sit down, Tylia smiled at them and bade them good day. Raoul laughed heartily at the looks of shock that covered their faces.
After lunch, she returned to the library, where she had left her bag in the dubious care of the Library, Madame Pince. No sooner had Tylia sat down again than the thin, scarecrowish woman came stalking over to her, something silvery-blue clutched in her hand.
"Come with me, Miss," Pince hissed quietly, waving the item under the Orondralas' nose. Tylia was startled to realize that it was Korthus, a note still clutched in her beak.
"Madame Pince—" Tylia began, trying to catch the bird or the woman's wrist, so that she might free Korthus.
"Silence!" hissed the blue-eyed woman, latching onto Tylia's own wrist with her free hand. Tylia found herself being hauled into an office at the back of the library. Madame Pince shut the door quietly and placed Korthus roughly on the desk. Tylia instantly started to examine the hawklike creature to make sure she hadn't been harmed, sparing but a moment to glare at the Librarian.
After a moment, she pulled out her wand—Madame Pince glowered but said nothing, evidently aware that Tylia wouldn't catch a word of anything that was said before the sholol's health was assured—and murmured the counter spell to the Freezing Charm the Librarian had used.
Korthus let out a shriek of furious sound and launched herself at Madame Pince, who flinched at the sound and shrank away from the sholol's slashing claws. The magical bird landed one swipe—three long scratches—before Tylia could call her off.
"Korthus, stop that!" When Korthus ignored her, she put a little more force into the command. "Kori, get yourself gone! I'll deal with this cestal."
Korthus shrieked once more, but flew out the open window. Tylia, ignoring the Librarian's protest, grabbed the woman's arm and yanked the sleeve back to bare the three deep talon marks. With a sigh, Tylia pointed her wand at them and muttered a spell.
"That stings!" Madame Pince yelped, finally managing to yank her harm out of the Orondralas' stronger grip.
"It was supposed to," Tylia replied in an exasperated tone before muttering another spell. "I had to clean the wounds before I healed them, didn't I? No telling what the last thing Korthus had in her claws was."
Startled by Tylia's matter-of-fact answer, Madame Pince glanced down at her arm, where the three scratches were rapidly healing. She looked slightly mollified.
"What is that you called me? 'Cess-tall?'" the Librarian asked suspiciously.
"Pronunciation's not bad, for a cestal," Tylia commented, putting faint stress on the word. "It just means 'human.'"
"Oh." The Librarian's previous glaring anger soon returned in full. "That creature—"
"Her name is Korthus," Tylia interrupted coldly, earning a glare from Madame Pince. "And she is a sholol, not a 'creature.'"
"—was flitting about that table you left littered with your things," the older woman continued almost without pause. "And cawing at the top of her lungs. That filthy animal was disrupting my library!"
"If you had told her to hush, she would have," Tylia replied tiredly. "She was just trying to find me. She had a note for me. See, there it is."
Tylia scooped up the small piece of paper before Madame Pince could.
"And she doesn't realize that she's supposed to be quiet here. She'll know better from now on," added the hybrid as she turned to leave.
"Ms. Windguard." Tylia froze, her hand on the office door, but she did not turn around to face Madame Pince. "You are a powerful witch, Windguard. Do not deny the Wizarding World your abilities simply because you are not human. You obviously have talents that your people normally do not possess—let us teach you to use them, and use them well."
Tylia returned to her table, wondering where the hell that last had come from and opened the note.
'Tylia—
Yeh'll come down to me cabin this afternoon, won't yeh? I told yeh I had sommat to show yeh. Bring yer friends if yeh must, but only those as yeh can trust, OK?
—Hagrid'
Kori, c'mere. And be quiet! Tylia called with her mind, visualizing the sholol as she sent the thought out. You, too, Petrius.
Both of her companions arrived ten minutes later, as Tylia was working on her Ancient Runes essay. Korthus muttered in soft clicks and screels as she landed on the back of a chair, cursing the idiot human who had had the nerve to treat her like one of her common cousins. Petrius slouched up and jumped onto the table, careful not to touch any of her papers or books. Glancing up, Tylia caught sight of Madame Pince glaring in their direction.
"Korthus, I'm sorry about her," Tylia told the sholol with a smile as she fished a small cube of raw meat out of a special belt-pouch. Korthus accepted it soundlessly. "She's just worried about her books, she doesn't mean anything by it. She doesn't understand that you're as smart or smarter than most of the cestal she has to put up with."
Korthus muttered a further soft curse and Tylia laughed soundlessly. Sholol had long memories and did not often forget an insult. Tylia scratched an answer to Hagrid—"I'll be there on time and two others with me, maybe, Tylia"—and handed the note to Korthus.
"For Hagrid, please." The hawkish bird took the small piece of paper in her beak as Tylia tied the four letters to her leg. "For the usual, plus Theodore."
Korthus nodded and sailed out of an open window as Petrius meowed loudly. Several heads snapped around at the sound and several people scattered at the sight of the large feline.
"Keep him quiet!" the Librarian snarled softly, stalking up to the table. She jumped and scurried away when Petrius' red eyes came to bear on her.
What did you need to see me for? Petrius inquired idly, following Madame Pince with his eyes. There was a note of slightly vindictive pleasure in his voice; he was very fond of Korthus, and didn't like that Madame Pince had abused her so.
"I need you to find Eileen and Raoul," Tylia replied, petting him gently. "Ask them to meet me at Hagrid's at about two this afternoon. Or send them to me here. I'll be here until then."
I shall do as you ask, the large feline replied, dipping his large head before rising and jumping to the floor. Tylia watched as he left, chuckling as he sauntered over to Madame Pince and gave his most polite, innocent meow.
"That animal is not to come into my Library ever again," Madame Pince informed the hybrid as soon as Petrius was out of sight.
"His name is Petrius," Tylia replied with a sigh. "And he was only being polite. Besides, you act as though I can control him. I can't, you know. He goes where he wishes."
"Excuse me?" the Librarian sputtered.
"The first meow was a hello, the second a goodbye," Tylia explained, starting to rearrange her essays so that she could work on a different one. "He could have said it outright, but most people freak out a little the first time a telepathic panther starts talking to them."
Tylia didn't see the Librarian stalk away, but she did hear someone come up behind her. It took all her will to fight the battle training that Jallil had beaten into her; the training that demanded that she turn to face this newest threat.
"Good afternoon," she said calmly instead. An arm, covered in a black sleeve trimmed with emerald green reached over her shoulder and tossed three round metal pieces onto her Ancient Runes essay.
"What are these?" Scorpius demanded as Tylia picked up the talismans, shaking her head slightly.
"Just what Albus was supposed to tell you they were," Tylia replied, finally turning to look at him. He didn't seem angry, just disconcerted. "A gift, from one culture-lover to another."
"Why?" Scorpius' gray eyes were steely, determined, but also a little confused. "And what do they mean? Surely they mean something."
"Indeed they do," Tylia replied easily. "Nice to meet you finally, Scorpius. My name is Tylandraes, by the way. Call me Tylia, everyone does. The 'why' is easy: you said that you were fond of magical cultures. Two of these are from my two cultures. The third is of my own creation."
"Nice to meet you, Tylandraes," Scorpius drawled wryly. He seemed to be vaguely amused by the Orondralas' rambling speech. "My name is Scorpius Malfoy, though you seem to know that well enough."
"I do know," Tylia admitted, suppressing the urge to make a face when he called her by her full name. She had heard that Scorpius Malfoy had a penchant for formality. She kept her eyes steadily on him as he sank carefully into a chair next to hers. From the way he lowered himself gingerly into place, she might have thought that he expected it to explode.
"Alright, all formalities aside," Scorpius continued, leaning forward so that he could see her the better. "You only answered one of my questions."
"Actually, I answered two of three," Tylia corrected automatically. Without looking away from the Slytherin, she plucked one of the talismans off of the table beside her. She knew instantly which one it was: made of Elven-silver1, it was the Jhondraelael talisman. "This one is from my father's side. The script is more flowing and much more elegant. The symbols represent good luck, and are said to attract it."
"And what makes you think I need good luck?" Scorpius inquired indignantly, bolting stiffly upright in his chair.
"Would you rather I made you a bad-luck talisman?" Tylia demanded in turn, smiling slightly. "Not hard, with Pasaelael symbols."
Scorpius said nothing, but accepted the talisman when she offered it to him. Plucking a second talisman from the table, she continued.
"Everyone can use a bit of good luck." The talisman she now held was made from black-gold2, a strictly Pasaelael alloy of gold and iron. "This one is from my mother's culture. The symbols are more vivid and violent seeming. They stand for protection from magical harm."
"Very nice," he murmured, accepting the talisman without complaint this time. Which left only the copper pendant, the hybrid. "And that one?"
"A hybrid, not unlike myself," Tylia shrugged, allowing her eyes to wander between the pendant and the young man, as she wondered how he would react to this final gift. "It incorporates both Jhondraelael and Pasaelael symbols, which blend at the two dividing lines. It is meant to be a ward against the bad luck of past misdeeds."
"I beg your pardon?" His voice was soft this time, but no less indignant.
"Misdeeds of the family," Tylia amended obediently at the Slytherin's outrage. Scorpius' storm-gray eyes flashed as though lit from inside by lightning and then settled again.
"Thank you," was all the young man said as he took the third talisman and walked off without another word.
He looked very pensive, and she noted that he pulled a string from his pocket, slipped it through the chain-hole in the copper pendant, and tied it around his neck. The Pasaelael talisman he slipped into his left pocket, the Jhondraelael he put in his right. Tylia raised her eyebrows in interest; it seemed that the quiet young man had a notion—conscious or not—of how to balance magical energies. Shaking her head bemusedly, she went back to her essays.
1Called 'molaes' by the Jhondraelaer and 'elghinn'drostan' by the Pasaelaer, Elf-silver is of Jhondraelael making and has many magical properties. These include giving off light at the approach of 'evil' races (Pasaelaer, driders, orcs, etc.) and improving the bearer's natural luck.
2Called 'renor plak'la' by the Pasaelaer and 'shalyr' by the Jhondraelaer, black gold is a substance engineered by the Pasaelaer. It is a magical mixture of gold and iron. Black-gold has many unique properties which include being harder than ordinary iron and more malleable—for certain people—than ordinary gold.