Proceed to Chapter 6
“Wake up, Lyss,” a voice called through the fog of a dream. Lyss rolled away and pulled the bedsheets over her head, muttering, “No, Mistress Minn, not this morning. Please just let me sleep.”
The voice grew more urgent. “Lyss, you’ve been away from the Borderlands for seven years. Wake up…it’s your final Master’s test today! There’s no time to lose.”
Lyss sat up with a jolt, her body slammed out of slumber, nerves humming. Today was her Healing Mastery, the last of her seven tests, and the hardest one of all. She had only until midnight to complete the task, and every moment was precious. Fumbling on her bedside table for her pass to walk the halls, a small, clear token carved of crystal and stamped with a mark that gave her permission to go where she pleased, she nearly knocked a glass of water off the table. Groaning, she looked around sleepily to ask her roommate, Ella, where it was, and saw only an empty bed, the sheets neatly made, Ella’s crutches gone. Wincing, she remembered what she had gotten herself into: healing the disease that clutched her friend’s body within its grasp, a feat that even Glenna had been unable to perform.
Ella and Lyss had been placed together three years before, after each had had an unsuccessful attempt at living with another roommate. They had become close friends almost instantly, Ella the perfect antidote to Lyss’s occasionally fiery temper, Lyss always willing to listen to Ella’s eager chatter. They complimented each other exactly, and, while they sometimes fought, such incidences were few and far between. During the time they shared the tiny room at the top of the tower on the rim of the Castle, Ella’s health had deteriorated rapidly. Within a year, she could walk only with crutches, and soon began to have difficulty supporting her body with her arms, as was necessary for them. It became commonplace to see one of the boys in her classes carrying her to meals, as the steps to the banquet hall were hard to maneuver; Lyss frequently teased her that she was milking her illness for all it was worth.
All the teachers tried to help Ella, but to no avail. They said that the disease that tortured her so drained them, as well, trying to pull away from them the magic they wielded to heal her with. Finally Queen Glenna attempted to cure her, but she arose after two hours soaked in sweat and white around the mouth, with the prognosis that it was hopeless: there was a curse upon Lyss’s roommate too strong to break. It was then, standing watching Ella’s face turn grey with fear at the Queen’s words that Lyss lost control, and screamed out in a voice that echoed through the Healing rooms that she swore to heal her friend, no matter what the cost.
And so now she faced the task today, with both her honour and her Mastery on the line, but all such petty concerns diminished at the thought that her friend’s life depended on her power and her knowledge. Lyss’s eyes watered, and she stiffened, forcing the thoughts out of her mind with a burst of willpower. She had not cried since the first time Mistress Minn had boxed her ears, and she would not, could not, give in. It was weakness, weakness on a day when she needed every ounce of her strength. Finally finding her token among the folds of her winter cloak, Lyss slipped on the light shift and loose, simple dress that she used in the Healers’ rooms, unbuttoning the detachable sleeves to leave her arms bare. Twisting her long blonde braid into a bun, she tied a kerchief around her head, and slipped her Healing bag into the pocket bound about her waist. With a last glance around her room to ascertain she hadn’t left anything behind, she opened the door and strode into the corridor, towards the Healers’ rooms.
An Apprentice silently opened the dark green-stained wooden door, stepping aside to let her pass. After a week of tests, Lyss was accustomed to the silence: except for the person who woke her each morning, none could speak to her until it was over. If she failed, she would be given a chance at an education or apprenticeship somewhere else, but she would never hear another word spoken to her in the Castle. Lyss thanked the Fates for the time she had spent locked alone in a tiny room at the orphanage, without the room to stand or lie down, for it had conditioned her to hardship and life without human companionship.
Ella lay with her eyes closed, face serene. With pain, Lyss scrutinized every detail of her, to remember as a focus when she battled the curse inside her friend. Ella’s long black eyelashes curled ever-so-slightly as they rested on her pale cheeks, and her light brown hair, cut to her shoulders to enable her to brush it by herself even when she was most ill, struggled to pull itself out of the pins that held it back from face. One of her hands was curled into a fist, hanging out over the edge of the cot, and the other was folded over her chest, fingers wrapped around the pendant that hung about her neck. Her pale lips, chapped from the gas that had sent her into sleep, were parted, and her breath whistled quietly between them as her chest rose and fell.
Whispering a silent prayer to the Queens, Laeleena drew the Elvin Star upon her chest. Breathing deeply and closing her eyes, she slowly, bit by bit, banished all thoughts from her mind, until all she knew was her breath…in and out…in and out… Searching for Ella within this wordless realm, Lyss found her, her soul burning the pale blue of the Lirit, the patron of music. Lyss shuddered as she saw how the pale blue flames were being consumed by the black fire of Death. Gathering her courage, Lyss moved towards the soul flame, towards her friend.
Death met her full force when she reached the tiny soul-fire. Lyss could taste it in the smoke that rose from the guttering flames, could smell it in the air, feel it in her bones. In each pale blue light, Lyss saw Ella, lying upon the cot in deep slumber, utterly trusting as Death ate away at her body. Another blue flicker went out, and was replaced by a black torch; another Ella disappeared forever, screaming soundlessly. Lyss echoed the reflections’ screams, her voice unheard in the void, her lips only moving, begging to be heard. “Leave her alone,” she tried to cry. “By the Seven Queens, leave her alone!” But no sound came from her throat, and the black flames burned on. And then, closing her eyes, Lyss leapt into the fire.
Darkness reached for her, but Lyss fought back, remembering light. A flame of death went out, and Lyss smiled, but only for an instant. In the closest black blaze, Lyss saw herself, a tiny child only, in manacles, begging for food of the mine guards. Reaching out her hands, the little Lyss pleaded a man for a bit of the porridge he slurped from his bowl. He laughed, and his laugh went on and on….
“No!” Lyss screamed, for sound, at least, resonated in the fire. Holding out her hands as she had on that day, this time she let a ball of magic every color of the Elvin Star grow within them. With a shriek, she let loose, consuming the flame and five others beside it. But the others only grew larger, reminding her of every torture she had endured, every taunt, every beating. She was a young girl in the Castle, and two Sun boys chased after her, pelting her with rocks, cutting her legs; a teacher humiliated her in front of her entire Spells class, forcing her to show them all how to perform a particularly difficult one that only she had mastered; her old roommate smeared paste all over her pillow, and they had to cut off her hair to free it from the sheets; it went on and on.
“No,” Lyss repeated, this time far softer. “No…it was not always like that.” She remembered laughing with Ella; spell games in the courtyards; the day the elves gave her the intricately carved silver ring as a token of friendship on the day she took as her birthday, the day she had come to the Castle; discussing arcane languages and herbs with Christophe; practicing swordfighting with Dara. And slowly, bit by bit, the black flames faded and disappeared, leaving only one behind. In it, a man cut a woman’s throat as she sat upon an opalescent throne, and he laughed.
“I am not Kaatiina, Sordack,” Lyss nearly choked on the poison of the prince’s name. “I am no Queen, no girl wishing to be the First. I am Lyss, nothing more, nothing less, and I shall prevail.” And with those words, she drew her wand from her Healer’s pack, and whispered a word. The blue flame consumed the black, and in the fire, Lyss saw the reflection of Ella smile. Then everything disappeared.
Lyss awoke to a spinning world. Closing her eyes, she opened them again and was rewarded by the stern, lined face of the head Healer, Arianna. The Healer lifted Lyss upwards into a seated position and handed her a steaming cup of tea. The sweet scent of restorative herbs and the bitter tang of camphor drifted towards the ceiling. Clutching the pewter mug, Lyss took a sip, then croaked weakly, “Ella..?” Arianna steadied the cup in Lyss’s hand, then said, “She’s fine; just a few cots down: we didn’t want either of you to wake up and see the other sound asleep and fear the worst.” Arianna’s mouth twitched, as close to a smile, Lyss supposed, as she ever came. “As far as my magic can tell, she’s well. You passed. Congratulations…StarMaster, though you aren’t officially one yet. Now, go to sleep. Whatever it was that you battled within poor Ella, it sapped both your strength and your power. You may be the most powerful mage ever to come out of ElvenHall, but you are still my patient, and I am still Head Healer.”
Lyss smiled weakly, accustomed to Arianna’s gruff bedside manner. The Healer gently took the still half-full mug from her hands. Helping Lyss to slip back down under the sheets, she let her no-nonsense manner slip for a moment and touched her cheek. Lyss’s eyes fluttered open at her touch, and she mouthed the words, “thank you,” before slipping into exhausted sleep.
The Elvin Star:
Prologue | 1
| 2 | 3 | 4
| 5 | 6 | 7
| 8 | 9 | 10
| 11
Short Stories:
For Robbie
Poems:
Wizard | White
Witch
©1999-2002 Lizbeth