Домагой Курмаич - Mother of Learning

Still, the aranea he had met never gave any indication of knowing any magic beyond the mind-based one, so maybe this group specialized in the field or something. Having a way to deal with their mind affecting abilities was certainly a must before going off to confront them. One of the books also suggested aranea were vulnerable to light-based attacks, being nocturnal in nature and lacking eyelids. It sounded plausible to Zorian, and he was pretty sure his spell formula skills were sufficient to cobble together some flash grenades. A few more general defensive measures and he should be set. Well, as set as a mage of his own caliber and resources could possibly be – it wasn’t much, but it would hopefully buy him enough time to flee if things turned sour.

The other thing he was trying to puzzle out was the matriarch’s claim that he was an empath. The idea seemed so wrong to him. The stories he’d heard about empaths painted an image of a compassionate, sociable person possessing great wisdom, respect for tradition, and lots of friends. Zorian didn’t really fit this mold. Did that prove anything, though? Empaths were so rare – among humans, at any rate – that any sort of fact about them was suspect. As strange as it may sound, he rated the opinion of a giant telepathic spider higher than those of human authors. If he really was an empath, however, why didn’t he… well, know it? You’d think the ability to sense other people’s emotions would be very obvious. He supposed it was possible that his abilities were too weak and erratic to manifest themselves in an unambiguous fashion. Which raised the question - how to discern the truth, then?

Fortunately, empathy wasn’t a particularly sensitive topic so nothing stopped him from asking Ilsa or other teachers for help and information. Before he did that, however, he decided to try looking for help closer to home. He had noticed their landlord had an interest in esoteric branches of magic, even though she wasn’t a mage herself. She had enough books in her house to stock a small library. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, he supposed, and Imaya was a lot more approachable than anyone else he could reach.

He approached her while she was washing the dishes one evening.

"Miss Kuroshka, could you spare a minute?" he asked. "I’d like to talk to you about something."

"I told you to call me Imaya," she said, halting her task long enough to give him a mild glare. "And of course I can talk to you, but I have to finish this first. Pull up a chair and wait till I’m done."

Instead of doing that, however, Zorian moved to help her with her task. She’d be done quicker with him helping her out, and it was a cheap way to score some points with her before asking for help. She seemed momentarily surprised by his gesture, but recovered her composure quickly and continued on as if his action was totally expected.

Once they were done, Imaya sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for Zorian to join her.

"So…" she began. "What exactly is weighing so heavily on the mind of my grumpiest tenant that he would come to me for counsel? The way you’ve been avoiding me this whole time, I almost thought you hated me."

"I don’t hate you, miss K… uh, Imaya," finished Zorian, correcting himself after seeing her cross look. "I’ve just been pretty busy, that’s all. Kirielle kind of monopolizes all of my free time here."

"She is quite a handful, isn’t she?" Imaya said speculatively. "Still, I can’t see what a busy boy like you would want from me. You aren’t trying to seduce me, are you?"

"What!? No!" sputtered Zorian. She was at least twice Zorian’s age, for heaven’s sake! "I am not-"

He stopped himself when he saw the barely restrained mirth emanating from Imaya.

"Very funny, Miss Kuroshka ," he deadpanned, deliberately not calling her Imaya to spite her. "Very, very funny…"

"It was from my perspective," Imaya said, laughter dancing in her voice. "But I can see you don’t take jokes at your expense too well, so let’s just move onto the reason you sought me out."

"Well…" started Zorian, pointedly ignoring her remark about him being too sensitive about jokes. "It’s actually magic related. I noticed you have a lot of books about esoteric magic in your home."

"It’s a hobby of mine," Imaya said. "I always did have an interest in magic, especially the rare kind. I even went to a mage academy as a teenager, much like you did. That’s how I met Ilsa, actually – we were classmates back then. But… that was a long time ago."

Zorian nodded, accepting her last statement for what it was – a request not to pursue that topic further. He was fine with that.

"So I assume you read all these books then?" he asked.

"Each and every one of them," she confirmed.

"Did any of them perhaps relate to empathy?" Zorian asked. "Specifically, how can you tell if you’re an empath yourself?"

"I did read something about that topic, though I don’t have the book in question here with me." She gave him a curious look. "Why? Fancy yourself an empath?"

"Well… maybe," admitted Zorian. "I mean, it doesn’t sound very likely to me , but I met an actual empath recently, and she seemed sure I was one too. So I don’t feel comfortable with just dismissing the possibility."

"Hmm," Imaya hummed. "And why do you think it’s so unlikely if you’ve been told that you’re one by another empath?"

"Shouldn’t empathy be pretty obvious to the one who has it?" Zorian asked. "Well it’s not obvious to me. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything that would indicate I am one."

"Nothing?" Imaya asked curiously. "I find that hard to believe – the indicators of being an empath are so common and mundane that false positives tend to be a major problem. In fact, a lot of experts insist that there is nothing supernatural about empaths – that some people are simply a lot better at reading people’s body language and environmental cues than most of humanity. It’s far more likely that you’re just ignoring the signs. For instance, can you honestly say that you’ve never had an instinctive feel about a person you just met?"

"Well no, I can’t say that," Zorian admitted. "I get feelings like that all the time. That isn’t anything unusual, though."

"It might be," Imaya said. "Just how often do you get such hunches and how reliable are they overall?"

"I…" Zorian hesitated. "I get those feelings pretty much every time I talk to someone. They tend to be pretty accurate from what I can tell. Why? Is that so unusual?"

Imaya gave him a speculative look. "A bit, yes. Every time you talk to someone, you say? How about random strangers minding their own business? Do you get these… feelings about them too?"

"Uh, sometimes?" admitted Zorian, shifting nervously in his seat. "Some people have really intense personalities, you know? You can pick them out of a crowd from the other side of the room without even trying."

"Interesting. How about groups of people? Can you make a spot judgment about the mood of a group without speaking to anyone?"

"Well, no," said Zorian. "Frankly, the pressure crowds out all other sensations when I’m in a large enough group. If I’m subjected to it long enough, I lose even the ability to make judgments about individuals, much less the group as a whole."

"The pressure?" Imaya asked, giving him a baffled look.

"It’s a… ah, a personal problem," fumbled Zorian. "Every time I enter a big enough crowd, I feel this weird mental pressure that gives me a headache if I stay inside long enough."

Zorian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated telling people about the pressure thing, since most people immediately assumed he was either delusional or making things up. His family, for instance, had never believed him when he tried to describe the phenomenon to them as a child, believing instead that he was making things up so he wouldn’t have to follow them to their various social events. Eventually they grew tired of his claims and threatened to send him to a madhouse if he didn’t admit he was lying, so he never brought the issue up again.