Maggie Furey - Aurian

“Is something wrong?” Aurian asked.

“Naught to worry about.” Meiriel shrugged dismissively. “Only an ignorant Mortal making a pest of himself down at the gate. Because we have powers, they think our sole purpose in life is to run around helping them\”

Aurian frowned. Any talk of Mortals reminded her painfully of Forral—but then everything seemed to remind her of the swordsman. She clenched her fists, willing the tears not to gather in her eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to help them?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

The Healer sat down on the edge of her bed. “Here at the Academy, Aurian, you’ll learn that it’s simply not done to waste your powers on those stupid, whining Mortals. Now, we’ve had a long journey, and you need to rest. Can I get you something to help you sleep?”

“Yes, please, Meiriel.” Anything was better than lying awake thinking.

Trying not to grimace, Aurian finished the potion that the Healer had brought her as quickly as possible. Although it was sticky and tasted vile, she preferred it to Meiriel’s Sleep-magic, which was most unnerving. No time seemed to pass while she was under the spell—she only closed her eyes for a second, it seemed—and when she opened them, hours had been lost. Luckily, she thought, the Healer had been understanding about her fears. Having been dragged, unwilling, away from her home to this ^iew and frightening place, Aurian was pitifully grateful even for Meiriel’s brusque, no-nonsense kindness. Fighting back her tears, she snuggled ^Jpwn beneath the quilt, hoping that for once she would fall asleep before her mind could start dwelling on the catastrophe that had overtaken her life.

It had taken the Healer several weeks to repair Aurian’s damaged shoulder, but she couldn’t remember anything of those first days, when Meiriel had labored endlessly with Healing-magic to save her arm. She had pieced together fragments of shattered bone with painstaking skill, and repaired the severed muscles. Meiriel had then used her powers to accelerate the body’s natural healing, a process which sapped a great deal of the patient’s own resources and left her in a deep sleep for several days while her body recovered its energies. When Aurian finally awoke, the wound had closed and was mending fast, though her arm was still stiff, feeble, and sore. Naturally, she had wanted Forral. At first her mother kept putting her off, but in the end, on Meiriel’s advice, she had relented, and given Aurian the letter. By now she knew every terrible word by heart:

“Aurian love, I’m sorry I can’t be here when you wake, but if I stayed to say goodbye, I would never be able to go. I don’t know if I can explain so that you’ll understand, but I’ll try. Don’t blame your mother—she didn’t send me away this time. I’m leaving because I am horrified at what I did to you, I had no right to expose you to such risks. The Lady Meiriel says you’ll be all right and have full use of your arm again, and I only thank the Gods I didn’t kilLyou outright. As it is, I can never forgive myself.

“I had to tell your mother why we started with your sword training, but don’t worry—she’s not angry, unless it’s with me for not telling her sooner. Anyway, she and the Healer want you to go away to the Academy at Nexis to be trained properly, which is only right, because you are a Mage after all. I thought about going back with you and joining the Garrison again so that we could see each other, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. You need to settle down with your own kind and learn to use your gifts, and I would only be in the way. So I’m going away soldiering again.

“Aurian, please forgive me for leaving you like this. It breaks my heart, but it’s for the best, truly. Please don’t forget me, as I’ll never forget you. And never doubt that someday we’ll meet again. I’ll think of you always. All my love, Forral.”

The following weeks had passed in a blur of misery. Nothing mattered now that Forral had gone. Had she been wrong about the swordsman? If he had truly loved her, how could he have left her like this? Aurian, numb and aching inside, had simply done what her mother and the Healer told her, and gradually her body recovered sufficiently for her to make the journey back to Nexis with Meiriel. But even the sight of so much unfamiliar new country had failed to lift her spirits. The weather, unremittingly cold and bleak, was a perfect match for her mood as they rode: first over wild and snowy moors, and then, once they had reached the great road that led to the lower country, through tame and tended farmland and forest. All this was lost on Aurian, however. She was barely aware of her surroundings, let alone the import of the journey she was making.

It had taken the city to bring Aurian sharply out of her self-pity. After spending almost all her life in the solitude of her mother’s isolated Valley, Nexis, with its looming buildings and hordes of people, had terrified her. Everything was so big, noisy, and crowded that she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t known that there were so many people in the world! Meiriel, in her own brisk way, had been sympathetic. “Brace up, child,” she had said. “Don’t panic, they won’t hurt you! Take deep breaths, and stay close to me. It’s a lot more peaceful at the Academy, and you’ll get used to the city in time.”

Aurian doubted that she would ever get used to the city or the Academy, Meiriel’s pristine infirmary was very different from the familiar clutter of her mother’s tower, and since everything was so alien to her, she lived in constant fear of doing or saying something wrong. She longed for the sanctuary of her own room, and the strong, comforting presence of Forral.

To bolster her faltering courage, Aurian clung tightly to the hard, slender shape of her sword. She slept with the sheathed blade every night, for it was all she had left of Forral.

As soon as she had recovered sufficiently from her injury to walk, she had gone to the clearing where they had spent so many happy hours in practice. Her precious sword lay untouched on the ground where it had fallen. Its leather scabbard was already stiff and starting to discolor, its blade spotted with rust. Shaking with sobs, Aurian had gathered it up carefully and taken it home. She spent hours cleaning and oiling both blade and scabbard with the greatest care, pausing often to wipe off the tears that threatened to mar her work. And despite the objections of Meiriel and her mother, she had refused to be parted from it, reacting so violently to the very suggestion that they had relented and allowed her to keep it. Holding tightly to the sword, Aurian cried herself to sleep, as she had done every night since Forral had gone away.

In her quarters, Meiriel listened to the soft sounds of weeping, regretting that it had been necessary to wrench the child away from home like this. When silence fell at last, she crept to Aurian’s bedside to assure herself that she was truly asleep. Then calling a servant to watch her charge, she flung a cloak around her shoulders and set off across the frost-silvered courtyard to the Mages’ Tower. A red light burning high in the crimson-draped windows of the uppermost floor showed that the Archmage was in residence.

“How goes it with the child, Meiriel?” The Archmage, like all his kind, was very tall. With his long, silvery hair and beard, his bony hooked nose, his dark, burning eyes and haughty demeanor, he looked the very epitome of the most powerful Mage in the world. His scarlet robes swept the richly carpeted floor as he crossed the room to pour Meiriel a goblet of wine.

As Meiriel took a seat, the Healer saw the slim, silver-clad figure of Eliseth sitting in the shadows by the window, and frowned. She neither liked nor trusted the scheming, ice-cool Weather-Mage. “I thought this was to be a private meeting,” she objected.