Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (24 page)

Andulmaion stood abruptly. “I have work I must do. Please excuse me.” He strode into the workroom, throwing up protective shields behind him to close the room off from the rest of the tower.

Analindë stared at the closed door where Andulmaion had disappeared; confusion and sadness swamped her. She sat alone, in newfound sorrow, as eddies of worry grew within her until they churned. She turned forward again to stare unseeing out of the window in front of her.

Why, oh why, did she continually forget that she was alone. There was no one else with whom to shoulder the way forward. She thought of the metaphorical path she trod in life, of her unsure footing, of the sensation that the ground was caving out from under her. The ferocity of the deluge, that battled against her as she pushed her way along had grown. She stood and paced, pushing her worries to the side. Fall down the cliff? Or fly? Fall or fly? . . . Fly. She would fly.

So she retreated to her room and practiced each new shield she had learned, incorporating the lessons from Master Therin and Andulmaion, forcing herself to be quicker, react faster, until the patterns in the weaves became part of her and required but a single thought.

Erulissé was barred from the tower and was not permitted to return again; at least that’s what Analindë decided when she didn’t hear from her friend again. Her tale-telling must have been discovered and Analindë wondered how they’d been found out.

During the next couple of days, Master Therin continued to meet with the High Mages, and Analindë and Andulmaion worked without him on different types of shields. The two apprentices had reached a sort of amiableness in their interactions. And although Andulmaion did not stint on the amount of tutoring he gave her, there was still a reticence about him. Her newfound strength and power became more comfortable and settled as time passed. Analindë quickly grasped the concepts he taught her. Between her lessons and the books she studied, there was so much knowledge stuffed into her head that her dreams remained troubled. They were filled with barren stone-walled cells that she couldn’t break out of, and Human wizards attacking her as her shields failed one after another.

The third night after Erulissé’s visit, the dreams about her family began. They weren’t fluffy dreams about happy memories and enjoyable days, but of brutal pain, suffering, and deprivation. Her mother, father, and brother looked haggard and worried. The dreams were not pleasant.

Determined to get help, she’d stalked Master Therin for two days. Despite her persistence, he’d managed to elude her. But he was coming up the tower steps right now. Learning from past experience, she slipped out of her room and into the entry hall in order to corner him. She felt awkward for simply awaiting his arrival, so she started rummaging through a smallish stack of books on the entryway table as a pretext for being where she was.

She was nervous; her hands felt clammy. Where to start? How to explain? The door opened behind her and she spun around.

“Oh, hello,” she said breathlessly.

“Analindë.” He glanced at the stack of books she’d been going through. “Have you yet eaten?” He moved to brush past her.

Dismay swamped her; he was going to get away. She reached out, clutched his sleeve, then promptly let it go. “Master Therin!” Her voice was shrill and she cringed when he turned around. His eyes were wary.

“Do you think my parents yet live?” The words rushed out of her, the foremost thought in her mind making its escape before all others. It was not how she’d planned to start the discussion.

“No, Analindë. I’m sorry, but I do not,” he replied.

“But, I’ve been thinking, that is to say, I’ve been having–”

“Analindë, dear child.” Analindë bristled at his words and tone. She was an adult. A sheltered adult, but an adult nonetheless. He reached out to grasp her hand. She let him pat it, her mind blank. All thoughts had fled except for the one that told her she’d ruined her chance and said the wrong thing. Started wrong. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say. How to make it right.

“Analindë, I know your parents’ death has been difficult, and that of your brother.”

“Yes, but–”

“But in time you will make peace with their passing.”

“That’s what I’d like to–”

He continued to speak over her. “Right now you must take time to mourn, but also to focus on other things.”

“Have you ever had disturbing dreams? Could they be vis–”

“It is common during periods of grief to have dark thoughts.”

“But they are–”

“I’m sorry Analindë, but it has been a long day; could we continue this discussion another time? Perhaps tomorrow?”

She paused and really looked at her mentor. He did appear tired. Haggard almost, and he rubbed at his temple as if in pain. She stepped back, “Yes, of course. I apologize for bothering you. Of course, the grief process is normal.” She watched the swoosh of Master Therin’s cloak as he quickly retreated deeper into the tower. It was as if he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough.

And so she was placated, but not quite so. Her thoughts were restless; questions remained unanswered, but she was resigned to her fate.

An opportunity to speak with Master Therin did not arise the next day nor the day after that. By the third day she’d given up, and by the fourth she’d dropped the matter altogether. By then she’d realized that she alone must muddle through her experiences, that there was limited help to see her along the path she traveled. Expectations adjusted, she fared better, or so she told herself.

The horrid dreams continued. Days slipped by quickly. The mornings after she dreamt of her parents Analindë pushed herself harder, practicing, reading and listening to everything Andulmaion—and on occasion Master Therin—had to say. Lingering fear haunted Analindë. Death had been so close; she could have died with her family. Would she be able to protect herself if the Human wizard found her again?

Several days later, after a particularly bad night filled with mutated shields gone awry and dreams about her mother, Andulmaion called a halt to their morning lesson. They’d been practicing shielding in the workroom. Analindë would form a shield and Andulmaion would break through it. She had just spectacularly failed at fending off one of his attacks and her arm was smarting where his mage bolt had zapped her. He knew she could hold him off longer, but hadn’t. Her work was off, and he knew it. She saw it clearly in the stars turning in his eyes whenever she got close enough to see.

“Analindë, are you well?”

“Yes. Please. Don’t stop.”

He frowned and moved out of his mage stance. Now that she thought about it, he’d been going easier on her today. She sighed. He looked thoughtful. “Something is driving you. Your eyes are haunted and you push yourself
too
hard. It took me
years
to learn and practice what you have mastered in the past two weeks. You must slow down.”

“I can’t–” she murmured.

“What?” He pulled his shoulders back, crossed his arms in front of him, one eyebrow quirked up. Analindë opened her mouth several times to tell him that it was none of his business how hard she worked, but couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

She looked away from him, eyes shaded, and said, “I can’t sleep.”

“Come, sit. Tell me about it. I’ll make tea.” His muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he leaned down to grab his jacket from the floor.

“No, I am fine. Let’s continue.”

“Analindë, you can’t continue like this. Come.”

Giving her no choice, Andulmaion strode out of the room. She took a deep breath, hoping that it would release some of the angst she felt, and then followed him to the sitting room. By the time she’d dragged herself into the room, tea was steeping and he was cutting up some fruit and cheese. Analindë sat down in a chair on the other side of the small table. Sunlight streamed through the windows, attempting to warm them.

When had winter arrived? A few leaves clung desperately to bare branches. The trees extended arms up into the frigid cold air toward the sun, seeking warmth they would not find. The ground was blanketed with snow.

Andulmaion handed her a plate of food: apples, fall berries, a wedge of cheese. She took a bite of apple, not noticing its sweet crispness as she ate. They sat in silence gazing out the window, each caught up in his or her own thoughts. Once in a while, between bites of food, she would glance his way. Questions swirled in his eyes.

Andulmaion poured the tea and handed a cup to Analindë. She held it, letting it warm her fingers. She inhaled the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and star anise. “Mid-winter tea. So much time has passed.”

“Time passes quickly when you need it the most,” he replied, and she wondered what he had wished to accomplish but hadn’t.

She perked up and said. “You were to have started your
tuvalië
this fall.”

“Yes.” He stared into his cup, then took a sip. “Master Therin believes it is a dangerous time to travel so he keeps me close. He says he needs me. First to watch over you whilst you were unable to keep watch yourself. Now to help teach you when there are other more capable teachers than I.”

“I–”

Andulmaion interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “But I know the real reason; he fears for my safety.” He swirled the tea in his cup, then brought it to his face to breathe its spicy fragrance before drinking. “The council does not yet know how one human wizard overcame three Mages. Of Lindënolwë no less. Until that question is answered, I will be kept here. Close. Where he can protect and keep watch over me. No matter that I’m the most advanced apprentice he’s had in about thirty years.

“It is not easy to send a nestling away from safety once its wings have grown. But in dangerous times it becomes impossible to do so for all but the hardest and strongest . . . and Master Therin is not numbered among the hard.” He drank the rest of his tea, then refilled both of their cups.

“However, I do not feel my time is misspent. I have found purpose in helping you learn.” A smile crossed his face so quickly had she not been watching she would have missed it. “And if I can in some way help you stand against the human wizard, should he search you out again, I will feel content with these past weeks.”

Once again they sat quietly while they each thought separate thoughts. This time the silence was more companionable; it reminded her of times before she’d found Mirëdell’s source. When they’d both been better friends, less estranged.

“I can’t sleep,” she divulged at last.

Andulmaion looked over at her, patiently waiting for her to continue. The stars moving in his eyes told her that he truly was content to listen, to help if he could.

“I can’t sleep. Each night I lay in bed petrified of what will come once I finally close my eyes. Each day terrifies me because of dreams that came the night before. I force myself to learn as much as I can, to prepare against the day the Human wizard starts tracking me again. That day haunts my thoughts, so that I dream of defending myself with shields all night.” She grinned wryly. “It is not a restful sleep. Some nights are different, but worse. I dream of my family. They are worried; sometimes they sit calmly, a lingering malice waits just out of sight. Occasionally, I see my mother pacing back and forth in a dark confined space, as if she would search me out if she could, but can’t.”

“Last night you dreamt of your family?”

“Yes, mostly of my mother. . . . She looks worried.” The dreams were silly, and yet were not. She shyly looked up to see what he thought of her. He’d shifted forward; concern swirled in his eyes and his posture was protective.

“Perhaps she looks down on you from the stars and worries that you are not happy.”

“Yes, that must be it.” No, that wasn’t it. She glanced away and blinked back tears. She tried to take a sip of tea, but her hand shook. Her cup clattered against its saucer when she set it back down.

Andulmaion steepled his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. He became lost in thought. His face shuttered once again; she could read nothing from it, although she tried. She started to turn away from him, but he looked up at her suddenly, eyes alight, and she hesitated.

“There is something you can drink before you go to sleep. It is not wise to use it for long periods of time, but in this case it might ease you in the transition you make. It will help you sleep in a place where dreams can’t come.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Relief fluttered inside her for the first time in days.

“I’ll send a message to the healers; they’ll send some to us.” He nodded to himself.

“Andulmaion, could we go there ourselves? I’m so tired of these walls; they’re closing in. Pressing. Today is worse than usual.”

“I suppose it’s safe, and it would be good to move about. Let’s practice along the way.” He stood and extended a hand to help her up. “If you can, tell me who else, if anyone, is in the tower, and which floors they’re on.”

They walked to the door and Analindë stretched her senses out, “I can’t reach very far.”

“Just tell me what you can; that’ll be enough,” he said.