Post by alphabloodscythe on Mar 13, 2006 23:17:01 GMT -5
This is one of my novels-in-progress. I hope it's okay to post. *Sweatdrop* Obviously is (C) by me, duh. So..here we go. I KNOW IT'S LONG. 
So sorry.
============
PROLOGUE
The Egyptian Mau
Slick silver paws pushed firmly into the snow drifts, steady even as the snow cascaded down into the gully. The silence was numbing, the flakes soft and large, in the wild White Wood north of Wynburi College. Out of the dark blue of evening its gooseberry green eyes seemed to hover above the blanketed and frozen earth. It paused a moment as the snowfall lessened. It stared over its shoulder, gaze arctic, and gave a gruff snort.
Those at Wynburi would pay.
Rucella Tang leaned against Aeris, the old ebon tree that was the heart of the White Wood. She closed her eyes and folded the black sorcerer’s hat over her eyebrows. Her hands felt like blocks of ice even in the clumsy gray gloves she wore. Behind her a crystal white werewolf boldly walked up behind her. He pushed his large black nose into her palm.
“Come, my lady, the time has arisen. The Mau waits.”
Rucella twitched her purple lips and tipped her hand. Dipping her hands into her trench coat pockets, the woman in high black stilettos kicked away the feet of snow that was gathering faster and faster around the intertwining roots of the tree. Soon her shelter would become obsolete.
“Rucella.”
The word was deep and none too kind, as if it was forcing humanity upon itself. Rucella lifted her chin and stared at him, dazed.
“By bloodoath, rise. There is no time.”
Gabriel, the child of the Moon, was right. He shifted, his hackles rising, his salmon tongue cupping his maw. Muscles rippling, his ears flickered back and forth.
“The hunters.”
Rucella adjusted her hat once more and stood, hands at her side.
“You know it’s no use.” Her arm slowly raised and placed her hand beneath her coat, touching her sticky side. She breathed in, slowly, and with a honeycomb smile, collapsed against the tree. Gabriel surged through the snow and caught her thin body in his. She gave a gasp of pain and her eyes rolled sickly.
“Gabriel,” she clutched his chin and gave him a delicate smile, “No V’Cyrus has waged a war such as you. But quick, now...don’t let me fade away.
Suddenly, a shout rendered the air thick with danger. Gabriel’s head snapped. Lurching through the snow bank, he tripped over the roots and fell head-first in the snow. His footing saved his life for above him he heard the sound of crackling fire striking Aeris. Coiling himself the werewolf hunched and leapt out of the snow bank, wildly thrashing through the great tides of snow. White, white...all he could see was white, then a flash of green. The Mau!
Its upper lip curled back as a low hiss issued from its fissure, his feline eyes nitid.
Give me the girl, he commanded with a low roar.
“The hunters, cat! They carry magic bullets for my marrow.”
Tint Van Gilles raised his body, sleek head as his claws kneaded frozen clods of dirt. Very well. I hunt them. Then you.
“Save your hairs, Tint. She shall be safe.”
Tint, who was gargantuan, being near the size of a leopard, leapt like molten silver down from the bank, snow shooting out from under his paws. He bent his nose to Rucella’s whitening face and nuzzled her graying lips. Anger shot like hot barbs around the regal feline’s heart and for an instant, in his eyes, the fires of the underworld flared. How dare he touch the sacred body of his mistress. A sibilant howl of rage exploded from his maw. Like a clap of thunder he stood up on his hind feet, tail lashing.
Gabriel jumped back, clasping the human against his breast, as the scent of magic flitted through the air.
She’s dead, Gabriel.
“What?” The scent of death rose into his nostrils, and below, in his palms, he felt the heat of her blood chill like the surroundings around them.
She’s dead. Drop her.
=====================================
Woo, okay, next bit.....
=====================================
Chapter One[/u]
The rain and snow had combined to make a slushy, gooey, flooded outdoors. The wind was blowing in all directions and those who sought to go out quickly found that their caps were constantly trying to escape from them. It was, in fact, very amusing to Gwyn Gilles, who sat slurping, or rather, sucking noisily, warm apple cider with a very bent cinnamon stick. Stirring the dry stick she curled a lock of pastel blue and platinum hair back up in her standard sorcerer’s hat. The first time she saw one of those bulky, black hats she wanted one and now that she had one, there was all the more reason to have her hair tucked defiantly beneath it.
Somewhere outside the glass window, some seven stories below, Professor Billstroke was walking at a dangerous clip which soon landed her in the snow. Gwyn would have giggled saved for the fact that Professor Billstroke, even with her strictness, was one of the few teachers Gwyn actually liked. And Billstroke actually returned the token of friendship, which was unusual for First-class students at Wynburi College. But what was more unusual was the fact that Gwyn only roomed with two other girls. Only the Fourth-class and higher students had earned the privilege of living by themselves or, if they choose, to live with two other students.
But then again, Gwyn was an exception and she knew it. And as she set down her tall glass and picked up the cinnamon stick, chewing on it softly, she crossed her legs and smiled. If she waited but a few more minutes, she checked her bat shaped watch, he would be coming.
Now, this wasn’t a he that she did despise by the name of Professor Wilks. He was a “gentleman” of his early thirties, and in the first two weeks of her first semester at Wynburi, the two had locked horns almost instantly. If Gwyn had a thesis, he was completely against it. If he had the answers, Gwyn was dead set against learning them. In fact, it was a literal bloodbath between the two–for the student did, in fact, know more than the teacher. But Gwyn refused to believe she could learn anything from his type.
And there he was, grimacing, no doubt, clutching his stark clothing against his learn, tall body against the wild elements. Gwyn bit fiercely on her cinnamon stick before pulling it out of her mouth, intent on gazing at her prey. Tapping the screen with the other side of the stick, she touched the window and without warning, toppled off the wooden stool as Wilks snapped his head up in her direction.
“Ow! I do say he’s rather good at that,” she said as a leopard-sized Egyptian Mau bonked its silvery head against her shoulder. She shook her head and stuck the stick back in her mouth, petting Tint. “Wouldn’t you like to get that nasty old professor?” she cooed at him.
You would, he replied smartly, his gooseberry green eyes mingled with laughter.
Gwyn cuffed him gently. “You’d do a better job.”
He’s not as plump as a mouse, the feline furrowed his brows in disgust and leaped up onto the white bed crumpled with sheets. You really are supposed to make this. House rules, he settled down to wash his spotted fur.
“Well,” Gwyn wobbled on her black stilettos as she got up, “I don’t suppose it would help if you got off, would it?”
No.
“That was a rhetorical question,” she replied, straightening her black trench coat and red tunic of the First-class students.
Suddenly, the first bell rang. Scrambling like an embarrassed doe, Gwyn shoved the cinnamon stick into the large cat’s mouth, exclaiming, “Finish off the cider, will you?”
Tripping about the room she swept up her black briefcase and two well worn, lambskin bound tomes, looking around hastily for anything else she might have forgotten. “Ink, pen, parchment...books...bed...BED!” The woman lurched towards the bed to where Tint lay smugly.
“Bed! Off!” she commanded but he wasn’t about to move. “Fine, if I get demerits, you get to do my duty.”
Without another word she ran, stumbling, towards the door, her briefcase swinging wildly. Pulling at the heavy iron ring, she pulled the door open and ran straight into Jack Arthur, who was expecting such an attack judging from the clattering inside her room.
“We’re going to be late.”
“I know, ya big oaf,” she said, as Jack steadied her and swiped up her fallen books. “So start running!”
Without another word she flew down the passageway, Jack at her heels.
By the time lunch had arrived, the looming fog had rolled in and she sat shoving crackers and pimento cheese spread into her mouth. In her other hand she was reading her textbook, crumbs falling every which way over the library table. It was a miracle she was getting away with eating, much less adding more and more evidence with each bite, no matter how minuscule the crumbs.
“Gwyn, you really should eat something healthier.”
“Like raw meat?”
Jack slipped into the bench beside her in their secluded area between the reference books on magical animals. In her hands he saw the book entitled, Land of the Werewolves and Where They Came From.
“Cooked for you, raw for me. Do you really have to study that?” he peered over his oval glasses and traced his fingers over a picture of a howling werewolf. He scratched his dark golden brown hair and frowned.
“Essay. Professor Evenhaff. 1,000 words, on parchment, ‘for we must improve our handwriting,’ for my class The History of the White Wood.”
“But the Wood no longer really exists,” he frowned, “At least, the White Wood I know.”
“Well, tell Evenhaff that. She states that more than 3,000 acres of the Wood still exist as well as the legendary tree Aeris.”
“The Wood began to die over thee hundred years ago. I don’t see how it could still have so many unknown acres with all the real estate and business district it is now.”
Gwyn laughed and shrugged, “Well, you know Evenhaff. She’s feels legends are a very profound part of one’s life.”
“Now,” Jack rolled back his shoulders, “I suggest you tuck away that lunch, my blue-eyed friend, before the head librarian catches you smuggling food in her clean library. And if you want that job, you really will tuck those away and come with me.” He leaned over to her, “Besides, I have hot chocolate.”
Gwyn calmly finished the next paragraph before twisting her cracker bag shut and clipping the lid on the plastic jar of cheese spread. Dumping them into her case, she brushed off the crackers and sprinkled them under the table, looking around to see if it was too noticeable. To her eyes, which didn’t see dirt very well, it seemed fashionable. But if Harliquen ever found out, she would be crossed off the list of investigating employees.
Although most students did not have a job, there were a few that were not supported by wealthy families. In fact, Gwyn Gilles was an orphan and held no daily substitute for cash not paid by the government. She had never received much spending money, seeing as her school expenses made the budget tighter than usual. And even if she was rich, she would have wanted more experience in the literary world.
“Pardon, but did you say chocolate?” she turned and gave him a winning smile. Over the past three weeks, ever since bumping into each other at class registration, though he was in Second-class, they had become easy friends.
“Did I?” he replied somewhat coyly. “Maybe I did for a price.”
“A price?” Gwyn cried out, startled, which caused people to glare in her direction. “Sorry,” she whispered, “What do you mean, price? Aren’t friends supposed to be priceless?”
Jack held his hands up in defense, “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”
She gave him a downright mock sinister stare. “Well?”
“If you become a librarian, draw me a map of these place. There’s too many secret levels to this place.”
Gwyn cupped her mouth and rolled her eyes.
“Of course. Now, chocolate?” she pleaded.
“What’s with the cinnamon stick?” Jack stared at Gwyn, who was biting the chocolate sopped thing to where it was becoming frayed.
“Are you suggesting I use the other end?”
“No, I’m suggesting a new stick.”
Gwyn began to unroll the one she had.
“That requires work. Besides, we’re supposed to be studying.”
The two had settled themselves in a study room in the astral tower, somewhere where students who really did wish to be alone could study without worry. After all, the cozy room was on the tenth floor and by the time you had reached it, your legs felt like they were distinctly part of someone else’s body. It was also warm here, and the clock fitted into the wall by the fireplace also helped because you couldn’t hear the bell this high up. Still, the stairs deterred most.
Jack unlocked the green hasp of his newest book, The Art of the Dead, with a grim face and began to read over the text.
The watchful hours of the afternoon continued in silence as the both of them returned to studying, the sound of their pens scratching filling the room Outside the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, its rays dispersing some of the early winter fog. Behind them the clock tolled four with its brazen voice, as if it was nudging the students to hurry up with their homework.
Gwyn rocked back in her padded purple chair, cracking her neck and stretching. Her muscles felt keenly aware of the fact they had been in that position too long. Gwyn also had to admit her sitter was almost sat out.
“How far are you?”
Jack looked up and mumbled, “What?”
“How far are you?” she repeated more clearly.
“Oh, just fine,” he sniffed and thumbed through the yellow pages and crouched lower, practically placing his nose into the folds of it.
“You would be learning anything, would you?”
“As we discussed earlier in this chapter, ghosts can be violent spirits but most are simply confused and/or having something helping them cling to life...”
“I asked ‘What have you learned?’ not ‘What have you read?’” Gwyn said almost sourly.
But Jack was engrossed in his book, not in his friend. With a scowl Gwyn turned her face towards the clock, scratching her forehead and then smiled at the realization it was only an hour until dinnertime. Blowing on her essay, which was almost completely finished, she gave a satisfied grunt of joy and let the smell of fresh ink slip up her nose. She pulled at the hem of her tunic, straightening the ripples that had accumulated over time. Rubbing her nose, the sorceress rolled up the parchment, selecting a simple brass ring to hold it together, and shoved her books in her case. Kissing the ring for luck she held it about her with elation.
Without another word to Jack, she walked out of the room with a good clip.
The stairwell was cool and the scratch of her heels against the blue stone comforting. Above her she could feel a slight draft that carried the metallic scent of rain. The soft hush and whoosh of her trench coat echoed somewhat eerily down the long, spiraling passageway. Gwyn lolled back her shoulders and pulled off her hat with its tall pointed leather top and placed her essay beneath her arm. Unpinning her hair, as a proper sorceress wouldn’t, she placed the hat back on her head.
It seemed strange to her, she thought, that Jack and she had become friends so quickly. After all, they didn’t have any similar background. Jack was a scholar for certain, always leering over books and finding time to further his education. Gwyn thought is was, indeed, odd that she should ponder this now, even after knowing how he was around his studies.
Below her, several floors later, a loud chortle reached her ears and a few moments later, his tail waving erratically, Tint bounded up the stairwell.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here!” Gwyn chided but to her amazement, Tint didn’t even seem to notice her. In fact, he bolted right passed her as if she were invisible. Gwyn whipped around and ran crazily up the stairwell, trying to forget about her aching legs. Groping for air, she bent over and wheezed in front of the study room door before, with a feeble hand, bringing down the handle and entered the empty room.
“Well, it is a magical castle,” she clicked her tongue and wandered into the room. Shrugging, she turned and started down the stairwell with a jerky lope towards the Mess Hall, even though it was too early for dinner.
Warm candlelight hummed softly in their iron-checkered sconces, giving the vague, cold castle a little ounce of cheer. Outside the snow had continued but the darkness had increased and the fog was smeared everywhere, creeping up the sides of the college and obscuring the street below. It seemed so silent, still, as if the world were holding its breath in the darkness of the unknown.
Gwyn was surprised that she had simply accepted the empty room without a thought of worry. If Jack and Tint decided to show themselves, it was not up to Gwyn to decide their future. However, as she paused in front of the window sill, staring out in the blackness, she began to hum. It was a soft song, a lullaby, perhaps, of ages long past. But she dared not sing, lest her words be heard by others. For noise, it seemed was detested by many. The only time she sang was when she was deeply alone, wandering, watching the shadows of the fog and dreaming they were real figures, real people that knew and loved her. But this was not to be. For a wanderer that travels alone does not loose as many friends to death or betrayal but learns to not condone the acts of those tyrants who seek to cause pain in good people’s lives.
Gwyn meandered down the hall once more, her figure tall but her movements swaying. She actually looked graceful, for once, which for her, seemed the impossible. If people spoke the ballad she sung in her heart, maybe Gwyn would have known what it was like to not be alone. For it has been said that even when you’re surrounded, you’re still alone. But this wasn’t so to Gwyn Gilles. To have a friend meant there was someone you could hang on to and hope for. To have a friend meant you learned to love and to give. And how can one dream of a future without a friend-without someone to hold close to your side?
But even friends were like fire...flickering, weaving, and eventually fading.
So sorry.============
PROLOGUE
The Egyptian Mau
Slick silver paws pushed firmly into the snow drifts, steady even as the snow cascaded down into the gully. The silence was numbing, the flakes soft and large, in the wild White Wood north of Wynburi College. Out of the dark blue of evening its gooseberry green eyes seemed to hover above the blanketed and frozen earth. It paused a moment as the snowfall lessened. It stared over its shoulder, gaze arctic, and gave a gruff snort.
Those at Wynburi would pay.
Rucella Tang leaned against Aeris, the old ebon tree that was the heart of the White Wood. She closed her eyes and folded the black sorcerer’s hat over her eyebrows. Her hands felt like blocks of ice even in the clumsy gray gloves she wore. Behind her a crystal white werewolf boldly walked up behind her. He pushed his large black nose into her palm.
“Come, my lady, the time has arisen. The Mau waits.”
Rucella twitched her purple lips and tipped her hand. Dipping her hands into her trench coat pockets, the woman in high black stilettos kicked away the feet of snow that was gathering faster and faster around the intertwining roots of the tree. Soon her shelter would become obsolete.
“Rucella.”
The word was deep and none too kind, as if it was forcing humanity upon itself. Rucella lifted her chin and stared at him, dazed.
“By bloodoath, rise. There is no time.”
Gabriel, the child of the Moon, was right. He shifted, his hackles rising, his salmon tongue cupping his maw. Muscles rippling, his ears flickered back and forth.
“The hunters.”
Rucella adjusted her hat once more and stood, hands at her side.
“You know it’s no use.” Her arm slowly raised and placed her hand beneath her coat, touching her sticky side. She breathed in, slowly, and with a honeycomb smile, collapsed against the tree. Gabriel surged through the snow and caught her thin body in his. She gave a gasp of pain and her eyes rolled sickly.
“Gabriel,” she clutched his chin and gave him a delicate smile, “No V’Cyrus has waged a war such as you. But quick, now...don’t let me fade away.
Suddenly, a shout rendered the air thick with danger. Gabriel’s head snapped. Lurching through the snow bank, he tripped over the roots and fell head-first in the snow. His footing saved his life for above him he heard the sound of crackling fire striking Aeris. Coiling himself the werewolf hunched and leapt out of the snow bank, wildly thrashing through the great tides of snow. White, white...all he could see was white, then a flash of green. The Mau!
Its upper lip curled back as a low hiss issued from its fissure, his feline eyes nitid.
Give me the girl, he commanded with a low roar.
“The hunters, cat! They carry magic bullets for my marrow.”
Tint Van Gilles raised his body, sleek head as his claws kneaded frozen clods of dirt. Very well. I hunt them. Then you.
“Save your hairs, Tint. She shall be safe.”
Tint, who was gargantuan, being near the size of a leopard, leapt like molten silver down from the bank, snow shooting out from under his paws. He bent his nose to Rucella’s whitening face and nuzzled her graying lips. Anger shot like hot barbs around the regal feline’s heart and for an instant, in his eyes, the fires of the underworld flared. How dare he touch the sacred body of his mistress. A sibilant howl of rage exploded from his maw. Like a clap of thunder he stood up on his hind feet, tail lashing.
Gabriel jumped back, clasping the human against his breast, as the scent of magic flitted through the air.
She’s dead, Gabriel.
“What?” The scent of death rose into his nostrils, and below, in his palms, he felt the heat of her blood chill like the surroundings around them.
She’s dead. Drop her.
=====================================
Woo, okay, next bit.....
=====================================
Chapter One[/u]
The rain and snow had combined to make a slushy, gooey, flooded outdoors. The wind was blowing in all directions and those who sought to go out quickly found that their caps were constantly trying to escape from them. It was, in fact, very amusing to Gwyn Gilles, who sat slurping, or rather, sucking noisily, warm apple cider with a very bent cinnamon stick. Stirring the dry stick she curled a lock of pastel blue and platinum hair back up in her standard sorcerer’s hat. The first time she saw one of those bulky, black hats she wanted one and now that she had one, there was all the more reason to have her hair tucked defiantly beneath it.
Somewhere outside the glass window, some seven stories below, Professor Billstroke was walking at a dangerous clip which soon landed her in the snow. Gwyn would have giggled saved for the fact that Professor Billstroke, even with her strictness, was one of the few teachers Gwyn actually liked. And Billstroke actually returned the token of friendship, which was unusual for First-class students at Wynburi College. But what was more unusual was the fact that Gwyn only roomed with two other girls. Only the Fourth-class and higher students had earned the privilege of living by themselves or, if they choose, to live with two other students.
But then again, Gwyn was an exception and she knew it. And as she set down her tall glass and picked up the cinnamon stick, chewing on it softly, she crossed her legs and smiled. If she waited but a few more minutes, she checked her bat shaped watch, he would be coming.
Now, this wasn’t a he that she did despise by the name of Professor Wilks. He was a “gentleman” of his early thirties, and in the first two weeks of her first semester at Wynburi, the two had locked horns almost instantly. If Gwyn had a thesis, he was completely against it. If he had the answers, Gwyn was dead set against learning them. In fact, it was a literal bloodbath between the two–for the student did, in fact, know more than the teacher. But Gwyn refused to believe she could learn anything from his type.
And there he was, grimacing, no doubt, clutching his stark clothing against his learn, tall body against the wild elements. Gwyn bit fiercely on her cinnamon stick before pulling it out of her mouth, intent on gazing at her prey. Tapping the screen with the other side of the stick, she touched the window and without warning, toppled off the wooden stool as Wilks snapped his head up in her direction.
“Ow! I do say he’s rather good at that,” she said as a leopard-sized Egyptian Mau bonked its silvery head against her shoulder. She shook her head and stuck the stick back in her mouth, petting Tint. “Wouldn’t you like to get that nasty old professor?” she cooed at him.
You would, he replied smartly, his gooseberry green eyes mingled with laughter.
Gwyn cuffed him gently. “You’d do a better job.”
He’s not as plump as a mouse, the feline furrowed his brows in disgust and leaped up onto the white bed crumpled with sheets. You really are supposed to make this. House rules, he settled down to wash his spotted fur.
“Well,” Gwyn wobbled on her black stilettos as she got up, “I don’t suppose it would help if you got off, would it?”
No.
“That was a rhetorical question,” she replied, straightening her black trench coat and red tunic of the First-class students.
Suddenly, the first bell rang. Scrambling like an embarrassed doe, Gwyn shoved the cinnamon stick into the large cat’s mouth, exclaiming, “Finish off the cider, will you?”
Tripping about the room she swept up her black briefcase and two well worn, lambskin bound tomes, looking around hastily for anything else she might have forgotten. “Ink, pen, parchment...books...bed...BED!” The woman lurched towards the bed to where Tint lay smugly.
“Bed! Off!” she commanded but he wasn’t about to move. “Fine, if I get demerits, you get to do my duty.”
Without another word she ran, stumbling, towards the door, her briefcase swinging wildly. Pulling at the heavy iron ring, she pulled the door open and ran straight into Jack Arthur, who was expecting such an attack judging from the clattering inside her room.
“We’re going to be late.”
“I know, ya big oaf,” she said, as Jack steadied her and swiped up her fallen books. “So start running!”
Without another word she flew down the passageway, Jack at her heels.
By the time lunch had arrived, the looming fog had rolled in and she sat shoving crackers and pimento cheese spread into her mouth. In her other hand she was reading her textbook, crumbs falling every which way over the library table. It was a miracle she was getting away with eating, much less adding more and more evidence with each bite, no matter how minuscule the crumbs.
“Gwyn, you really should eat something healthier.”
“Like raw meat?”
Jack slipped into the bench beside her in their secluded area between the reference books on magical animals. In her hands he saw the book entitled, Land of the Werewolves and Where They Came From.
“Cooked for you, raw for me. Do you really have to study that?” he peered over his oval glasses and traced his fingers over a picture of a howling werewolf. He scratched his dark golden brown hair and frowned.
“Essay. Professor Evenhaff. 1,000 words, on parchment, ‘for we must improve our handwriting,’ for my class The History of the White Wood.”
“But the Wood no longer really exists,” he frowned, “At least, the White Wood I know.”
“Well, tell Evenhaff that. She states that more than 3,000 acres of the Wood still exist as well as the legendary tree Aeris.”
“The Wood began to die over thee hundred years ago. I don’t see how it could still have so many unknown acres with all the real estate and business district it is now.”
Gwyn laughed and shrugged, “Well, you know Evenhaff. She’s feels legends are a very profound part of one’s life.”
“Now,” Jack rolled back his shoulders, “I suggest you tuck away that lunch, my blue-eyed friend, before the head librarian catches you smuggling food in her clean library. And if you want that job, you really will tuck those away and come with me.” He leaned over to her, “Besides, I have hot chocolate.”
Gwyn calmly finished the next paragraph before twisting her cracker bag shut and clipping the lid on the plastic jar of cheese spread. Dumping them into her case, she brushed off the crackers and sprinkled them under the table, looking around to see if it was too noticeable. To her eyes, which didn’t see dirt very well, it seemed fashionable. But if Harliquen ever found out, she would be crossed off the list of investigating employees.
Although most students did not have a job, there were a few that were not supported by wealthy families. In fact, Gwyn Gilles was an orphan and held no daily substitute for cash not paid by the government. She had never received much spending money, seeing as her school expenses made the budget tighter than usual. And even if she was rich, she would have wanted more experience in the literary world.
“Pardon, but did you say chocolate?” she turned and gave him a winning smile. Over the past three weeks, ever since bumping into each other at class registration, though he was in Second-class, they had become easy friends.
“Did I?” he replied somewhat coyly. “Maybe I did for a price.”
“A price?” Gwyn cried out, startled, which caused people to glare in her direction. “Sorry,” she whispered, “What do you mean, price? Aren’t friends supposed to be priceless?”
Jack held his hands up in defense, “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”
She gave him a downright mock sinister stare. “Well?”
“If you become a librarian, draw me a map of these place. There’s too many secret levels to this place.”
Gwyn cupped her mouth and rolled her eyes.
“Of course. Now, chocolate?” she pleaded.
“What’s with the cinnamon stick?” Jack stared at Gwyn, who was biting the chocolate sopped thing to where it was becoming frayed.
“Are you suggesting I use the other end?”
“No, I’m suggesting a new stick.”
Gwyn began to unroll the one she had.
“That requires work. Besides, we’re supposed to be studying.”
The two had settled themselves in a study room in the astral tower, somewhere where students who really did wish to be alone could study without worry. After all, the cozy room was on the tenth floor and by the time you had reached it, your legs felt like they were distinctly part of someone else’s body. It was also warm here, and the clock fitted into the wall by the fireplace also helped because you couldn’t hear the bell this high up. Still, the stairs deterred most.
Jack unlocked the green hasp of his newest book, The Art of the Dead, with a grim face and began to read over the text.
The watchful hours of the afternoon continued in silence as the both of them returned to studying, the sound of their pens scratching filling the room Outside the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, its rays dispersing some of the early winter fog. Behind them the clock tolled four with its brazen voice, as if it was nudging the students to hurry up with their homework.
Gwyn rocked back in her padded purple chair, cracking her neck and stretching. Her muscles felt keenly aware of the fact they had been in that position too long. Gwyn also had to admit her sitter was almost sat out.
“How far are you?”
Jack looked up and mumbled, “What?”
“How far are you?” she repeated more clearly.
“Oh, just fine,” he sniffed and thumbed through the yellow pages and crouched lower, practically placing his nose into the folds of it.
“You would be learning anything, would you?”
“As we discussed earlier in this chapter, ghosts can be violent spirits but most are simply confused and/or having something helping them cling to life...”
“I asked ‘What have you learned?’ not ‘What have you read?’” Gwyn said almost sourly.
But Jack was engrossed in his book, not in his friend. With a scowl Gwyn turned her face towards the clock, scratching her forehead and then smiled at the realization it was only an hour until dinnertime. Blowing on her essay, which was almost completely finished, she gave a satisfied grunt of joy and let the smell of fresh ink slip up her nose. She pulled at the hem of her tunic, straightening the ripples that had accumulated over time. Rubbing her nose, the sorceress rolled up the parchment, selecting a simple brass ring to hold it together, and shoved her books in her case. Kissing the ring for luck she held it about her with elation.
Without another word to Jack, she walked out of the room with a good clip.
The stairwell was cool and the scratch of her heels against the blue stone comforting. Above her she could feel a slight draft that carried the metallic scent of rain. The soft hush and whoosh of her trench coat echoed somewhat eerily down the long, spiraling passageway. Gwyn lolled back her shoulders and pulled off her hat with its tall pointed leather top and placed her essay beneath her arm. Unpinning her hair, as a proper sorceress wouldn’t, she placed the hat back on her head.
It seemed strange to her, she thought, that Jack and she had become friends so quickly. After all, they didn’t have any similar background. Jack was a scholar for certain, always leering over books and finding time to further his education. Gwyn thought is was, indeed, odd that she should ponder this now, even after knowing how he was around his studies.
Below her, several floors later, a loud chortle reached her ears and a few moments later, his tail waving erratically, Tint bounded up the stairwell.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here!” Gwyn chided but to her amazement, Tint didn’t even seem to notice her. In fact, he bolted right passed her as if she were invisible. Gwyn whipped around and ran crazily up the stairwell, trying to forget about her aching legs. Groping for air, she bent over and wheezed in front of the study room door before, with a feeble hand, bringing down the handle and entered the empty room.
“Well, it is a magical castle,” she clicked her tongue and wandered into the room. Shrugging, she turned and started down the stairwell with a jerky lope towards the Mess Hall, even though it was too early for dinner.
Warm candlelight hummed softly in their iron-checkered sconces, giving the vague, cold castle a little ounce of cheer. Outside the snow had continued but the darkness had increased and the fog was smeared everywhere, creeping up the sides of the college and obscuring the street below. It seemed so silent, still, as if the world were holding its breath in the darkness of the unknown.
Gwyn was surprised that she had simply accepted the empty room without a thought of worry. If Jack and Tint decided to show themselves, it was not up to Gwyn to decide their future. However, as she paused in front of the window sill, staring out in the blackness, she began to hum. It was a soft song, a lullaby, perhaps, of ages long past. But she dared not sing, lest her words be heard by others. For noise, it seemed was detested by many. The only time she sang was when she was deeply alone, wandering, watching the shadows of the fog and dreaming they were real figures, real people that knew and loved her. But this was not to be. For a wanderer that travels alone does not loose as many friends to death or betrayal but learns to not condone the acts of those tyrants who seek to cause pain in good people’s lives.
Gwyn meandered down the hall once more, her figure tall but her movements swaying. She actually looked graceful, for once, which for her, seemed the impossible. If people spoke the ballad she sung in her heart, maybe Gwyn would have known what it was like to not be alone. For it has been said that even when you’re surrounded, you’re still alone. But this wasn’t so to Gwyn Gilles. To have a friend meant there was someone you could hang on to and hope for. To have a friend meant you learned to love and to give. And how can one dream of a future without a friend-without someone to hold close to your side?
But even friends were like fire...flickering, weaving, and eventually fading.
