by Cora May
Chanta sucked in her bottom lip.
Perhaps she should start taking the advice she was being given. At least until she could figure out what was wrong with her, how to solve it, and how to get out of this place and free herself.
She sat down at the desk and stared at the books in front of her. She contemplated for a while before reaching for the diary. She flipped it open to the first page. The first thing she noted was the date—perhaps it had been written by the headmistress’s mother or something. Perhaps the woman she knew was Vissula Prisanni the Second, or something like that, for the date was April of 1964. She would never dare to ask the headmistress how old she was, but she was certain the woman looked no older than maybe her late thirties. It made the diary somewhat easier to read, though, assuming it had been written by someone other than the one who had taken her in the night.
Dimonis continues to haunt me, the text began…
Day after day, I hear his voice in my head. It’s not how it should be. He has seen to it that my mother’s spirit is gone, and I think he tries to come after mine, too. He knows I am strong. It scares him.
Still, victory is such a long way out.
I am strong, yes. But am I powerful? Alas, my particular Blessing does very little for me. I am meant to be the in-between, some might say. I am a gatherer. That is the way I like to say it. I gather those who have been Blessed, and I teach them what kind of power it is that they possess. A pretty honorable profession, one might think, but I do not do it out of the kindness of my heart. No, it is because of this voice in my head that I do it. It is because of what I know that I do it.
Here is what I know: Dimonis is plotting his escape and his revenge. Or is it just a continuation of who he was on this earth? He calls it a revenge, but the way I see it, nothing has happened for which he can exact revenge. His whispered taunts are no more than that—taunts. Here is what else I know: he is somehow killing the Anam Solas, the spirits of light. He is doing it from the place he is trapped, and it is my job—nay, my duty to my mother—to find out how he is doing it and to stop him.
Who am I, a mere Communicator, to put the Realms as they need to be? Who am I to right these wrongs? It’s not feasible for me to do alone, when all I have ever been capable of is learning. Therefore, I must train my students well. I must teach them right from wrong and fully divulge the information I have with them, that they might seek out the same objective that I have sought out. I cannot force them to fight with me, but I can train them so that, when the time comes, they choose to.
Chanta closed the diary in frustration. It only added to her confusion. The Book of Stones seemed to be more clearly written, more straightforward. She bit her lip as she looked back and forth between the book of the stones and the last remaining book.
When the knock sounded at the door and she hadn’t made a decision, she rolled her eyes at the books. She pushed away from the desk in a sort of frustration she did not understand.
She knew the person on the other side of that door was not going to be Maleka again. She knew she would not be so lucky as to avoid Reiter as long as she had hoped for. She decided she was going to demand an explanation from him. Someone owed her as much, it might as well be the man who insisted on performing tests on her.
She swung the door open with a sour face.
Just as she had predicted, Reiter stood on the opposite end. His face was just as sour as hers. Something about it reminded her of the words she had read the night before, and she searched her own emotions. She was hostile, annoyed, and confused. Those certainly were not three good qualities to start the morning off with, but she held on to them, keeping them at the forefront of her mind. Even if they weren’t the greatest things to feel, she was feeling them herself without anyone manipulating her to feel a different way. She planned to hold on to them until Reiter was done with her for the day.
She had to make sure she could trust her own emotions.
Wordlessly, Reiter turned away from the door and took a few steps into the basement. Chanta knew she was to follow him and did so with an equal silence. She watched the back of his head bob up and down with each step he took until he turned and opened another door. He motioned her forward.
She stepped into the room.
This room was definitely far less comfortable than her own, yet somehow, still wasn’t what she expected. In the middle of the square room was a simple rectangular table with four chairs surrounding it. That was all. Simple, wooden furniture, smack in the middle of a big stone room. She wasn’t sure what she had expected—perhaps a medical table and some straps to hold her down? Whatever preconceived notion she had, this uncomfortable room defied it.
Chanta hovered at the doorway for less than a second before recovering from her shock. She strode to the table, still holding on to her emotions, and sat at one of the chairs, fully understanding that it was what he expected her to do.
Hostile, annoyed, confused, she reminded herself.
Hostile, annoyed, confused.
Reiter waited at the doorway until she had seated herself. She simply glared at him until he approached and took the seat opposite her.
He studied her.
She glared at him.
The moment seemed to draw out for so long, Chanta didn’t really know what to do. She began to feel wary but pushed that emotion away. She wasn’t entirely sure it was her own discomfort, or if he was pushing it on her. Was that why he studied her like he did?
“What’s this about?” she rudely broke the silence. She had to do it. She had to make him talk, distract him before he got the chance to do anything funny. Although, it all still sounded like complete voodoo to her. She motioned to her clothing. “You haven’t even given me time to dress myself this morning. I’ve barely woken and eaten my breakfast, then you drag me to this room to stare at me? Explain yourself.”
The corner of Reiter’s mouth twitched. It was the first sign of amusement he had shown. He forced his mouth back into a thin line quickly, though.
“It is nearly eleven in the morning now,” he told her. “It’s not my fault you’re a late riser. Do you realize what you did to the kitchen staff, as they had to completely guess at what time you might want your warm meal?”
“Well, that’s not my fault, either,” she told him. “You never supplied me with an alarm clock. Well, a broken one. I wasn’t even sure it was morning. How did the kitchen staff know what time to serve me, anyway?”
Reiter didn’t answer that. Aggravatingly enough, he didn’t say a single word at all. He only continued to stare at her, hiding his amusement as best as he could. His eyes still twinkled with delight, though.
“And how did they know what to serve me?” she continued when he didn’t answer, knowing she wasn’t going to get an answer to any of her questions anyway. “Here comes this strange little girl, two meals in a row, bringing me my favorites—food that I haven’t had in months, if not years. And, while we’re on the subject, who is she, anyway? She’s a creepy little girl, to say the least. She doesn’t talk much, and when she does, it is hella cryptic.”
“She was instructed not to talk at all,” Reiter told her. His voice was low, and the amusement left his eyes. They momentarily showed curiosity and worry before that, too, was veiled. “What was it she said to you?”
Chanta said nothing for a moment, carefully weighing her words. She hadn’t meant to get Maleka in trouble, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to throw her under the bus completely. Even if she had been disturbed by her behavior, she didn’t wish ill on her. It hadn’t been her intent, and she regretted bringing her up at all now.
“She spoke,” Chanta said slowly, “but it was as if she had said nothing at all. I asked where she had come from. I told I would… be her friend. All she said was that I should study and that she wanted last night’s dishes. Most of the time, she just stared at me with her mouth open, like I hadn’t even been speaking the same language as her.”
Reiter studied her face, search
ing for the lie, Chanta supposed.
“It was all very frustrating,” she added for good effect.
Let him believe she was just searching for someone to call a friend. That was a good enough excuse, wasn’t it? After all, who wouldn’t want a friend?
She wasn’t sure if Reiter accepted her reasoning or not, but he finally dropped his stare and turned it on the table for a moment. When he turned back to her, his eyes were a bit softer.
“Okay,” he began, “so she told you to study. And have you been?”
“In the entire—what is it now, eighteen hours?—that I’ve been here, obviously I’ve dedicated each moment to combing through the books and chatting up new friends.”
Her sarcasm was lethal. Pleased with herself, she sat back in the chair and folded her arms over her chest.
Reiter’s face was too hard to read to know how he was going to take her biting tone.
“I didn’t ask you to study for eighteen hours straight,” he said calmly. “Have you read the books at all?”
Chanta let out a sigh. In all honesty, she did have quite a few questions, so she supposed she should accept his help.
“I started two of them,” she told him. “I read a page or two in the diary, and I started the one about the crystals.”
“Stones,” he corrected.
“Stones, whatever.”
“And what did you think about either of them?”
“That you’re all a bunch of whackadoos.”
Reiter ignored her jab.
“Let’s start with The Book of Stones since that’s the most scientific text I’ve given you. It can be, arguably, much easier to understand than the rest of it.”
“Why is that?”
“Well,” he said, “it’s like I’ve told you. Many of the beings within this castle refer to this as a religion. Religion is never an easy thing to understand, especially when you’ve never heard of it and are forced into it, as you believe we are trying to do with you. Science is easier to understand because it is based in fact. It is something that is unchanging, and not something you learn to believe and have faith in.”
“Fine. Let’s discuss the stones.”
“I like to provide this book to my new students because of how easy it is to read,” he told her, “and because it provides a nice overview of the most basic thing we need. The stones are the key to our Blessings. They allow us to channel the power that’s been given to us and learn to harness and control it. That is what I am to help you begin to do with your own Blessing. We are to determine your stone, and once we have done that, I will give you the briefest lesson on control. From there, you will move upstairs with your new roommates and your new class schedule, and the other professors will take over your training.”
“Woah, okay, stop,” Chanta interrupted. “First things first, why do you—and the headmistress, for that matter—refer to this as a blessing? Blessings, by nature, are good things. What I do is harmful to everyone around me. What I do got me locked up by my own mother. That’s not a blessing, that’s a curse.”
“You are referring to the human use of the word,” he explained. “We are given Blessings from the Realms beyond, gifted to us by the Anam Solas.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Not what,” he told her, “but who. The Anam Solas are spirits of the light, humans that have passed on into the next world. That world is referred to as the Realm of the Light.”
“Does that mean there’s a Realm of the Dark, too?”
“Yes,” Reiter said, his tone growing dark. “There is the Realm of Darkness. It is meant for spirits that only breed harm. It is where Dimonis, the first and greatest evil this world has ever seen, is trapped. It is because of him, because the Reaper needed a place to separate him from the souls of light, that the Realm of Darkness exists at all. The Reaper had not meant to put more souls in that place, but once that evil was released onto the human world, it was clear that he had no choice. He put the dark souls, the evil men and women, of the human world into the Realm of Darkness once they died. They became the Anam Dorcha and were sentenced to an afterlife of pain and suffering in the Realm that does not forgive.”
“So,” Chanta said, piecing it together bit by bit, “they’re like angels. Heaven and Hell. Is that it?”
“If it is easier for you to understand like that,” he allowed, “then, for now, think of it as that. The Blessings come from the Anam Solas. There is no one else who can give us the powers we have, save for maybe the Reaper himself, but it has never been heard of that he has done such a thing. Usually, the Blessing comes from someone you know, someone who has passed on but still keeps an eye on you. Usually, when you’re able to think of the exact person that might have given you the Blessing, you can begin to determine why they thought you should need it, and what exactly it might be, just based on your relationship with that person. Who do you know that has passed on and would have gone to the Realm of the Light?”
Chanta thought for a long moment. She actually wasn’t sure she had ever known someone to pass on. Certainly no family close to her. She hadn’t even known who her father was. She didn’t think he was a good man, though. Her mother would never speak of him. All Chanta had of him was her last name. Maybe he had died and given her this gift, but how could she know for sure?
“No,” she told Reiter. “Does this mean I have some sort of guardian angel?”
Reiter laughed.
“I suppose that is how a lot of students like to look at it. That’s not a bad way to think of it at all. It’s a shame you don’t know who could have Blessed you. It would have helped tremendously in your case, with such a strange Blessing.”
“Mmhm,” Chanta said with an attitude. “Who would have blessed me with a curse?”
Reiter ignored her again, but she didn’t mind it this time. She knew she was about to have so many questions answered.
“Each stone,” he began, “stands for something different. How far have you gotten?”
“Just the Amber,” she said pointedly, “your story, and the Jasper.”
“And? What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to hear it from your point of view. What happened when they found you?”
“When I was younger, after my brother had passed away, I didn’t think much of my newfound ability. I only thought that the hurt it had caused me to watch him pass away had unlocked a deeper level of emotion in me, and through that I was able to express myself, offer therapy to fix others, and rally them just as well. I didn’t understand that my brother had thought I needed help in the department of emotions,” he laughed bitterly. “I thought I had done it all on my own. Once people began to turn absurdly rowdy, once the fires and killings and destruction began, I didn’t realize it had been my doing. I only thought I had a lot of therapy to give to a great many individuals who had taken things too far. Then again, I didn’t mind that they stood so vehemently behind my cause.
“Eventually, people began to turn on me. I don’t think it was their decision, entirely. I think they knew what I had been doing, even without the knowledge myself. Either that or I had begun to figure it out myself and was projecting my own fear onto them. It was long enough ago that I don’t really remember too clearly. I don’t think I wanted to remember, really. It was at my lowest point, when riots were beginning to form against me and my own friends were turning their violence on me, that Headmistress Prisanni had found me.
“Much like you, much like everyone in this school, I was exceptionally skeptical of her in the beginning. It seemed so odd that this one beautiful woman would come to me, a young man who could not get any woman’s attention, and ask me to follow her. It was strange to be wanted, to be told that I was special but that there wasn’t anything to fear about myself. I didn’t want to trust her, and I didn’t want to go with her. At first, I didn’t.
“A week later, I found myself… to be the cause of my mother’s death.” Reiter took a breath. The words were strained as
they came out of his mouth, and Chanta knew that what he was about to reveal was not to be taken lightly. “I had fought with her that day. She had wanted to send me away. Not with the headmistress, I hadn’t told her of that offer. She wanted me to travel across the country to live with my father. They had never married, you see, and separated long before my brother had died. He didn’t know anything about the riots I had caused. Well, I mean to say that he didn’t know that I had caused them. They were fairly historical riots. My mother thought it best that I start over, and, much like you must have thought about your own mother, I thought she was just tired of dealing with me. I thought that she couldn’t wait to be rid of me.
“I made my mother angry, and I made her sad. Then I made her crazy. I left the house in a fit of my own, returning hours later to find that she had killed herself. But it wasn’t her that had truly killed herself, it was I who made her do it. My first thought had been to kill myself and apologize to her face, but I was far too cowardly to take my own life. That was the first night that I found disgust for myself.
“For several nights after that, I called out to the headmistress. I cried out, really—wailed, even. I was desperate for her to come and take me away. I had hoped, too, that she might put me through the hell I deserved. Instead, when she finally did come for me, she welcomed me into her school with open arms. She told me what had happened to me after my brother passed away. She was already prepared with the proper stone, and she taught me, as best as a Communicator could, how to control my Blessing. Since then, I have only used my ability for good.”
Suddenly, as if reminded by his mention of the school, Chanta searched herself for her emotions. What were they? She thought to herself. Confusion was one. Definitely still feel that. What were the other ones? There had been three…
She had forgotten them completely. She hadn’t reminded herself to feel them, and now, when she searched what she had been feeling, she didn’t come away with any negativities at all. Instead, she found understanding and compassion for this man, alongside her general confusion which, she had a feeling, wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
