Standing there, carved out of solid red rock the color of old blood was a coiled snake that could have easily fit Gilai’el’s entire body in its mouth. She had no idea how long it was, but it was coiled aggressively, and the end of its tail ended in hundreds of small, wicked barbs.
“It is one of House Listoh’s many guardians,” explained the woman in white, offering her hand to help the young girl back to her feet. “It would not harm one of us,” the robed woman assured her.
Gilai’el quickly gathered her dropped bundle and clutched it to her chest before accepting the woman’s hand.
“Come,” said the woman, “there is someone you must meet.”
They walked past the rows of massive, terrifying statues, which Gilai’el did her best to avoid looking at until they came to the massive archway leading to the inside of the massive structure. There were pillars of stone supporting the walkways above her head as she stepped through the huge archway, and once again her breath was taken away by the sight before her.
It appeared that the entire building was made of stone, and the interior walls of the structure were covered with portraits, polished weapons and other works of art of which Gilai’el could not guess the meaning.
There were dozens of men and women, dressed in white uniforms that looked to be made of a single piece of strange, clingy fabric that hugged the contours of their bodies impossibly. One of these men, whose uniform was adorned with black stripes which circled his collar and extended to his shoulders, stepped forward.
“Greetings, Magos Tamara,” he said with a courteous bow. His accent was strange to Gilai’el, but she understood his words perfectly well in spite of it.
“We have an appointment with the House Matron,” she replied with a curt nod.
“Of course, Magos, right this way,” he replied before turning crisply and walking in an odd, almost stiff-legged fashion that made Gilai’el giggle in spite of recent events.
Magos Tamara looked down at her with scolding eyes, and she ceased her laughter almost immediately. When she had done so, Tamara led her through the huge, open entry room and up a curved flight of stairs, whose exact duplicate mirrored it on the opposite side of the massive room.
When they reached the landing, the man in the white uniform led them down a hallway, where they took another two flights of stairs up to the topmost level of the colossal building.
“You must be respectful when you meet House Listoh’s leader,” explained Tamara. “Speak only when spoken to, and do not ask questions, do you understand?”
Gilai’el rolled her eyes. She had heard this exact type of nonsense her entire life, and hearing it repeated in this strange place was enough to make her wonder if things would change less than she had hoped.
“Do you understand?” repeated Tamara in a commanding voice. The young girl nodded her head promptly, having also learned that rebelling needlessly against authority often led to nothing but more chores.
At the end of the hallway was a white, stone door, and the uniformed man opened it with his white-gloved hands. To Gilai’el’s surprise, it opened freely with what looked like no more than a gentle nudge.
“Enter,” came a woman’s voice from the other side of the door, and Tamara tilted her head to indicate that Gilai’el should enter first.
She did as she was bidden, and when she entered the room, she was once again rendered speechless. There were books…so many books in this room, and they were bound in every color of the rainbow. There were dozens of bookshelves, each filled completely with neatly arranged and stacked volumes like nothing she had ever seen.
Uncle Yav’el had said that his collection was actually the result of a hundred- and fifty years’ worth of collection by her ancestors, and it contained fewer than one-tenth as many books as this room did.
In the center of the room was a desk that seemed to be made entirely of glass, and there was a woman sitting behind it who beckoned Gilai’el to approach.
The young girl snapped her mouth shut and did so, unable to take her eyes off the many tomes arranged on the shelves. There were other things in the room like hand-carved furniture of the highest quality, rugs laid out on the stone floor — which were actually tapestries with entire scenes depicted in exacting detail — and little balls hanging from the ceiling which seemed to glow with a soft, white light.
Gilai’el heard the door close behind her, and she turned to see that Magos Tamara had entered the room behind her. The short, curly-haired woman gestured for her to continue toward the desk, so she did.
“Please, sit,” said the tall, thin woman whose hair was as white as a summer cloud. Gilai’el could tell that she was not young, but there were no wrinkles to her skin. Her green eyes stood out on her face, along with her pointed nose and slightly jutting chin. Gilai’el imagined that, at one time, this woman was very pretty.
Gilai’el looked at the chairs set on her side of the desk and saw that they, too, appeared to be made of solid glass. She sat in the left-hand chair and clutched her small bundle of possessions to her chest nervously.
“What is your name, child?” asked the white-haired woman, who was wearing robes of the same color and design as Magos Tamara, but this woman’s had a sky-blue line of trim at the borders.
“Gilai’el,” she said confidently, sticking her chin out slightly. She would not let these people see how nervous she felt.
“Gilai’el,” repeated the white-haired woman softly as Magos Tamara sat down in the other chair, “that is a beautiful name. From where do you come?”
Gilai’el squirmed slightly in her chair, which was clearly too big for a person her size and she had difficulty finding a comfortable position. “My village is called Hultzen,” she replied defiantly.
The white-haired woman cocked an eyebrow and turned her head slightly to Magos Tamara, who leaned forward in her chair.
“The village is located in the southerlands, Matron Zhivel,” Tamara explained. “House Tyrdren’s expeditionary forces have recently arrived in the area, and I managed to rescue this poor child before they reached her small community.”
Gilai’el looked at Tamara in shock. “You did not come to my village!” she protested. “The evil bald man did, and he killed my uncle!”
“Gilai’el,” said Zhivel gently, but the little girl’s protests continued.
“Where is this place?” she demanded, “Why did that man kill my uncle!? Who are you people!?”
Tears came to her eyes as the flood of emotion she had been holding back since her uncle’s death overcame her self-control.
“Why did this happen?” she sobbed as she brought her knees up to her chest before wrapping her arms tightly around them and turning her face down toward her lap.
She had no way of knowing how long she had cried, but when Gilai’el looked up with red eyes and cheeks wet with tears, she saw that the white-haired woman’s expression had softened ever-so-slightly.
“Gilai’el,” Zhivel said gently as the young girl continued to sob, “I am sorry for what happened to your uncle. There are times in our lives when things happen which we cannot understand until later. For you, this is such a time.”
For some reason, the woman’s words were more comforting than Gilai’el had expected, and the white-haired woman stood gracefully from her chair. She was tall; taller than most of the men from Gilai’el’s village, but she was also almost impossibly thin.
The woman seemed to glide around the desk as she walked, and when she came to the side of the little girl’s chair, she continued, “I cannot ask you to trust me now, for we both know that would be impossible. But you must understand that the life you once knew is no more, and your future is here with us. I am sorry that you have not been allowed to make this choice for yourself.”
She reached out with her long, thin hands and touched Gilai’el’s cheek gently before continuing, “However, you are allowed to be sad, angry, or even hateful of the reasons which brought you here, but you are now a part of H
ouse Listoh, and I promise,” the white-haired woman locked her eyes with Gilai’el’s before finishing, “you will come to find that we are a very, very loyal family.”
Zhivel stood and returned gracefully to her chair on the other side of the desk. “Please show our newest daughter to her room, Magos Tamara,” said the woman as she returned her attention to the book she had been reading prior to Gilai’el’s entry.
“Thank you, Arch Magos,” replied Tamara as she stood swiftly from her chair and held her hand out to Gilai’el.
After a moment’s hesitation, Gilai’el took the proffered hand and stood from her chair, wiping the last tears from her face as she regained her composure.
They turned to leave the room, but halfway to the door Gilai’el stopped and turned unexpectedly. “What is the bald man’s name?” she asked suddenly.
The Arch Magos looked up from her book with unreadable features. “I cannot tell you that,” she replied evenly.
“Why not!?” demanded Gilai’el, her previous sorrow suddenly replaced with outrage.
The white-haired woman behind the desk closed her book before standing and walking gracefully to where Gilai’el and Tamara stood, her every step measured and as graceful as a leaf dancing on the wind. She knelt in front of the little girl and took her small hand in her own.
“Let this be your first lesson, then,” said Zhivel in a hard, matronly voice. The white-haired woman reached into a cleverly concealed pocket in her robe and withdrew a broad ring in the shape of the collar emblem on Magos Tamara’s robes.
The Arch Magos placed the ring on Gilai’el’s first finger of her left hand, where it was clearly too large. Before the little girl could protest, the ring shrunk until it fit snugly on her slender index finger.
“When you learn how to read the inscription in its native tongue,” explained Zhivel instructively, “the ring will allow you to remove it. It is the creed of House Listoh, and you must truly learn its full meaning in order to become a part of our family.”
“What does it mean?” asked Gilai’el as she examined the dark grey band of metal.
Arch Magos Zhivel stood and looked down at the little girl for a moment before answering, “In essence, it means: House Listoh keeps its bargains, which is precisely why I may not reveal the identity of the man who brought you to us.”
Gilai’el thought she saw something cross the white-haired woman’s features that looked like anguish, but Magos Tamara grabbed her by the hand abruptly.
“Come, Gilai’el,” prompted Tamara, “our Matron requires tranquility for her studies.” The curly-haired Magos marched briskly to the door, which opened with a light push and she took Gilai’el with her as she left the room.
Gilai’el looked back at Arch Magos Zhivel just before the door closed, and saw that the white-haired woman’s features were once again an unreadable mask.
3
Studies, Lists and Presentations
Four years had passed since that day, and Gilai’el had slowly come to understand Matron Zhivel’s meaning when she had said that House Listoh is very much like a family. That brought with it a sense of camaraderie she had not expected to develop with the other members of the House, as well as other, less pleasant aspects of family life.
Specifically, she had come under the eye of the Arch Magos’ youngest (and only living) daughter, Marizzi. They were separated four years by age, but that had not prevented the now-seventeen-year-old scion of House Listoh from tormenting the younger Gilai’el endlessly.
Naturally, when Marizzi had been enrolled in the Wizard’s College two years earlier, it had seemed to Gilai’el that House Listoh became an instantly more inviting and warm collection of people whose stories largely mirrored her own.
House Listoh’s sleeping arrangements for their ‘daughters’ as they referred to the female wards under their care were the same for all: three girls assigned to a common bedroom, with a single, shared lavatory.
Gilai’el was studying intently in her room, having been instructed by Magos Tamara to read the complete works of Arch Magos Zinaida, the leader of the now-defunct Great House Tarivel. House Tarivel had collapsed after Zinaida’s death when a civil war of sorts broke out among its ranks mere months after she had passed, resulting in the absolute erasure of their leader’s work along with her dream of creating something which would stand the test of time. It provided a poignant cautionary tale for the members of House Listoh, whose Matron also espoused a desire to create a lasting entity.
Tamara had insisted that Gilai’el learn every single word Arch Magos Zinaida wrote during her life, in order to present a comprehensive explanation for why Zinaida — despite her obvious political and magical acumen — failed to turn her House into something which would not only survive, but surpass her after she had passed from this world.
“You still study?” asked Bindila as she came out of the lavatory, drying her hair with a black towel. Bindila was her age, and one of Gilai’el’s two roommates; the other being a younger girl named Heldryn, who usually preferred to keep to herself. Thankfully, Gilai’el considered her a friend, but she was capable of eliciting an amazing degree of annoyance at times. “Tonight is the annual Reading, and the list was posted in moments!”
Bindila’s grasp of Imperial language was somewhat behind Gilai’el’s own, as she had come from a distant land where there were no oceans and scarcely any rain. But she was intelligent, and Gilai’el knew that in another year, or two at the most, she would have mastered the common tongue of the Empire, which was thankfully the same as the one she had grown up with.
“Tamara requires my presentation be made following the Reading,” explained Gilai’el in exasperation, “and I have yet to complete the final volume of Arch Magos Zinaida’s private diaries.”
Bindila wrapped her hair up in the towel, which she tied in a knot before opening the chest beside her bed. “Arch Magos Zinaida,” said Bindila absently, “was not she House Tarivel’s leader?”
Gilai’el nodded absently as she scribbled down some notes after finding a particularly eloquent quote of Zinaida’s referring to the need for lenience when dealing with family. She knew Tamara would approve of her disproving the sentiment, and she wanted to do so during her presentation’s closing.
“I am much glad to have Rita as my Preceptor,” said Bindila as she slipped into her formal gown and appraised herself in the room’s only standing mirror. “Tamara frightens me.”
Gilai’el shook her head. “I find her agreeable,” she said as she came to the end of the diary, which she closed before pulling the final volume in her readings before herself. “She requires her students’ absolute best, yet she is fair in her assessments. I appreciate greater demands, as they drive me to greater accomplishments.”
The role of Preceptor was given to the many Magos of House Listoh, to educate their ‘children’ in the history of the Empire, as well as basic magic theory. The lessons in magic were not to begin until the child of House Listoh had received their first Reading.
House Listoh was so powerful and influential in the Imperial City of Veldyrian’s power structure that they were afforded a luxury known only to one other house: a private Reading performed by a representative of the Imperial Archives, to be conducted once yearly at House Listoh Estate.
This year’s crop was soon to be announced, as Bindila had informed Gilai’el for no less than the tenth time in the last day. But Gilai’el had studying to do and was in no hurry to learn if her name was on the list of those to be Read.
“I am going to the Main Hall,” said Bindila, apparently satisfied with how her gown fit, having removed it quickly and replaced it with her yellow Student robes. Formal wear was only allowed to be donned for occasions such as the Reading, and even trying such garments on for a few moments could bring down the wrath of a passing Magos. “I will tell if you are there!”
With that, Bindila scurried out of the room, leaving Gilai’el to her research. But her head hurt, and her eyes were
weary from nearly six continuous hours of study, so she flopped back on the bed and rested for a moment before realizing that her roommate had succeeded in distracting her from her work.
With a sigh, she slid from her bed and placed her notes beneath the book she had yet to read before donning her slippers and making her way down the hallway toward stairs leading to the Main Hall.
House Listoh was huge, even by Imperial standards, housing well over two thousand ‘members,’ including her children at any given time.
But walking through the hallways was rarely a crowded experience, as the interior of the massive structure at the center of Listoh Estate was expansive with high ceilings.
The children resided on the third level, but Gilai’el’s room was thankfully near the stairwell, which she took down two flights before turning and passing through the entry chamber with the broad, double staircase she had taken when first entering the house four years earlier.
The Main Hall adjoined that room, and she saw what constituted a huge crowd by her standards gathered around the glass-paned cases containing important notices for House Listoh’s members to read daily.
Bindila was struggling to get to the front of the line, as the din of chatter from the assembled crowd (most of whom were teenaged or thereabouts) echoed throughout the chamber.
“Gilai’el!” shouted her roommate excitedly when she saw her approaching, and she waved her forward.
It was difficult, but Gilai’el managed to squeeze between the press of bodies, and eventually found herself at Bindila’s side looking up at the list of names which had apparently just been posted.
Bindila’s finger was tracing down the list of names until she came to one and stopped. She turned to Gilai’el and squealed. “I am Read tonight!” she shrieked as she grabbed Gilai’el’s arms ecstatically, dancing up and down as she did so.
Gilai’el — normally not given to such outbursts of emotion — could not help herself from being caught up in the moment, as she joined her friend in her celebration.
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