Emergent, Book One : Isobel

by Virginia Nikolaou

Isobel made her way to the kitchen, and found Beatrice in the pantry. She had set plates of biscuits and cheese on the table and carried a large jug.

  "Good morning Isobel," Beatrice said, setting the jug on the table next to a wooden box.

  "Good morning, Beatrice," Isobel said.

  Beatrice grabbed a couple of mugs. "We have barley brew if you want something a bit more substantial. It's not spirituous like other brews, but typically a light breakfast drink in Moredea," Beatrice explained, placing more food on the table.

  "I'd love some. Thank you,"

  Beatrice uncorked the plain ceramic jug and poured them each a mug, handing one to Isobel. Tearing off some bread and a chunk of cheese, she ate silently and watched the young woman sip the brew.

  "Nice. It's thick," Isobel said, taking another, larger sip, thick froth coating her upper lip.

  "Got our people through the famine just fine. It is served everywhere in Moredea." She took a swig from her mug, then reached for a biscuit, offering Isobel one. "Jita was quite a scare last night."

  "As were the rats and, oh, let's see, the demons," Isobel said wryly, taking the biscuit.

  Beatrice regarded Isobel. "I saw you face off with the demon."

  "It didn't give me much choice."

  "No. It didn't. There will be more demons following. After breakfast we will go to the training car. I'd like to begin your training before arriving in Moredea," she said.

  Heavy footsteps drew their attention as Eadric walked into the room and grabbed a mug. He sat with a gruff nod at Isobel and Beatrice, pouring a hefty serving of barley brew for himself and drinking it in a single gulp. Another followed.

  "Morning, Captain Audreyn, Isobel."

  "Good morning, Eadric. How are you faring?" Beatrice asked.

  Eadric touched the bruise on his jaw and the cut on his upper lip. "I've had worse days," he said, tearing off a piece of bread. "It was worth it all to have seen the dragon. Even the singed eyebrows." He bit into the bread with strong white teeth and turned a perplexed look to Isobel. "You still have yours," he said touching his brow.

  "They weren't there last night," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

  Eadric regarded her quizzically and downed another mug of brew.

  "Today I'll be introducing Isobel to the basics of combat. I could use an opponent for her, Eadric," Beatrice said.

  "Yes, of course, Captain. At your service," he replied, and, setting down his mug, stood. "I must meet with Charley and Bertram first. See you in the training car within the half hour then?"

  "I just saw them before coming to breakfast. They seem recovered and are in rather high spirits. We arrive in Moredea in a few days and they are eager to be home. It has been a long trip this time," Beatrice said.

  "Yes. It has. I will put my time to better use then," he said with a curt nod and left the room.

  Beatrice and Isobel watched him leave and drank their brew quietly, contemplative, lost in their silent space as the Magpie pitched rhythmically.

  "That demon vedette you killed was very strong. Impressive for a young mystic with no training."

  "Was it? Honestly, at the time, I felt apathetic. It was?strange."

  "The greatest warriors I've fought along side have straddled that apathy like a victorious steed, Isobel. Perhaps your heart knows the difference, but that fine line between apathy and altruism, in terms of noble selfless acts, is nearly indiscernible."

  Isobel drank the last of her barley brew and ran her hand over the roughly hewn slab of wood that served as their table. Everything around her was sturdy, built to last, with a rich, ancient feeling. Even the colors were deep and sacred, like the voluminous red curtains falling to the hardwood floor in heavy pools of crimson velvet. The mug in her hand was thickly glazed, speckled cobalt blue and dark yellow, like a field of spring flowers at dusk.

  "I don't understand, Beatrice. How can I be empathic and apathetic at the same time?"

  "Your empathy comes from the ancient goddesses, Isobel, a gift of birth, one newly discovered. Your apathy is your shield, given to you by the war gods, allowing you to dance that indiscernible line we discussed. Most mystics are gifted neither. But I do caution you, the Septa will see your empathy as a weakness. It should remain our secret, for now."

  "Yes, of course. I don't have anyone to tell anyway." Isobel mused. "Do I even have a home in Moredea?"

  "Yes, the Phaelan estate in the Old Quarter, where the ancient mystic families live. My home is very close to yours. An old family friend oversees the estate, a mystic by the name of Healy. I have maintained it over the years, hoping one day to bring you back, when it was safe."

  "Who's after me, anyway? Who are we running from?" she asked.

  "I wish I knew. I wish that I had resolved this years ago and brought you home earlier. I just hope you are ready for training. You're a bit young by the Septa's criteria. The usual age of induction is nineteen and you are barely in your seventeenth year."

  "Seventeen and cursed and running from unknown things that want to kill me," she laughed. "What do you make of this dragon's curse?"

  "I am not sure. You are the keeper of a Leumane dagger, and that may have some bearing on the curse. I'll consult one of the mystic elders versed in dragons when we arrive at Moredea. I know of several in the Old Quarter."

  She touch the red wood box on the table. It was inlaid with a mother of pearl design, a simple ring within a ring, and the iridescent colors gleamed under the low lighting. With Beatrice's permission, she opened the case, revealing a green, blue, and red speckled egg nestled in a nest of black velvet like a polished opal.

  "This is a beautiful stone," Isobel breathed, picking up the egg and carefully cradling it in the palms of her joined hands.

  "Oh, yes, it is. And very valuable. It is a fossilized dragon egg. They are very rare. Your mother had a collection that I've added to over the years, as she would have wanted to do for you."

  "It's beautiful," she breathed. A subtle trail of light followed the path of her finger as she traced the opalescent greens and blues and flashes of red. "I understand why my mother collected these eggs," she said, carefully placing it on the velvet cushion in the box.

  "It is a collection hundreds of years in the making," Beatrice said, drinking the last of her brew. "So, are you ready to start training?" she asked, putting down her mug.

  "Yes, of course," Isobel replied, quickly getting to her feet, her legs feeling a bit weak with the idea.

  "Good. It's in the third car down. Follow me," Beatrice said, standing.