“So what has the Sovereign given you?” Nemma asked, after a few moments.
“The chance to serve in the Arc.”
“You weren’t born here?” Nemma lifted the little lidded pot and poured a hot, gold liquid into the accompanying small cup. She wrinkled her nose.
“I’m guessing you’ve never had fenyac before?” Innogen smiled.
“What is it?”
“Try it.”
It tasted of rich, burnt earth with a hint of bitter smoke. The flavor bloomed in her mouth and faded slowly after she swallowed, a warm glow spreading through her.
Innogen placed a hot cloth around Nemma’s head. “If it’s too strong you can try it with cream or honey. It’s part of the set, just next to the pot.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Nemma said, returning to her eggs.
Innogen laughed. “That’s the Realm’s most coveted drink you’re refusing. Only magiens can make it.”
Nemma bit into her bread. “Are you a training magien too?”
“No, I was born in Hannaw, ward twenty-four. I only arrived about two months ago.” Innogen placed another cloth around Nemma’s neck.
“You’re a serf?” Nemma asked, surprised.
“Yes. Well, no. Not anymore. I’m an aide now.”
“An aide?”
Innogen laughed “You needn’t look so disgusted, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“But why? Aren't you needed on your ward?”
Innogen sighed and wrapped more hot cloths on Nemma’s arms and legs. “My parents had lots of children. My older brother is due to take over the running of the family ward, and my other two brothers will assist him until they are to be married. My two older sisters and my baby sister will be married into other wards too but there will be no suitable husband or ward for me until I’m too old for it. I had to come. It’s expected.”
“By who?”
Innogen shrugged. “That’s the way. Serf children who are of no use on any ward enter into service.”
“So you didn't have a choice.” Bitterness lurked in Nemma’s tone. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Innogen threw her a strange look. “Do you think I would prefer to stay on my brother’s ward, looking after his children and working in the field all day while I remain childless and unmarried? Life is good here. I can still marry if I wish. The food is better than I could have imagined, the Arc is beautiful and the people are friendly. You’ll see when you start your training.”
“Don’t you miss your family?”
“Oh yes, more than anything. But there comes a time on every ward when change arrives. Families accept it and move forward. That’s life.”
Nemma sank into thought as Innogen cleared away the plates. Sooner or later she would have had to leave Mother and Father and set up her own home in the Ryim. And yet she had never imagined that life or what it would have been like.
“So what’s your name?” Innogen asked.
Nemma hesitated. This girl seemed honest and innocent. She showed no signs of suspicion or distrust as Clisantha Saraethien had, but…
Innogen rolled her eyes at Nemma’s silence. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your name. I’ll certainly be sent home.”
Nemma smiled.
“Puryth Mayea calls you Isa. May I call you that?”
Nemma nodded.
“Good,” Innogen said, delighted. “Let’s get you dressed, Isa.”
Innogen had brought a thick gray robe for Nemma to wear explaining that gray was the color for scholars. As Nemma put it on, she realized who the gray robed platform controllers were. Innogen gave her a pair of gray boots that cushioned and warmed her feet.
“Your robes are as important as your life while you’re in the Arc,” Innogen said, opening the door and leading Nemma out. “It’s your uniform and it signifies your right to live and learn here. It’s an indication of your status and a symbol of the culture you are a part of. There’s a penalty for not wearing it.”
Nemma followed her through a series of lumni lit corridors that had archways cut out on either side. “What is the penalty?” she asked.
Innogen turned to look at her. “They don’t tell us,” she confessed. “But I have heard it’s not pleasant so it’s simpler to just wear them. There’ll be spare robes in your room at all times.”
Through the archways Nemma could see out across the Arc, from the nearby buildings to the distant rooftops. The most interesting thing about them was their color. She had never seen any building designed in such pale, creamy hues.
They went down some stairs and into a courtyard layered with tiny white stones and a large fountain that threw streams of water in different directions. Nemma paused to stare at the stones by her feet. They were smooth and polished, opposite to the ones in the Ryim. The streams of water that shot up from the stone fountain crossed each other, shining as they reflected the lights underneath, lighting up the entire courtyard.
Innogen appeared at her side. “Come on, you can’t be late,” she said, pulling her along by the arm. “You have training sessions until the early afternoon. I heard they’re really interesting and fun so just relax and enjoy yourself.”
She led Nemma into another building and down a corridor before stopping outside of a large archway that led to a massive room.
“I’ll come and find you afterwards. Are you feeling alright?”
Nemma nodded and bid her farewell before stepping into the room. It was filled with high backed chairs, all facing a risen deck at the back of the room. Ivory columns jutted out from the walls with stone branch-like cords snaking around them and weaving up to the ceiling. The ceiling itself was filled with strange patterns and sculptures that looked like faces staring down at her.
She stepped down the hall. The first few rows at the front were filled with children of different ages wearing gray robes. Nemma sat in a row behind them, just as a figure stepped up on the platform. It was Puryth Mayea.
“Welcome,” she greeted. Her hood was down and her rich brown hair fell in curls past her shoulders. “I’m glad to see you all here. I know you have all had to make hard adjustments but I assure you, it will become easier.” She walked forward to the front of the platform and stepped off the edge. Gasps came from the rows in front as she hovered in the air.
“Learning to use the Gift isn’t difficult, but you’ll be required to practice regularly in order to refine your technique and gain the necessary experience and self-discipline to pass your training.” She lowered to the ground. “Each magien has a different experience of their Gift and sometimes can develop different results to the exercises in training. This is natural—we all have unique ways of approaching our own bodies and abilities.”
The Puryth walked into the rows of chairs looking at each of the children. “That being said, you should never look negatively upon what the Sovereign has bestowed upon you, even if it seems lacking compared to another. You are now a training group, no one else will be joining you and no one will be leaving. It’s important for you to talk to each other about your experiences and make the effort to get to know each other—you will find it difficult to integrate into the Arc if you are unable to make good friends in training.” She strode back to the front. “There are other training groups at the Academy, but you are not permitted to socialize with them until after your preliminary assessments. Everyone stand.”
Chairs scraped back as about twenty-five children stood, some glancing around uneasily.
“Close your eyes. The Gift is an energy force within us that allows us to connect to the world in the most unique way. It’s a part of us and gives us many benefits for a full and rich life. In order to use the Gift we must first access it.”
The Puryth’s voice became nearer and softer, almost as if she were whispering into Nemma’s ear.
“Relax your entire body. Drop your shoulders. Ease the tension out of your neck and back.”
Nemma tried to relax.
“The Gift is always with
you but in order to use it you must immerse yourself within it. Imagine it as a purple liquid bubbling within you, rising each time you draw breath into your lungs. Feel it snaking up your spine and rushing over your skin. Your hair stands on end and dizziness fills your mind.”
As she spoke warm calm settled over Nemma.
“When you feel a tap on your shoulder, open your eyes and come to the front.”
Nemma tried to imagine the Gift but every time she did other thoughts distracted her. Since lifting the gems at the Brook and harming the Thaide, she had hoped never to use her Gift again. It was too dangerous. The Thaide that tried to kill her had been fully trained and completely unmonitored. She would not turn into murderers like that.
A tap fell on her shoulder and opened her eyes. The chairs were empty. Puryth Mayea stood in front of the platform with four scholars, the rest had gone. Nemma made her way to the front trying to shake off the false sense of calm.
“You’re going to stay together as a mini-group for the rest of the day,” Mayea said to them. “I didn’t detect that any of you were accessing the Gift just now, but everyone develops access in their own time. I would like you to aid and assist each other in the development of this.”
Gesturing to the right she continued. “Make your way to the room opposite for your next session.”
Nemma followed the other scholars through an archway and crossed a corridor into smaller bright room. It held a circle of seven large, ruby one-seat chairs with high arms surrounding a low wooden table in the center of the room.
The scholars each took a seat, eyeing each other. There were two other girls and two boys.
“Do you think we’ve been put together because we’re the weakest?” a boy with floppy brown hair asked, a worried look on his face.
“No way,” a girl replied. She had curly black hair tied into two loose ponytails. She couldn’t be older than ten. “Both my parents have the Gift and they’re both top-rank magiens so I know my Gift is strong.”
Another girl, with thin braids of amber hair, pushed out her lips. “That doesn’t mean anything. Even top-rank magiens have different strengths.”
The first girl stiffened. “I know they’re stronger than the average magien, unlike your parents.”
The second girl jutted out her jaw. She looked to be around the same age. “You know nothing of my parents.”
“They’re probably not even magiens. I haven’t seen you in the Arc before. For someone who’s of a lesser strength you’re bold to speak to me in such a way.”
“How dare you,” the second girl said, a snarl at her lips. “My family is from the first quarter. We have family in the Arc who are top-rank.”
“Don’t you know that magiens don’t have any family outside the Arc?” the first girl said, shrilly. “Any prior family ties don’t exist. Therefore you have no family here.”
The second girl stood up, fist clenched. “We’re direct descendants of the family of Thaide Priest Kelvedon and—”
“Descendants?” the other girl said, letting out a taut laugh. “That sounds as though your Gift has almost seeped away. I’m surprised you are here at all.”
“Please, Syra,” the other boy interjected. He was older than the rest, about sixteen. “We’re supposed to be making friends.”
Syra glared at him but did not respond. The second girl’s lips were tight but she sat down, saying no more.
“It’s likely that we all have different strengths,” the older boy said to the first boy. “But the most important thing is that we help each other to gain access to our Gift and we can do that by getting to know each other. My name is Terris, where are you from?”
“The third quarter,” the boy answered, somewhat fearfully. He looked about twelve or thirteen. “My name is Deron. I’ve been here for two days.”
“Don’t be worried,” Terris said, smiling. “You’ll fit right in. What about you?” He turned to the second girl.
“Haleyna,” the girl answered.
“And you?” Terris turned to Nemma.
“Isa,” Nemma said.
“This is Syra,” Terris said, indicating the girl with black curly hair who sat back in her chair sulking. “Please excuse her. Her head has been filled with rubbish by her family. I should know, I’m her cousin.”
At that moment a very dark-skinned man wearing a green robe came into the room. All the scholars sat upright in their chairs as he took a seat.
“Welcome to the Arc Academy. My name Elementyth Othmar,” the man said. “I’m pleased you have introduced yourselves but disappointed by the behaviour of some of you so far.” He raised an eyebrow at Syra and Haleyna. “It would be wise for you to remember the advice of your trainers at all times.”
He produced five colored shiny balls from his pockets and placed them on the table where they began to roll lazily of their own accord. Nemma watched him with interest. In the Ryim no one had been much darker than her. She had seen magiens with many different skin colors traveling to and from the city, but could not recall any as dark as him.
The Elementyth said, “These balls represent important colors in the Sovereign Order. Each sect has a color and different responsibilities both within Hannaw and throughout the Realms. All magiens belonging to any sect must wear the relevant colors. Questions.”
“What are the Realms?” Deron asked.
“Syra, answer his question.”
Syra tensed. Hesitantly she said, “Our four lands are divided into different Realms. We’re in the Western Realm, where the Sovereign resides most of the time. The Central Realm is mostly the Dyera Desert, and the Eastern Realm is where Syfenra is. The last Realm doesn’t have a name because it’s barren and no one can live there.”
“Good.” Elementyth Othmar looked pleased. His face was friendly and open, with a wide mouth and deep-set brown eyes. “And why do we all know about Syfenra?”
“That’s where the yaccera seed comes from that makes fenyac,” Syra said.
Othmar nodded, smiling.
“Does the Sovereign rule over all the countries in the Realms?” Deron asked. “I was taught that he does, but how can he rule, if he lives here?”
“The High Priest selects people who liaise with him in each country,” Othmar said. “You’ll learn more about this during your studies.”
“Why is there a white ball?” Heleyna asked.
“Isa. Answer.”
Nemma looked at him with surprise. How would she know? She had only ever seen four colors being worn by top-rank magiens. They were all looking at her. She shrugged.
“Think about it, Isa,” Othmar said, his voice a touch softer. “Which color stands out and why do you think it is present?”
Nemma stared at the balls rolling around each other. Pure white was the only one that she had not seen anyone wearing. Not even when she was a foundling. It must be reserved for someone important.
“Is it the Sovereign’s color?” she guessed.
“Yes,” the Elementyth smiled. The white ball rose from the table and hovered in front of them. “White is the Sovereign’s color. It’s a sacred color that only the High Priest is permitted to wear head-to-toe because he speaks and acts on behalf of our god and creator.”
The ball floated over to the Elementyth and he plucked it out of the air. “Now,” he said, addressing Terris, Haleyna and Deron. “I’m going to raise a ball and I want each one of you to tell us something that each sect is responsible for and what the top-rank magiens are called.”
Terris nodded while Haleyna and Deron sat up straighter in their chairs.
The red ball rose first.
“Care sect,” Deron blurted out. “They look after the sick.”
“And they’re responsible for healing and medicine,” Haleyna added.
“They also look after the social development of society,” Terris said. “The highest level magiens are called Puryths.”
“Very good,” the Elementyth said. The green ball rose next.
&nb
sp; “The Element sect,” Haleyna said. “They’re responsible for looking after the earth.”
“They study the land to make sure serfs can grow crops,” said Deron. “And they study the sky, weather, environment and elements of the earth. They do experiments with different substances and sometimes create new ones. And they deal with the coupling, reproduction and organization of serf families.”
Othmar smiled. “I’m guessing this is where your interests lay, Deron?”
Deron blushed.
“The highest level magiens are Elementyths,” Terris added.
The deep purple rose next.
“The Creation sect,” Deron said. “They’re the creative sect. They design, paint, weave and create city structures.”
“They study people and culture through design and art,” said Haleyna.
Othmar looked at Terris who said, “The top-rank magiens are Visionyths.”
“Good,” Othmar said. “They also experiment with various materials and energies, but in a different way to the Element sect. Over the years they have created new substances, materials and tools that you may have seen in Torak. They find new ways to enhance our lives as well as the lives of those within the Realms.”
The blue ball shot up next.
“The Charter sect,” Haleyna said. “They’re responsible for the structure and order of society. They keep records and maintain Sovereign Law.”
“The highest level magiens are Govenyths,” Deron said.
Othmar nodded and smiled looking at them all. “Is there any area I have forgotten?”
“The Thaide,” Terris said.
Something moved between them and the two girls gasped, while Terris leaned forward on his chair. Another ball rose from the table but it was almost completely transparent.
“Tell me about the Thaide,” Othmar said.
“They’re responsible for keeping order and enforcing Sovereign Law throughout the Realms,” Terris said.
“They control the borders,” Haleyna said.
“Some of their work is very secretive and they are the strongest magiens that exist,” Deron added.
The Elementyth inclined his head. “Strong magiens are needed in all sects, Deron, but yes, the Thaide must have a high level of Gift strength. They’re trained using a unique method that dulls their emotional responses and therefore makes them highly effective. The way they carry out their work is almost instinctive, as if they don’t need to think about what action to take next. So they need to be strongly Gifted to absorb that kind of training. Most magiens who have great strength will either—”
Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1) Page 17
