Trinka and the Thousand Talismans

by Christy Jones

Trinka

  and the

  Thousand Talismans

  by Christy Jones

  For the One who is the Way,

  and always with me on the journey.

  tal·is·man:

  “anything whose presence exercises a remarkable

  or powerful influence on human feelings or actions”

  dictionary.com, accessed 03-19-2016

  © 2016 Christy Jones

  Cover & interior art, illustrations, and photographs by the author.

  Special fonts by Kimberly Geswein and Emily Spadoni used by commercial license.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced

  in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations in articles and reviews. All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Second edition

  www.joneschristy.com

  ...     Ellipsis     ...

  “A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.”

  - Lao Tzu

  Chapter One

  The City of Mirrors

  In the tallest glass tower, in the lowest classroom, all of the students were carefully filling glass jars with clouds full of thoughts.

  Except one.

  Trinka’s head rested softly on her arms as they lay folded across the top of her desk. In the silence of quiet study that surrounded her, Trinka’s mind was slipping away, flying far from the tower, beyond the white walls, up into a world where there was nothing but blue…

  “Trinka!”

  Her head jerked. Her elbow jumped and jostled the jar at the edge of her desk. The glass teetered for a moment, then slipped over the side and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Everyone turned at the sound, then listened as the sudden tinkling of breaking glass was replaced by the steady clink-clink-clink of Mrs. Swissle’s steps sweeping toward the back of the room.

  “At least it was empty,” Clarinda whispered loudly to the row of girls behind her. “Can you imagine if we had to breathe Trinka’s thoughts?”

  The girls giggled softly. Trinka blinked, still coming to terms with the fact that she was not flying free, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of those glowering down at her. She expected her teacher to lecture her on the importance of not interrupting everyone’s concentration, but Mrs. Swissle didn’t need to say anything. One look made Trinka wish she really were flying away.

  Without a word, Mrs. Swissle pivoted gracefully on the delicately spiraled stiletto heel of her left glass slipper and returned to her place at the head of the class. A small, thin woman with even smaller eyes and thinner lips, she surveyed her pupils critically.

  “Mrs. Swissle, may we have extra time to complete our answers?” Clarinda inquired from the front row. “I was almost finished, but a certain noise burst my concentration.” She smiled and ran a hand down her neatly bobbed hair, which was already as smooth as the surface of the glass jar on her desk.

  “Our class will end at the scheduled time. Which, I might remind those of you who have been lost in thought, is very shortly.”

  “But I want it to be perfect,” Clarinda insisted.

  “Then you will make it perfect in the time that we have left.”

  Trinka looked around. Most of the students had already filled at least two jars. Clarinda had five.

  Trinka’s friend Nikolay had three empty jars on his desk, but rather than filling them, he held one of them in his hands and stared into the bottom of it, concentrating all his thoughts into a small, dense cloud. The jar gradually took on the shape of the cloud inside it, becoming slimmer and narrower until it formed a tight tube. Then he picked it up, turned it around, and whacked the bottom of it, sending the dense little cloud hurtling across the room and into the back of Clarinda’s head.

  Clarinda gasped, whirled around to face him, then immediately turned toward the front, her hand waving.

  “Mrs. Swissle! Nikolay hit me in the head with his thoughts! And you won’t believe what he said!”

  “Not another word. I expect silence until you have completed your tests. This class is far too advanced to expect me to keep intervening like this. You are in pursuit of higher learning. Act accordingly. And remember, class,”

  Nikolay suddenly sat up straight, mimicking the mantra everyone knew Mrs. Swissle was about to recite:

  “Practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.”

  Trinka couldn’t count the number of times she had heard that from her teacher and, of course, her own grandmother. But no matter how many times she heard it, Trinka was always left wondering: how could she practice doing anything perfectly if she couldn’t do it at all?

  I don’t even remember what the question is, Trinka fretted. Maybe I can think of something that makes sense.

  She glanced at the desks next to her. Ophelie had formed her answer jars into a perfect model of the City of Mirrors. Unlike the real cluster of towers, which were too shrouded in cloud to ever glimpse clearly all at one time, Ophelie’s model showed almost the entire city in exquisite detail. Each glass tower twisted and spiraled from its bulbous base, stretching ever thinner and higher until its tip became so delicate it seemed to disappear into the air. Clouds of thought filled each of the five main towers, and Ophelie had even managed to color her clouds with tints of blue and bits of silver, sending them swirling and shimmering in a constant motion that made her answers alive with light.

  Ophelie caught Trinka’s eye, deftly picked up an empty jar, and created a tiny cloud near the top of it before passing it over. Trinka breathed in the thought and the question became clear:

  Where do you see yourself?

  Trinka closed her eyes and prepared herself for what she knew would come to her: nothing.

  Every time she was supposed to focus, she found her mind wandering, thinking about anything except the task at hand. Or worse still, she’d keep her eyes closed for so long, waiting for something to happen, that she would simply fall asleep.

  Come on, you have to do this. Where do you see yourself?

  Trinka took a deep breath and stared into the empty jar, concentrating hard. The tiniest little thought began to form at the bottom, but before it could begin to grow, Trinka hesitated. Where did she see herself?

  In that moment of uncertainty, the white wisps came apart, and the cloud dissolved.

  Mrs. Swissle called the front row forward to turn in their answers.

  Trinka tried again. A few little bits of cloud darted around the bottom of the jar, not connecting with each other. The jar wobbled in her hands, becoming taller and misshapen.

  “Second row.”

  Desperately, Trinka tried to make something, anything, happen, but the more she panicked, the less she was able to concentrate at all. Her hands were starting to shake badly, and the jar was getting more and more lopsided. She glanced over at Nikolay, who was hurriedly piling thoughts into all his jars and topping them off with a few sloppy twists. Distractedly, he ran his hands—still moist with clouds—through his dark hair, making it stand up in a mess of helter-skelter spikes with white stripes. Fortunately, he could make up anything at the last minute and convince everyone that it was brilliant.

  Why can’t I do that? Just think of something!

  Trinka tried again, but she couldn’t even get the cloud started this time. Nikolay and Ophelie were already sliding out of their pedestal seats and carefully carrying their work to the enormous candelabra-shaped display at the front of the room. Trinka felt herself following along.

  Where do you see yourself?

/>   She placed her badly warped exam jar on the lowest branch of the display. Empty.

  “As you may know,” the teacher announced as the students returned to their seats, “today’s lesson has been the most important in your schooling thus far.”

  Nikolay blew a soft cloud of thoughts over to Trinka. It caught on her hair and then dissolved in her face, forcing her to breathe its contents.

  That’s what she said the day she brought a collection of ancient jars to show us... Nikolay’s thoughts whispered.

  Despite herself, Trinka stifled a giggle.

  “Many of you, although not all,” she added with a meaningful look toward the back row, “have been striving for acceptance into the Elite Academy.” Her voice swelled with pride, and Clarinda sat forward expectantly.

  Airheads Academy... another puff of Nikolay’s thoughts reached her.

  “Today’s results provided the entrance exam. Those of you who were serious about acceptance would have foreseen that months if not years ago and started studying.”

  Mrs. Swissle paused to allow her students to murmur with surprise and anticipation.

  “For your next session, you will meet with the Five and find out where you are supposed to go. If,” she emphasized, “you don’t already know.”

  Clarinda smiled smugly.

  “In the interim, I suggest you use this time to reflect on your future.”

  As they filed out into the hall, Clarinda stopped and smiled at Trinka.

  “Mrs. Swissle said she wanted silence until everyone completed their tests. You never finished yours, so does that mean you won’t be speaking anymore?”

  “Not to you,” Nikolay confirmed.

  Trinka followed Nikolay and left an open-mouthed Clarinda behind as they crept along the corridor to a winding passageway. Most of the students had gone into the small reflection rooms to sit and wait in silence, but Nikolay had another idea.

  “The Star Chamber,” he beckoned.

  They slipped past the main entrance toward the staircase that spiraled around the vast glass atrium in the center of the tower. All along the circular walls, great trees of twisted white glass spread their barren branches toward the swirls of cerulean blue far overhead. On the domed ceiling, waves of cobalt intertwined with whispers of white as the frosty patterns shimmered and shifted in an impressionistic simulation of the sky.

  “Come on!” Nikolay whispered. Trinka started forward, then realized she was only looking at a reflection of her friend in the room’s many mirrors. She turned and scurried in the opposite direction, and they wound their way along the great glass banister, darting in and out of small rooms and up back stairways, to the most secret staircase of all.

  Above that cloudy ceiling, in the very center of the tower, stood a room where the leaders of the city came to decisions and exchanged secrets. The chamber was protected against all kinds of unworldly listening, so that no one could ever spy into it through telepathy or talismans.

  There was one device, however, that Trinka and Nikolay had found quite effective.

  “Are you sure about this?” Trinka asked as Nikolay carefully swung the narrow, arch-shaped door slightly ajar and put his head close to the opening. That little crack between the wall and the door of opaque glass made a tall, thin window through which they could see and hear everything.

  “What? Have they ever caught us before? Those old philosophers are so caught up in their self-reflections and their prophecies, it wouldn’t occur to them that somebody might just stand in the hall and listen.”

  Trinka hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t really afraid of getting caught. She was more afraid of finding out something she didn’t want to know.

  “Hey, I think they’re talking about me,” Nikolay whispered.

  Trinka hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and put her ear close to the glass.

  “The boy is incorrigible. He spends all his time trying to distract everyone and thinking up snide remarks.”

  “He’s nothing like his brother Andrey,” another voice added.

  Trinka and Nikolay exchanged knowing glances.

  “What about the girl, the one who sits next to him?”

  “Absolutely unbelievable. How can a girl with a sister like that have no talent at all?”

  “Her sister?”

  “Annelise, the star pupil of the Elite Academy from the day she arrived.”

  “Ah!” the other professors sighed in recognition.

  If the teachers thought Clarinda was the perfect student, it was nothing compared to the admiration they held for Annelise. Why couldn’t Trinka be more like Annelise? It was a question that everyone always asked—the teachers, their grandmother—even Trinka herself.

  “Here, they’re talking about you.” Nikolay moved out of the way so Trinka could have the closer spot.

  In spite of herself, she leaned nearer to the door, then tipped her head so she could see through the narrow opening into the room. Mrs. Swissle had her back toward them, with the other four members of the panel gathered in a half-circle around her. Trinka readily recognized Melisande of the Artists Academy, and Zelousha, leader of first-year Elite students. They sat at a gleaming, crescent-shaped table in tall, silvery chairs with gracefully curved armrests. The table appeared even more crowded than it really was, since its shiny surface reflected the enormous cache of exam jars, crystal candelabras, and faintly glowing glass spheres that covered it from tip to tip.

  “Where is her test?” asked Qui, a pale, tight-lipped Elite professor.

  “I didn’t bother to bring it,” Mrs. Swissle replied. “She never even answered the question.”

  Melisande and Zelousha murmured.

  Another voice spoke. “As we all know, students of this age—and even far beyond—focus mainly on self-reflection, for seeing the future of others is a task requiring particular insightfulness.”

  All eyes turned to Viellie.

  The last member of the panel was the eldest and perhaps the most important, but she looked the least like she belonged there. Unlike the others—poised, refined, and serious—she had a pile of curly gray hair with a few wisps sticking out, a far-off pleasant look, flushed cheeks, and a soft, dreamy smile. Maybe, Trinka considered, she looked happy because she too imagined she was somewhere else.

  Viellie paused thoughtfully, and looked toward the small opening in the doorway. Trinka drew back slightly, but couldn’t pull away.

  “She should not study at the Elite Academy,” Viellie pronounced softly.

  Trinka was sure now that Viellie was looking right at her.

  “For she has far more important things to do.”

  They held their gaze for a moment before Viellie blinked and smiled. Trinka slowly eased back and softly shut the door to the Star Chamber.

  “Come on, let’s go do something else,” Nikolay urged, already bored. As she followed him down the hall, Trinka couldn’t help wondering what could possibly be more important than getting into the Elite Academy?

  After waiting in one of the reflection rooms and watching Nikolay wrestle with his thoughts for what seemed like forever, Trinka rejoined her classmates as they prepared to find out their futures.

  Mrs. Swissle opened the door that led to the city’s steepest staircase. All eyes immediately turned up to follow the seemingly endless set of steps that spiraled out of sight.

  “Today, I’ll be taking you halfway to the top. How far you go in the future is up to you.”

  With one last sweeping glance, she started up the steps. The narrow corridor rang with the sound of dozens of pupils’ clinking shoes, each one striking a unique pitch as it hit the various sizes of glass steps. The effect was like the soft, unpredictable music of wind chimes, echoing in the unmoving air.

  Trinka kept her eyes downcast, focusing on the faint reflection that shone up from the heavily frosted glass floor. She had only visited this part of the tower once before, when she had first started school at the Predilect. It would be a pretty
view, Trinka reflected as they spiraled higher and higher, if only it weren’t covered with mirrors.

  She glanced up at her classmates. Clarinda smiled and ran the tip of her tongue over her shining white teeth, checking to make sure her reflection appeared perfect. Which, of course, it did. Her hair and eyes, both dark as night, provided an ideal contrast for showing off the delicate features of her fair skin. Nikolay walked beside Trinka, pulling grotesque faces at every turn to get Trinka to laugh, but she felt only dread as they came closer to their destination.

  At last, they filed into a room already filled with parents and supporters. The normally hushed atmosphere hummed with anticipation.

  “I wonder why no one from your family came,” Clarinda mused in mock surprise. “Could it be because you’ve produced nothing for them to see?”

  “I wish mine hadn’t,” Ophelie confided, shyly brushing the ringlets away from her wide, silver eyes. “Whenever I feel like someone’s watching me, I get so nervous that I can’t do anything right.”

  Trinka nodded in understanding and stole one last look around the room. Nikolay’s father, Balakiry, sat in the front row with his son Andrey, but Trinka’s grandmother and sister were noticeably absent. She was safe.

  “As you know, we are gathered to find out the futures of those who have been studying at the Predilect, hoping for acceptance into the Elite Academy,” Mrs. Swissle announced with pride “or one of the other fine callings,” she added dismissively.

  She began to introduce the panel.

  “Zelousha evaluated each pupil’s perception; Melisande, artistic ability. Qui looked at clarity of expression and evidence of understanding, while Viellie evaluated each student’s prophetic proficiency and overall insightfulness.”

  “Whatever that means,” Nikolay whispered.

  “There was one student who received top marks from all.”

  Trinka wished it could be her, as it had been Annelise. Clarinda was already hovering on the edge of her seat.

  “Our first choice for acceptance into the Elite Academy is…”

  Clarinda’s parents exchanged glances and squeezed each other’s hands.

  “Ophelie.”

  A flutter of gasps arose throughout the room as Trinka’s pale-faced classmate made her way to the front.

  “I must say I’m disappointed,” Melisande told her, “as you would have been my top pick for the Artists’ Academy. However, the quality of your work is just as evident on the inside as it is on the outside.” She held up Ophelie’s miniature City of Mirrors for all to see, drawing murmurs of admiration from the crowd. A flush came into Ophelie’s cheeks, and Trinka could imagine just how she felt: embarrassed by all the attention, but encouraged by their praise.

  “Second choice: Clarinda.”

  Looking flushed for reasons other than embarrassment and none too thrilled with her new label, Clarinda still managed to look smug as she took her place at the front of the room.

  One by one, Trinka’s classmates went forward. Still her name had not been called.

  “Nikolay.”

  Balakiry clapped Andrey on the back as the two exchanged grins.

  “Can you believe it?”

  Trinka looked up to see Nikolay’s face beaming back at her, his lively, green eyes shining brightly. “Now I’ll get to make those professors wish they’d never been accepted into the Elite Academy!”

  “I thought you didn’t want to get in,” Trinka said quietly.

  “Well, I know.” Nikolay shuffled his feet. “But my dad’s really happy about it, and at least this way we can keep having fun together like we always have.”

  “I didn’t get in.”

  “Not yet, but you will. If they let me in, they’ll let in any idiot!”

  Trinka half-hoped Nikolay would wait with her, but he hurried off to the hearty congratulations of his father.

  “Now, for the list of students who have gained acceptance into the Artists’ Academy,” Melisande continued, but Trinka barely heard the names. Without Ophelie, that list was small, and soon, it too had ended.

  The question Trinka had faced earlier in the day was beginning to sink in. Where did she see herself? If not in the Elite Academy, then where?

  The room had all but emptied, with just a few students left hanging around as their parents babbled with the Elite professors, excited by the prospects of acceptance into the most prestigious calling in Ellipsis. Balakiry rounded up the few remaining students to discuss apprenticeships with the dream merchants for them. Trinka wondered if he would come and talk to her, but he, Andrey, and even Nikolay walked out without giving her a look.

  Trinka was the only one who hadn’t been chosen by anyone. Even the panel members showed signs of departing. Viellie had already gone, leaving Trinka no chance to ask what she had meant earlier. And besides, she thought, I don’t want to explain how I heard it.

  Summoning her courage, Trinka stepped to the front of the room to face Mrs. Swissle. The rest of the professors cast her curious looks.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Swissle finally asked.

  Trinka swallowed. “Where am I supposed to go?”

  Her teacher looked back at her blankly.

  “We have no use for you,” she said simply. “Go home.”