by Marie Brown
Chapter 6
Lydia found herself settling into a routine. She had her intensive review in the morning, her riding lesson before lunch, then real lessons after lunch. She knew what to expect from each day, and when to expect it.
Unfortunately, knowing failure was coming didn't make it any easier to face.
Before arriving in Caissa, Lydia had learned things easily, quickly, with no effort on her part. She soaked up knowledge like a sponge. But here. . . things were different. Was it the fact that she still didn't want to practice magic? Was she suddenly stupid? Was some kind of curse actively working against her? She didn't know, but she did know that she consistently felt inadequate.
Her morning reviews were painful ordeals. No matter how hard she tried, she could not rememer everything she studied. Sarrin had a real talent for spotting the gaps in her knowledge and questioning her on them. This did nothing for her confidence, and frequently led to an armful of concerned Meeplar.
As for riding. . . well, horses no longer terrified her. Yes, they were big. But they were also friendly and obedient, for the most part. But she felt sure she'd discovered every possible way to fall off a horse known to man. She'd come off bareback, and from a saddle, and over cavaletti (tiny little jumps that were supposed to help prepare her for larger ones). She'd fallen into arena fences and bushes out in the field. Once she even fell off into a pond. She still wasn't certain how that one happened. Her riding instructor thought it was all very amusing, of course. Not in a cruel way, but still. . .
And then came the magic lessons. For all her natural talent, magic came hard to her, very hard. It was like there was a barrier blocking her from her own power. She could see Sarrin looking grave while she struggled with the simplest of spells, like calling fire or even calling her familiar. Meeplar responded better to her emotional state than she did to any attempt to attract her attention with a spell.
In general, Lydia felt like a miserable failure, and she dreaded the upcoming review with all her heart. All students faced a quarterly review in front of their teachers and four members of the Circle, the governing body of the Hall.
The day of the review dawned appropriately gray and rainy. The clouds matched her mood as Lydia trudged down the long hall to Sarrin's suite. The review was to occur there, in the lesson room where she always felt so miserable, despite Sarrin's attempts at encouragement.
They were there already. Lydia froze on the threshold of Sarrin's suite, then took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and stood in front of them, four Lights in silver, Sarrin, and Kara.
“Welcome, Lydia,” one of the Circle said, she didn't know who. “Let us begin your review. How do you feel you have done these past four months?”
“Terrible,” Lydia whispered.
“I beg your pardon? Please, speak up, child.”
“Terrible,” Lydia repeated, louder. “I can't seem to learn anything right. And I can't stay on top of a horse to save my life.”
“This is not good,” the Light said gravely. “Sarrin, you have had the teaching of this youngster for four months. Do you concur with her self-assessment?”
“I do not,” Sarrin said firmly. Lydia looked at her, eyes wide. “Lydia is a hard-working student that sets unreasonably high expectations for herself, with the result that she is ahead of all students in her age group, and many older than her. If she does not remember every word of every chapter I assign her perfectly, she sees it as failure, without noticing that she remembers the sense and meaning of the lesson perfectly well. She is very headstrong when it comes to accepting this so-called failure as normal, preferring instead to focus on trying to remember everything, which we all know is just not possible. I am more troubled by the block she has on her abilities.”
“Have you any ideas about this block?” A new voice spoke up, while Lydia was still struggling to comprehend Sarrin's unexpected praise.
“I do,” Sarrin nodded. “I believe it stems from her resistance to being a mage in general. This student, for all her hard work and drive for perfection, still wants to be a baker, not a mage.”
“Can you tell us why this is, Lydia?”
“I like baking,” she replied simply. “It is what I have wanted to do my whole life.”
“And why do you dislike magic so?”
“I. . . I don't dislike magic, not really,” she faltered. “I just. . . it's not baking. And I don't see why it is so hard for me. I just want to learn what I have to, so I can go back to the bakery and do what I love.”
“Have you no joy in magic, then?” Lydia knew this voice. It belonged to the headwoman, Clariss. She snuck a glance at the friendly face and felt a stab of guilt. All these people wanted her to succeed, to enjoy magic like they did, and she just couldn't quit letting them down.
“Not really,” she confessed miserably. “It is so hard! I have to struggle just to call a little bit of fire, when all the other students my age can do all sorts of things.”
“Lydia, dear, remember how few students there are your age. Be easy on yourself,” Sarrin said, an often repeated suggestion.
“It doesn't matter how few there are!” Lydia burst out, letting the frustration and anger at herself loose. “They are all better than me! Everybody is always telling me how special I am, and how special Meeplar is, and all the things I should be able to do, but I can't even do as much magic as an uneducated beggar off the street!”
Sarrin winced a little at that. She had great pride in the amazing potential of her student, but it did indeed hurt to see a scruffy little street urchin already casting first level spells within days of his arrival, and progressing with supernatural speed after that. Part of her envied the Light with that protege, but the rest of her was glad that her student read far better than anyone else her age and had a passion for hot baths.
“Lydia, please calm down, and listen to us now.” The leader of the group, a Light with a much paler silver robe than the others, held up a hand in a “settle down” gesture. “We do not agree with your assessment of your own failures. We have discussed you and your block at length, and we believe that someone with the determination you display every day can overcome such an obstacle. We want you to continue on as a student, to keep learning, and to keep falling off horses.”
A flash of pure mischief passed over the Light's face as she said that. Kara snorted.
“When will I break through this block?” Lydia cried from the depths of her soul. The sooner her mage powers came under control, the sooner she could get back to baking.
“That is beyond our control,” another Light said, the only one that hadn't spoken yet. Lydia sighed. “Now take the rest of this day and do with it what you will. Remember that no one is perfect, and that it is okay not to recall every word of every lesson, as long as you understand the meaning. I think, to help you with the lack of balance on horseback, you should start studying dancing. There is a new dancing class beginning tomorrow night, after the dinner hour. Please be there, in the Grand Hall.”
Lydia remembered to bow correctly to each of the Lights before she scooped up Meeplar and made her escape. Wonderful. A new set of lessons to fail at. Why could nobody see how horribly she failed except herself?
The new set of lessons proved just as awkward as the riding lessons. Lydia felt horrifically uncoordinated. Her body simply would not do what she told it to properly. Why?
“Why?” she asked Meeplar, in the privacy of her own room, after a week of dance lessons. “Why am I so blasted uncoordinated everywhere except in a kitchen? I can move just fine when I'm making cookies and have to be in three places at once, because everything's happening at the same time! One batch comes out, while another batch goes in, and the others are cool enough to come off the sheet but if I leave them any longer they'll stick. . . that's a lot harder than moving my feet in a pattern, or sitting on a big animal's back. Why can't I do it?”
Meeplar didn't say anything useful, just butted her round little bo
dy into Lydia's chest and purred. She sent a feeling of outside.
“Well, if everything else is going wrong, at least I can understand you a little better,” Lydia said, scratching the fuzzling. “You're right, little fuzzball. We need a walk. Let's go.”
Lydia took off her charcoal robe, the brand of a student, and picked up her cloak. Meeplar at her side, she made her way to the end of the corridor and stood for a moment, hesitating. To the right lay the doorway to the rest of the Hall's grounds. To the left lay the Grand Hall, with access to the forbidden outside world. Then she shrugged. Why else had she taken off her robe, if she didn't intend to sneak out? She picked up Meeplar and warned her to keep quiet, then walked across the Grand Hall like she belonged there. This late at night, there were no people out here, and she slipped out the gigantic front doors without any trouble at all, beyond the struggle to unbar and move one of the immense things so she could get out.
The night breeze blew cool and damp. Lydia shivered, part cold and part excited, and tucked Meeplar more comfortably against her side. She hadn't been out of the Hall of Lights since the day her brother dropped her off there, months ago. The city of Caissa spread out before her, bright and sparkling even in the night with its elemental lights.
Lydia set off down the broad, paved boulevard before her. She'd heard of all sorts of wonders out here in the City, and she'd really like to see them. She'd start with. . . the Temple. Yes, that would do nicely. She'd heard that every god or goddess of light had a sacred space there. She'd like to go pray at Epona's altar for a moment, and ask for the goddess's aid with horses. She'd also like to see the altar dedicated to Vera, the goddess her mother worshipped and had served in her youth.
The Temple lay off to the right of the Hall, part of the vast circular complex at the center of the city. It was made of the same white marble as everything else in this city seemed to be, but somehow felt welcoming, rather than cold and imposing. Lydia slipped in through the always-open front doors and looked around in awe. Enormous! This place was huge! It was all a vast, open dome, covered over with an arching roof but still somehow giving the impression of infinity. Niches lined the walls, seperated by columns. Each held a statue of a god or goddess. At the center of the structure stood a great round altar. Lydia approached it. She saw lights around the base, one of which illuminated a plaque identifying the altar as sacred to the nameless Creator. She bowed respectfully to it, then moved on, looking for Epona.
Lydia wasn't sure how much time she'd spent in the Temple when she finally emerged. Meeplar had behaved well in there, a distinct relief, and now bounded joyfully behind Lydia as she ventured out into the city. Where to now? She wanted to see so many things, but it was late at night. No sense going to, say, a marketplace in the darkness. Perhaps the statue garden? She'd heard it was worth seeing, and statues could be seen at night, perhaps even easier than during daylight hours, as there were no crowds of curious people out now. But where was it? She thought of the map of Caissa she'd studied, then picked a route that should get her there.
It worked. Meeplar clambered on and over statuary whole Lydia gawked at some of the fantastic shapes. She'd read about some of these creatures in novels and in history, but her imagination hadn't been equal to producing what they really looked like. She was staring at a centaur, envying his ability to get around quickly, yet never worry about falling off, when Meeplar let loose a shriek like she'd never made before and launched herself towards Lydia, all four clawed limbs extended.
Then the world went dark as smothering cloth dropped over her head, a voice called out a single word, and Lydia dropped into unconsciousness like a stone.
