Third party ‘s PoV
It has been three weeks since Iulian entered the witch wood, surviving the encounters with the denizens of the forest by the skin of his teeth. Something had happened that night, something that he came to understand was his own doing, albeit unwittingly so. That feat of his had managed to attract the attention of the person he was seeking, yet. Whatever he was hoping to achieve got overturned, but one thing was sure to the young teen: his new situation is leagues above where he came from.
“Madam Mirza… Is it normal that all the memories I am processing are all either fear coloured?” The boy asked. This was the first task the witch had given him. With no one else to teach the boy about what he stumbled upon, the responsibility of teaching him the bare minimum fell to her. To ensure he wouldn’t endanger himself or his surroundings.
‘Primordials' know there’s enough tyrants out there. Least I can do is set this one straight before sending him off.’ Was what motivated the woman. Yet the more time went on, the more she found herself concerned about him. After all, what teenager, no. What child would have most if not all of their memories tainted with apprehension and fear? What could have led such a child to have memories filled with terror?
“No child… Not at all, but that seems to be a recurrent thing with you, isn’t it?Just so you know, I don’t blame or fault you. I am just really surprised. Can you remind me how old you are again?” Minadora asked as she looked up from her book.
She was sitting on a rocking chair by the window where the warm afternoon sunlight lit the reading room. Iulian was sitting on an elevated slab of wood, carved with strange symbols he still didn’t know the uses for. Whatever they did, he was grateful for. He had never expected this, to be helped so much by a stranger.
Not only had she healed him, she had also offered him a warm bed and food, and even a new set of clothes. He didn’t know how to even repay her for that; she had offered to teach him how to control whatever he had done that night.
“I think I am done? Most memories I’ve seen doing this are now… what was the word? Compartmentalised? They are all separated in those orbs thingy like you’ve taught, Madam.” He still didn’t know what was the use of doing this. She had described it as the very first step to ‘master himself’, to ‘increase his own awareness’.
The black haired woman looked up again from her book. Narrowing her eyes at him; she could see that behind the mask the boy was wearing was a fathomless amount of tiredness, of fatigue. This was something she had seen on the very first day since she took him in.
“Good, then you may retire to your room for now. Rest your mind. One of my familiar will fetch you for dinner.” She looked at him as he rose to his feet, uttered words of thanks and gratitude before leaving. His entire body, from his face to the way he moved displayed his chewed and worn out state.
When the door closed behind the boy, her entire body shifted. From a relaxed and laid back posture to one of rigidity and wakefulness. “Motan, report on your findings.” her voice was hard and sharp as she called out to her most trusted familiar.
With the body of a cat and the head and wings of an owl, Motan jumped down from the rafters where the other familiars sat. All attention directed to the woman, her eyes glowing a radiant silver light as her hair flowed. A small tinge of red wafted off of her, despite her mental capacity, she was unable to fully conceal her anger.
“Yes, mistress. It is as you expected.Uncaring and harsh. The boy’s body told us just as much from all the scars we found. While they were distraught at his disappearance, it is because there’s no one to balance their shortcomings anymore and not because they miss him. I will have to ask you to purge my memories of my times spying on them, the way they spoke about him was truly vile…” All the other familiars above hooted and chirped, concurring with him.
“Right… I will do so. Anyone else want that?” Most of the creatures nodded, making the woman balk for a moment. “Fine. Anything else?”
“They didn’t alert anyone and kept hiding the fact that the boy wasn’t with them. There’s some suspicion from the neighbours. But they kept down playing everything.” Motan added, his small bird head grimaced, the feather and fur puffed up.
“I see. Thanks everyone, I will call for another meeting in a few days to plan how we deal with them. While this is not our place to act, but the boy’s. I want them to stay far from the woods at all times until he is ready to face them.” Minadora declared. Her tone’s hard and commanding as she found herself more attached to the boy’s plight than she had ever thought herself able to.
All the familiars agreed in a cacophony of hoots, chirps and all sorts of beastly cries before leaving the room. All except Motan, who jumped on the woman’s lap. His eyes half lidded in an expression the woman knew all too well..
“Is that attachment I hear? From you, of all people? My, it seems that you’ve softened up, old friend.” His voice filled with amusement. “I am glad. Someone finally pierced through those ice walls you’ve wrapped yourself with. I do remember telling you, time and again, that you can’t replace people’s company with more familiars.” Motan bunt his head to hers, before nuzzling closer to her.
“What do you know, bird brain?” She spat with mock-annoyance. Stroking the black fur of Motan’s back.
“More than you know, moony~”
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Iulian’s PoV
‘I am so tired… I hope i wasn’t rude to madam Mirza…’ Is what goes through my head on repeat as I walk to my room. I feel so empty inside. But also so restless… I don’t even know what to do. The conflicting feeling’s my body is sending me and the fact that I am constantly tired doesn’t help.
I don’t want to disappoint her. It was so kind of her to help me when I needed to. It’s… It’s just that I don’t want to make her regret her decision. I don’t want to be out there alone again. Or worse. Back with them.
I open my door and stumble in, closing it as quietly as possible to not be an annoyance, before crashing into my bed.
I can’t shake these thoughts, I need to be better. To show her I am motivated and eager to learn. That I can do whatever she asks so that I can prove my worth…
Yet, whenever my mind wanders to what could happen if I fail. I feel flat, crushed. An overwhelming fear gripping my body as my mind loops back to trying to find a way to not let that happen.
And so I lay there. My mind is going round and round, trying to find solutions. Despair. I can recognise it now, thanks to Madam Mirza. I am desperate.
It makes sense.
‘Who would want such a broken thing? Not even a man, yet not a boy anymore…’ My words hurt, yet I can’t help but find the truth in them to be accurate. That’s what I am. A broken thing. I can’t do so much as staying awake for more than 5 hours at a time without fumbling things up, having this crippling tiredness drowning me.
I can’t focus, can’t do anything right… I am lucky that what the madam had asked of me is to sit still on the slab and think… even that is hard…
But I need to do better. I can’t. I can’t afford to go back there.
I recoil on myself. Hugging my knees to my chest as I feel myself crying, again.
‘What sort of man cries?’ My thoughts crop up and beat me down again.
‘Only a broken thing like me’ I let the thought out, my eyes sore. I do not know how much time passed since I laid down. The emptiness growing within me. This sensation of something lacking is increasing as well.
‘I am nothing but a miserable mess. I don’t deserve her kindness.’ I lament as I hear knocking on my door.
Right…
“Yes, I am coming. Thank you. And I am sorry to make you do this.” A cheerful bird chirp comes from the other side.
I can feel a smile tugging at my lips, remembering the small and fuzzy creatures the madam has.
I drag myself out of bed. The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon as the forest’s wisp around this tree turned home dances around.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
It takes all of my will to walk to my door. Trying to make myself presentable before exiting the room. The corridor is lit with a warm orange glow from whatever magic the woman has enchanted her home with. Yet, the colour is calming and soothing me as I make my way to the kitchen.
“There you are, Iulian. Come and sit. The stew is about to be done in a few minutes at most.” I still can’t believe how normal this all is despite everything else. Madam Mirza stood before a large pot with a white apron. Her long hair tied in a messy bun. The kitchen looked like the aftermath of a disaster: vegetable peels everywhere, spilled flour on the floor, and an acrid stench of burned food.
‘All that for a stew?’ I felt myself easing up. The woman looked like she was struggling with something as I felt a chuckle rising in me.
“Is there something I can do to help, madam?” I ask as I get closer. My earlier lethargy is gone.
“How about you start by calling me by my name, instead of madam Mirza?” She turns her head around, sending me an annoyed stare.
“R-right. My apologies.”
“Ah! Crap, no. Sorry about that. No, it’s fine. You’re a guest, so I won’t ask you to help me. Just sit tight over there. I am just getting this done, I was never really interested in cooking, much less for others. And now I am re-discovering why.” She laughs before looking back at the pot before her.
We stay like this in silence for a short while. I feel myself quickly growing restless, feeling like I should say something. That I shouldn’t be a bore like this.
“Mada-”
“And done. Yes? You wanted to say something?” She turned around the pot in her hands, a big smile on her face as she set it down on the table.
“Ah, no. Nothing, sorry.”
“Come on, no need to be wishy washy like this. I won’t berate you for asking questions or making small talk. I am no savage, you know?” I am caught off guard for a moment, and it seems that she saw that as she grins.
“Look, I do not mean to be rude or intrusive. But from what little you’ve told me when we met, and how you’ve been since you came to live here. You are struggling with something. So spit it out. I won’t cast you out if you say something that angers me. It’s my duty to make sure you are responsible for the power you’ve gained that day.” She took my bowl and started ladling stew into it, before doing the same with her own.
“About that… What power are you speaking about? I do not remember that night very well.” I say, feeling anxious, apprehensive of what she hinted at.
She looks at me surprised, her eyes widening a bit before smiling once more as she takes a seat in front of me.
“Why, of course. That would be sorcery, with a primary affinity to fear and secondary to anger and disgust. And about that night… It would be best to talk about it when you are a bit older and more… stable? No, healed would be a better term. When you’ve recovered from having lived with those cruel beings masquerading as responsible parents.” I stood there, mouth agape and brows raised. She didn’t mince her words. And, I am glad? This warm feeling in my chest: of being seen, of not being alone thinking that.
“Which leads me to this. For someone your age, you’ve been through a lot. So much so that you opened your Inkwell on your own. That’s a rare feat on its own, and even more so when what caused it was fear. Because of that, I want to extend to you an invitation. To live here, and learn under my tutelage the finer details of what it means to be a sorcerer. And perhaps more, if you wish of course.” If I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say before. Now, I felt as if my whole world was turned upside down. I started to babble something as the words bounced in my head aimlessly.
She chuckled, waving me off with a smile as she picked up her spoon.
“It’s fine, take some time to think about it. The offer will stand for as long as you stay here. Which will take quite a while. So eat up, eat up~”
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Minadora’s PoV
“Iulian, we need to talk. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting to try different types of clothes or styles. All I ask is that you ask me first, it would be my pleasure to help you figure things out about yourself. But there is no need to isolate yourself in your room.” I say, struggling to keep down my laughter.
I never expected him to try on my robes, but the erratic and visceral way he reacted hinted at something more hiding beneath his facade.
“Look, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at yourself in the mirror. The annoyance and self-judgement. How you jolt every time I say your gender. I am not blind you know? And I won’t let my pupil badmouthing themselves like that. So, can we speak about that?” I stand behind the door. I could have opened it at any moment, yet I won’t. Iulian is my pupil, and their privacy and respect matters to me.
I hear a crash, some muttered complaints and curses. Then after a short while the door opens to Iulian rubbing their red and sore forehead.
“You good?” I ask, using all of my willpower to not laugh.
“Yesh… Come on in.” They look suspiciously at me as I school my face yet again.
Following them, I pull the chair from the desk and sit on it while they sit on the bed as the midday sun shone through the window.
They try yet again to dodge and move on to another subject as quickly as possible. “Look, I am really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done something so disgu-”
“Atata. I will stop you right there. I never said that it was disgusting. That is one hundred per cent coming from you. Plus, if I remember well, a little bird once told me that a certain Maria was your friend. I don’t need to be a genius to put two and two together.” I try to de-escalate her self-hatred. Balking on the inside at how they had come to think like that, at who put that type of thinking in their head.
Iulian looks at me, a mixture of relief and bewilderment on their face as they try to process. “T-Then, can you help me understand something? Maria, she had asked me three questions that I… struggle to deal with the answers I’ve found for them.” The words struggle to come out, their anxiety oozing out of them. And despite that, they still try to do so. Good.
“Sure, but I will need to know the questions first to help you deal with what answers you’ve found.” I respond with a smile, trying to be as gentle and serious as possible. This is important to them after all.
They nod :” It's about what it means… To be a man, to be a woman. And that was when another question appeared: What does it mean to be a responsible adult? Because most of the answers I've found for the first two could fit for the third.” Ah! Those questions. Right, makes sense.
“I see. And what conclusion did you come to?”
“That it is all stupid. Who said that a man has to be strong, tall, and be able to fight and hunt. To be able to endure all sorts of things without crying, without showing that he cares. To work hard and never complain? Then on the other hand women are told to be beautiful, to mane the house, to know how to cook and clean, to care for others yet be unable to care for themselves. To be nurturers and not providers because that’s a masculine thing. Worst of all is that they tear each other down for not being good enough at everything, or you do something that’s not ‘manly’ for a man and ‘feminine’ for a woman. Like excuse me, but men should be able to feed themselves and women should be able to defend themselves. What in the ever fucking hell is wrong with that?!” I’ve never seen them so animated about something up until now.
“That was when that third question cropped up in my head. What does it mean to be a responsible adult? To me it means to be responsible for one's words, actions and self. To not cause needless cruelty and tear down other people for your own benefit. To provide and nurture, to care for yourself and others. To be kind and patient and empathic: to yourself first and then to others. I swear, it’s like people are actively trying to mutilate themselves to fit into boxes so that others can care about them or something.” Iulian let out a sigh as they grabbed their face, concerned and stupefied at the same time.
I’ve been nodding along, my smiles growing ever since they’ve started ranting.
“I think you’re right. Yet, there is also something that you are missing. Those views of men and women, while they are wide spread. They are not a gospel everyone follows. Plus it varies from place to place, and changes every decade to quarter of centuries. Worst is that it changes depending on the social circles you are part of: in the grand kingdoms of the west, to be a man in the noble circles there means to have long hair to show your wealth with how well you care for them. To the far south, it is unbecoming of a man to smile. While to the northern Jarldoms, women are part of all armed forces and political bodies.” There are so many more examples I can think of from the top of my head. Like the southern republic a few centuries ago saying that men having small genitals was an ideal of masculine beauty.
The room was silent as we looked into each other’s eyes. They narrowed their eyes at me, yet I could already tell what was going in their mind.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Do you know what those are called?” She shook her head.
“Those are called biases. Usually they are much smaller and inconsequential, but when they are about something as basic yet key to an individual’s identity. They can become widespread like a wildfire. Relating to how people picture them in their mind according to their traditions and customs: especially of masculinity and femininity.”
I sigh, happy that Iulian’s reaction was calm. People would usually be much more protective, and defensive of the whole idea of debating these subjects.
“It is really a pick and choose about who you are and what you want to be, but only when you are aware of it. Otherwise you’ll be influenced and controlled by them from the depth of your mind: ‘I am a man, but I cannot allow others to see me enjoying eating something sweet’ or ‘I can’t work out because muscles aren’t feminine’. Worst of all is that they impose their view on others, and as you’ve said, tearing down whoever dares to be something else. Different. Be it because they are jealous or that they are afraid, and thus want to ‘protect’ them from the cruelty they themselves suffered earlier in their life for ‘daring’ to be different. Unaware of the pain they cause doing so.” The subject was both overly complex yet was not at the same time.
Complex because it pertains to people’s sense of identity, yet simple because it is just a matter of perspective, of expanding one’s sight and experiences.
Iulian was silent, looking down at her hands, deep in thought.
I stretched my arms above my head. This subject was both important, yet also a source of so much needless conflict that it always tires me just thinking about it. So many deaths and cruelty: both said and done to others in the name of what is or what shouldn’t be.
“So. What do you want for yourself? Who do you want to be or rather: Who are you, deep inside?” I ask the question. She was already busy mulling over everything. Yet, the way she looked at me, a new glint of determination and will shining in her eyes.
It is a welcome sight, and one for sore eyes.
“I… I do not know who I am. Who I really am… But I know what I want to be. I want to be a responsible adult, not some broken man unable to feel or care about others. Or a defenceless dame unable to take care of herself or be accountable. I want to be me. Whoever ‘me’ is, but I know that I don’t want to be constrained by ephemeral ideas. To be told by others who I can or cannot be.”