The little girl crept down the hall silently, dancing across the paving stones on the tip of her feet as gracefully as a ballerina. Pausing just outside the door, she leaned against the wall and ever so slowly peeked an eye into the room.
She let out a shriek as another eye met hers and jumped back quickly. She turned to run but only made it a few steps before a strong pair of arms swept her up in their grasp, and her shriek turned to squeals of laughter as her captor tickled her.
“Stop! Stop! Let me down!” She screeched, beating her little arms uselessly against her bonds. Roaring with laughter, her captor relented and dropped her on the ground. Qas̆pahti whirled around to face the tall man who towered over her. His arms and legs were mostly covered in fur, with only the occasional patch of skin showing through, and his antlers were wide enough that they scraped both sides of the hall - as one of the buildings reclaimed from the Fey ruins, it had not originally been built with dimensions in mind.
She stomped her right foot on the ground indignantly. “How did you hear me this time, Limmy? How?" She gesticulated wildly. "I was silent as a fox!”
The elf, more properly known as Mullu-Lim, the third in command of Lady Aphora’s troops, let her indiscretion slide. With a low chuckle, he ruffled her hair. “Ah, little one, you were quite silent indeed. I’m sure you could have sneaked up on many a warrior but,” he tapped the long, deer-like ears sprouting from his head, “I am not so easily tricked. You need a proper muffling spell in order to sneak up on me.”
The girl looked slightly mollified at his praise, and he grinned wider. “Plus, there’s your smell. No missing that.”
“I do NOT smell,” Qas̆pahti reinforced her words with another stomp.
Mullu-Lim laughed and sniffed the air with an exaggerated motion. “Are you sure about that? Ah, let me see. This morning, when you woke up you used the new soap Aphora gave you - the one scented with those odd little green flowers our scouts found in the caves the other day. Feygrass, I think they dubbed it? Then you had breakfast which was, let me see..." He breathed in deeply, pretending to concentrate, "Eggs, fresh baked bread, and…” a genuine smile crossed his lips, “I'm guessing our hunters tracked down some wild boars? I'm going to have to get myself some of that bacon before it disappears.”
The girl deflated. “Damn it. How could you possibly tell all that?”
He clucked his tongue reprovingly. “Now, now, child, you know what Lady Aphora always tells you…”
“Noble ladies don’t curse,” she mumbled, begrudgingly. “But she does!” The girl protested. “I hear when she thinks I’m not around!”
The elf craned his head around theatrically, pretending to look to see if anyone was around. Finding the coast clear, he leaned closer to her, his antlers scraping against the wall with a noisy shriek, and whispered to her conspiratorially. “Let me tell you a little secret, Qas̆pa. Aphora is a noble, and she is a lady, but she’s certainly no noble lady.” He laughed heartily at his own jibe, only wilting when he saw Qas̆pahti’s puzzled expression. “Never mind, child,” he said as he patted her on the head.
Qas̆pahti shrugged it off. It was just one of those silly things he liked to say that made no sense. Besides he hadn't answered her question. “Why are your senses so much better than mine?” she persisted. A shadow flickered across her eyes, and she hung her head despondently. “I try and try, but all the kids in class are better than me. Ilqīpah says her doll is more observant than me. She said I was just wasting the teacher's time.”
As Mullu-Lim watched her head droop, pity welled up in his heart. The teacher should not be allowing the students to say such things but he knew it was an uphill battle. The poor kid was a bit of an outcast. There was no hiding, after all, her grey skin or lilac hair, no hiding the lack of long ears or green skin. She looked like the enemy, and though she was but a child, well…children can be cruel and it did not help that there were genuine reasons that elves hated the Gemlirians. As far as he knew, the adults had scrupulously observed Aphora’s commands to not harm the child, but attitudes were harder to change than actions.
His levity dropped away, and he bent down beside the child. “True, you can’t see, or hear, or smell as well as we can, but you have your own strengths, Qas̆pa. We elves are as fleet of foot as our brethren and our senses are keenly honed to detect all threats, but your father’s people-“ he avoided using the name “are strong and hardy, as solid as the mountains and just as tough.”
She shied away from his grasp, and met his eyes with a serious expression. “What about my mother?”
The elf hesitated, surprised by the question. Qas̆pahti knew nothing of her mother, other than that she had likely been a Corsythian, and she certainly didn’t speak of her. She had promptly latched onto Aphora instead as the mother she’d never known. “Well, we don’t know much about her.”
“She’s the source of my magic, isn’t she?"
Mullu-Lim nodded. “Perhaps. With people like yours - races like the Corsyths and the Gemlirians who have arisen through generations of intermingling - it can be a bit hard to tell where your talents originate from. Given how naturally talented you are in magic, I suspect your mother was most likely a water mage herself, but it’s also entirely possible she had not a shred of essence to spare and by some strange quirk you inherited the talents of a grandmother or a great, great grandfather or someone even further back.”
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She frowned, not meeting his gaze, and Mullu-Lim suddenly frowned as he remembered what time it was. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“….” She didn’t respond. He watched her for a second, debating in his heart whether he had it in him to send her to that class. Then, with a sigh, he relented. “Fine. Tell you what - today, I'll be your teacher.”
The girl brightened instantly, a fire leaping into her slightly reddish eyes. “Really? Can we practice my water-blade?”
The pall that had fallen over the pair lightened, and he laughed. “You wish! Come,” he said, standing up. “I have just the set of exercises in mind.”
----------------------------------------
Two hours later, Qas̆pahti’s enthusiasm had dulled. “Again,” her tormentor commanded, and a frown spread across her lips.
“Can’t we do something fun, Limmy?” she pleaded.
She gestured at the pile of limestone in front of her. On her left-hand side was a large pile of boulders several times her height; on the right was a much smaller pile of thin, frequently misshapen tiles. “This sucks.”
The elf smirked. “Form your water blade again,” he instructed her.
She complied begrudgingly. Focusing her essence, she produced a much smaller blade of oscillating water than she preferred. She wanted to work on making a sword bigger, not making it smaller. Who wants a small sword?
“Too big.”
She pouted, but mentally tugged at the shape, compacting it in on itself slightly.
“Good,” he complimented her. Mullu-Lim grabbed a boulder twice as large as her from the pile to her left and, hefting it as easily as if it was made of paper, set it down in front of her. “Now let’s try cutting it again. Remember what I told you. Slow and steady.”
Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Qas̆pahti tried to focus. She really did. She cut the first three sides of the tile out in crisp, straight lines - well, almost straight. But then something flickered in the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to watch as a large grey bird with a speckled white underbelly flitted across the meadow. Her blade promptly grew in size, slicing off the rest of the tile in a jagged, diagonal line - another mistake for the pile.
“Argh.” She stamped her foot impatiently against the ground. “This is stupid. Please, Limmy,” she grabbed hold of his arm and offered him her most entreating look, “please teach me how to spar.”
The elf stared down at her, then nodded his head slowly. “Very well. Take your stance.
The girl scampered eagerly in place about ten feet away, the appropriate distance away for a duel. She carefully adjusted her feet, making sure they were planted firmly in the ground before she started her spell. The essence responded to her call quickly, and a much larger blade of water than the one she had been using on the limestone sprung to life in her hand.
She stared at the sword proudly; despite being little more than a beginner, its size and the speed of its oscillation were far superior to what the other two water mages in her class could produce. It was already a dangerous weapon, and she knew she could greatly improve on it if Mullu-Lim would only show her how.
Her instructor didn’t bother to prepare himself. Instead, he waved his hand casually. “Alright, come at me.”
She lunged into action, two quick steps racing across the ground, her blade held at the ready. Then a sound like thunder filled the air as the elf clapped his massive palms together.
She flinched, her focus slipped, and the water blade she was holding collapsed in a puddle on the ground. His hand shot forward like lightning and came to a pause just beneath her chin. “And…you’re dead.”
She squirmed away as he tickled her. “That was a dirty trick,” she pouted. But the elf just shook his head. “Child, a battle is full of ‘dirty tricks.’ It’s full of loud sounds and unexpected movements. Any and every advantage your opponent can find, he’ll take, and you should too.”
He bent down beside her. “Now, do you understand why I am having you cut those rocks? Why I want you to focus on making a smaller blade?”
Qas̆pahti stared at the hated pile of rocks and screwed up her face. “You want me to concentrate?”
“Partially,” he agreed. “You need to learn not to lose control of your blade just because you hear a loud noise or because,” he grinned down at her, “you see a bird. Once you earn your true class, you’ll get spells that are a little easier to cast, but your water blade has true potential, and it meshes well with your natural predisposition to strength.”
She frowned at his oblique reference to her hated Gemlirian heritage. He was right, of course - her spell was well-suited for melee combat. Most elven mages tried their best to avoid - or evade - it, but with her naturally tough skin and enhanced strength, she was better suited than most for the thick of battle. But she didn't have to like it.
“But it’s also about learning to be precise.” Mullu-Lim rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. “You were blessed enough to be born with far more essence than most begin with. Discounting the increases that come with levels, there are probably less than twenty amongst my forces that started with as much essence as you. You are not lacking in power, Qas̆pa, but in order to be a truly great mage, it is not enough to be powerful. To be truly great, you must be both powerful and skillful. Your spell must be precise, your will so focused that even if an Atrometos comes charging straight toward you, your blade won’t so much as even flicker. Do you think you can do that?”
Qas̆pahti stared at the rocks again. Oh, how she hated them. But she nodded her head slowly, meeting his eyes with an unwavering gaze. “Powerful and skilled,” she repeated. She walked back over to the boulder that was now missing a jagged piece at its top and summoned her essence again. The sword flickered into shape, much larger than it should be, and she forced it to obey her commands, molding it to be smaller and faster. Then she started cutting.
She messed that tile up too. But the one after that was almost straight and as she worked the rest of the afternoon, the pile of useable tiles gradually grew larger - even if only slightly - the pile of cast-offs. She was improving.
“Powerful and skilled,” she vowed to herself. “Just like my mother.” She wasn’t quite sure which mother she meant - Lady Aphora or the one she had never known - but it didn’t matter. She would make them proud.