Volinette's Song (2 page)

“Hey Volinette! Surprised to see you here. Thought for sure you’d be soloing for the family by now.”

Reanna made a strangled noise, but Volinette ignored her. Instead, she raised her own hand, returning the boy’s salute.

“Sometimes even the purest note goes astray,” she said with a grin. “I’m so sorry, I can’t remember
…”

“Baris
Jendrek, of Wheatborne,” he provided with an answering grin. “Don’t worry. All us farm boys look the same after a while.”

He laid a finger beside his nose and winked at her. A warm flush crept across her chest
and up her neck, making Volinette’s cheeks burn in a completely different way than they had just a short while earlier.

“Uh oh,” Baris said, sobering suddenly. “Show’s on.”

A reverent hush raced through the room as a diminutive figure in a night-black cloak entered. The sigils on the cloak were silver, but seemed to pulse with a radiance that could only be attributed to magic. The Head Master’s silver hair was pulled in a long braid that snaked down her back, standing out against black skin almost as dark as her cloak. It was a stark contrast to the royal purple robes she wore. Volinette knew, again from her beloved books, that there was no other Quintessentialist in all of Solendrea who wore robes of such a noble color. The purple robes were reserved for the Head Master of the Orders, and only the elected leader of the Quintessentialists could hold a claim to them. Maera climbed to the top of the platform and seated herself on the throne.

“Be seated, please.”
Maera's magically amplified voice bounced off the glass walls, penetrating the mind as well as the ear. She paused a moment, allowing enough time for the potential candidates and their families to settle. Then she continued.

“
Welcome to the Great Tower of High Magic. You've traveled from the very edges of the Imperium to see your sons and daughters, your charges and students, participate in the trials that will determine this year's apprentices to the School of Sorcery. Many of these young people come well prepared for the challenges they will face. However, some of them may yet be too inexperienced to prevail. It is to them that I put forth the following warning:

“
The tests are not intentionally designed to cause harm. They have been refined over hundreds of years to judge and weigh the aptitude and knowledge of the candidate. They are, by necessity, more challenging than anything you are likely to have faced before. Each of you has the potential to be a future Master within the Grand Orders of Quintessentialists.

“
I will not lie to you and tell you that no one has ever died during the trials. Unfortunately, there have been incidents beyond our best laid plans that have caused some hopeful candidates to pay for their dreams with their lives. However, we will do everything within our power to ensure your safe completion of the trials.

“
Now is the time for you to decide. There is no shame in stepping aside today and returning later with more knowledge and experience. Decide to stay, or decide to go, but either way, you must make a decision that could change your life forever. Mothers, fathers, siblings, and sponsors, it is time to say goodbye.”

Maera stood up and cast an appraising eye over the crowd before sweeping down the small staircase and out of the room. Her exit seemed to spark a low murmur of excited conversation. Volinette dared to look at her mother for the first time since the Head Master had entered the room. Reanna's lips were still set in the thin white line that they'd been in since they had been outside in the courtyard.
There was a fluttering lurch in Volinette’s stomach, but she forced it away. She’d already made up her mind.

“
Come, Mother, it's time to finish what I've started.”

Volinette wove her way through the milling crowd toward an
elderly Master standing near the doorway that led out of the High Council’s Concordance. In one arm, he hefted a stack of parchment. In the other, he held an ornate quill. He smiled at her as she approached, and Volinette felt another flutter of uncertainty.

“
I'd like to register for the Trial of Admission,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “What do I need to do?”

Chapter Two

As a young girl, when Volinette would listen to the tales told of the Great Tower of High Magic and the powerful Quintessentialists that helped to protect the Human Imperium from all foes great and small, she would imagine that the registration all mages were required to go through when they came of age was a romantic rite of passage.

She was sorely disappointed when she discovered that the registration process was far more mundane than she’d ever imagined. After declaring her intention to participate in the Trial of Admission, the elder
Quintessentialist directed her to leave the High Council’s Concordance and proceed down the hall to where a Master would be waiting to assist her with her registration.

The Master turned out to be a man with glittering black eyes set too close together over a pointed nose. Volinette thought he looked a bit like a mouse and had to bite back a giggle when the irreverent thought popped into her head. The Master glowered at her
, and she forced herself to put forward an appropriately sober appearance.

“As guardian or sponsor of the young person in question, do you release her into the care of the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences until such time as she is accepted into one of the schools
or
is returned to her home as an unsatisfactory candidate?”

Though the Master’s voice matched his mousy appearance with uncanny precision, Volinette wasn’t tempted to laugh this time. Instead, she looked to her mother. If she intended to interfere with Volinette’s wishes, this would be her last opportunity to do so. Once she was released into the care of the Academy, there was no legal way for her family to interfere with her any longer. Even if she washed out of the Academy without being chosen for admission to any of the schools, she’d still technically be an Apprentice of the Orders. That meant, in the eyes of the One True King, that she was an adult and capable of making her own decisions. Never again would her parents have any say over what she did, where she did it, or who
m she chose to associate with.

Reanna’s lips returned to the same thin, white line that they
had been in for almost the entire visit at the Great Tower. For a moment, Volinette was sure that her mother would force her to return home, to re-enter the life of virtual servitude as one of the players in the family business. She was surprised when her mother gave a curt nod to the Master.

“I do so release her into the care of the Academy,” Renanna said to the Master. Then she turned to Volinette. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Volinette. You know that your father will never welcome you back into his house after this. Are you sure this is what you want?”

There was a tiny part of Volinette that wanted to go back with her mother. To turn her back on the power she could feel thrumming at the base of her spine and go back to a ‘normal’ life. Or, at least, as normal as her family’s nomadic existence could afford her. That, at least, she knew. It was familiar. If she continued with the Trial, nothing would be familiar again. There was so much that she didn’t know that she would have to learn.

In the end, the tingle at the base of her spine, the subtle caress of the Quintessential Sphere, convinced her to face the unknown. She wanted to see what could happen. If she stayed with the family, her only prospect
s were working as a second-rate performer or working with the crowds. Volinette knew she would spend her life supporting better performers, like her brother or her sister Taryn. Father had said over and over that Taryn was going to be the best voice to come out of the family in generations. Why bother to compete with that when she could explore something that no one else in her family would ever do?

“I’m sure,
Mother.” Turning to the Master, she said, “I’m ready to participate in the Trial of Admission.”

A small smile twisted the corner of the Master’s mouth as he shook his head.

“Not just yet, youngster. There’s much to do beforehand.” He nodded to Reanna, his smile gone. “You’ve released your daughter into the care of the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences. You are dismissed.”

The Master turned on his heel and began walking down the corridor. It took Volinette a moment to realize that she was supposed to be following him. She took a few steps and stopped, glancing over her shoulder at where Reanna still stood, motionless. She almost felt bad for her mother. She doubted that Reanna Terris had often been dismissed from anything, for any reason.
The Master cleared his throat, and Volinette hurried to catch up, stealing one last glance over her shoulder. This might be the last time she ever saw her mother. When she looked back, Reanna was striding up the hall in the opposite direction. It seemed they’d both made their choices.

“This way please,” the Master said, directing her into a small office off the corridor.

Once she was inside, he closed the door and went to sit behind a cluttered desk. Stacks of parchment and paper littered the work surface, and towering bookcases lined every inch of wall space in the cramped office. Without seeming to look, he reached up, plucked a sheaf of papers from one of the bookcases, and sat them on his desk. He popped the cork from an inkwell and rummaged about in the drawer for a quill pen that Volinette was certain he’d been using since his days as an apprentice. It was far more drab and utilitarian than the quill the Master in the hall had been using.

The Master dipped the quill in the ink and hovered his hand over the first page of his stack. At last, he looked up at her, seeming surprised to see her still standing near the door where she’d stopped upon entering the room. He motioned to the chair across from his desk with the tip of the battered feather.

“Sit, sit. There’s much to do before you can begin the Trial. Name?”

“Volinette Terris.”

“Place of Birth?”

“Dragonfell.”

“Date of Birth?”

“20
th
of Wyrna, 5764”

“Are you here of your own free will
, without coercion or bribery?”

“I am.”

How long the questioning went on, Volinette couldn’t guess. She continued the rote recitation of facts about her family, life, and childhood until the Master seemed satisfied that he’d checked every box in his stack of forms. Finally, he took a shaker of white powder from his desk and sprinkled it over the ink on the papers. He stacked them and set them aside, then folded his hands atop his desk.

“Very well, Volinette Terris of Dragonfell. You’ve been registered in the records of the Six Orders.”

“Okay.” Volinette chewed her lower lip, debating whether or not to unleash the torrent of questions that was raging in her head. “What does that mean?”

“All potential
Quintessentialists are registered with the Six Orders by decree of the One True King. It’s Imperium law that anyone capable of tapping into the Quintessential Sphere be instructed by the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences to control their power. Those that refuse to register are considered rogue mages and face censure by order of the King.”

“Censure?”

The Master snorted.

“Didn’t have too many
Quints where you come from, did they girl? Censure is the horror that all mages fear in the night. Censure cuts your ties to the Quintessential Sphere. That feeling in the pit of your stomach, that almost impossible to hear buzz in your head that connects you to all things, imagine having that severed.”

The Master made a motion with his hand, like a pair of scissors cutting off a thread, and Volinette shuddered. She hadn’t realized that her connection to the
Sphere was something that could be reversed. Though she’d thought she was going mad when she first realized she could feel the pull of all things, the intertwining of the infinite number of threads that intersected in the Quintessential Sphere, she couldn’t imagine being without it. No wonder the Master described it as a nightmare.

“I never introduced myself, girl. My name is Fulgent Casto. You’ll be my responsibility until the Trial begins. So if you’ve any more questions, now’s the time.”

“When does the Trial start?”

“Not for a few hours yet. All the candidates are busy being interviewed and registered, just as I did with you. That takes some time.”

“What happens when it starts?”

Fulgent waved a finger at her with a tolerant smile.

“I can’t tell you that. There are things you’re just going to have to figure out for yourself. You’ll be placed into a holding area with the other candidates before the Trial begins. From there out, you’re on your own.”

Volinette swallowed audibly
, and the Master settled back in his chair, a grin showing his yellowed teeth.

“I will give you a bit of free advice, Volinette. Play to your strengths and keep your head. A lot of the candidates, especially the youngsters, tend to freeze up when they get out on the Trial Field. Remember to breathe and remember to move
, and you’ll be fine.”

There was a loud pop
, and Volinette shrank back from the sudden noise. A shower of sparks, every color of the rainbow, cascaded down over the desk, flickering out just as they reached the cluttered surface. Volinette blinked a few times, as if by that motion she might rid herself of the hallucination she was obviously having.

A tiny creature, about a foot tall with rapidly beating pearlescent wings
, was hovering over the desk. It appeared to be a miniature woman, with skin so pale that a fine pattern of faint blue veins could be seen tracing up and down her bare arms and legs. Her hair was a shade of red that would have been more appropriate on a ripe strawberry than on a living, breathing thing. She wore short breeches and a tiny tunic that would have been too small for the dolls Volinette played with as a child, yet they were finely woven with intricate details almost too small to see.

She
spun in a lazy circle, the gentle breeze from her wings buffeting the papers scattered about the desk. Volinette was surprised at the size of the thing’s eyes. The violet orbs seemed to be much larger than they really were, drinking in every detail in the room. She almost felt as if those eyes could see right into her soul, and the thought sent a shiver up Volinette’s spine.

At Volinette’s involuntary chill, the creature smiled at her, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. Volinette wanted to bolt from the office, but Fulgent was still slumped back in his chair as if this w
ere an ordinary occurrence.

“What?” Volinette
asked, but couldn’t manage to get more than that single word from her suddenly dry mouth.

“Not what,” Fulgent corrected. “Who. Good day, Lacrymosa. Are they ready for the candidates?”

“Yes, Master Casto,” the creature replied in a voice like a songbird. “Head Master Maera asks that you have Volinette join them in the antechamber.”

“Very well. That’s sooner than I expected. Volinette, this is Lacrymosa. She is of the Pheen.”

“Pheen aren’t real,” Volinette blurted.

“I’m very real, thank you very much,” Lacrymosa said, landing on the surface of the desk and stamping one foot. The tiny creature’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “Maybe you’re not real!”

Fulgent chuckled.

“You’re scaring her, Lacrymosa.”

“Am I scaring you?” Lacrymosa asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked at Volinette.

Words seemed too difficult to
procure and she didn’t want to offend the Pheen, so Volinette just nodded. Lacrymosa flicked her wings to her back, walked to the edge of the desk, and plopped down, sitting across from Volinette with her tiny legs crossed one over the other.

“I’m sorry, child. There’s no reason to be afraid. I have no desire to harm you.”

“But…a Pheen? Why? How?”

“I find humanity fascinating, don’t you? I came to study humanity and I’ve just never found a good reason to leave. I like it here.”

Volinette glanced toward Fulgent, who shrugged.

“She’s been here as long as our written history has been recorded,” he said with another shrug. “Who’s going to argue with a god?”

Lacrymosa snorted.

“The Pheen aren’t gods. We serve the will of the Eternals.”

“The will of the Eternals?” Volinette asked. It seemed that every moment she remained inside the Tower, there were two more questions she wanted answers to. Was this how the rest of her life was going to be? A constant stream of unanswered questions?

“No time for an answer, even if she’d give you one,” Fulgent declared, pushing himself to his feet. “We need to get you to the Trial Field. Lacrymosa, will you please tell the Head Master we’re on our way?”

“Of course, Master Casto.”

With a loud crack and a shower of sparks, Lacrymosa disappeared from view.

“She certainly knows how to make an exit,” Fulgent remarked as he opened the door to the office, motioning for Volinette to proceed him into the corridor beyond.

“Does that always happen?”

“What’s that?”

“The light and sparkles and bang?”

Fulgent chuckled.