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Scene #22
The lorali bloomed heavy and lush on the first day of Caelestis Novem. Blossoms of deep red and orange bobbed in the breeze as if ushering me into the cool depths of the gardens. The broad, deep green leaves of the organza ferns reached out to brush my face and hair, tracing dew trails over my clothing. I slipped deeper into the wild heart of the garden, down where the tamed groves gave way to the chaos of nature. The border unmanned, but clearly marked by a vast bramble of brandleberry bushes.
Only here I could find peace from the bustle of preparation for the week ahead. It was a year of six, an extra day of feasting and dancing to celebrate the goddess and her bounty to us. Why did it have to be a long year this year, the annum of my presentation? I hated that I was born on the first day of the high week. It brought extra attention when all I wished to do was hide.
I was the disappointment. On the day of my birth, my mother cried for I was not a son. The son they hoped, prayed, and sacrificed for, the seventh son who would become the Sept Son. He would take the highest position under the High King and restore the glory of the Ilars. I knew the story as if I had been there from before my conception. The tale of my family, Father retold it every year on the anniversary of my birth.
"Child, curb your thoughts."
I jumped at the sudden voice, rough and raspy. Turning around in my small haven, I beheld the strangest sight. A short man, only slightly above my height, stood in the midst of the brandleberries.
"I heard your thoughts jumbling about and making my insides twist for about half a mile. Whatever could be wrong to cause such distress?" he asked, his strange green eyes assessing my face.
"You heard my thoughts?" I asked. I was stunned. Being a female, I was not supposed to have the ability to project and the situation he was describing was a strong projection. None of my brothers could send that distance.
"Not coherently, or I wouldn't be asking you these questions, girl. You obviously have no training. Now tell me, what is getting you into such a state?"
I regarded him in silence. I was not about to dump all my trials and woes upon a stranger, no matter how he demanded it. "But we are not introduced," I protested. "I am not allowed to speak to men to whom I have not been introduced."
The man scoffed. "You are talking to me already, girl. It is a little late to start pulling proper behavior on me now." He executed a precise bow. "Errol Silas at you service, Donellea. May I inquire as to your name?"
"Zezilia Ilar." His eyes widened suddenly.
"Ah, that explains it. You are Ostin Ilar's daughter. Has anyone else heard your thoughts before, Donellea Ilar? Your brothers or parents?"
I frowned. "No, Master Silas, I am a female and incapable of projecting."
At this he laughed. "You incapable? I have never encountered so much raw projecting talent in anyone. No, just a minute." He raised a hand. "I have encountered one." He looked at me as if considering whether or not I needed a hair cut or a certain piece of clothing would suit me. "Yes, it is possible. Given time." Then suddenly he grinned, giving me a fantastic view of strong, white teeth. "You are going to be my new pupil."
I was so stunned, that I stared. "I am not trainable."
He frowned. "And why do you say that?"
"I have no talent. I am a female."
Dismissing my statement with a wave of his hand, he shook his head. "That is a ridiculous conclusion. There are talented females, just no strong talents. The Sept Son doesn't bother to have them trained. Now stop your protesting, child, and show me to your father. I have some things I need to speak with him about."
Then before I could protest, he turned and began stamping up the path toward the house. For a middle-aged man, he moved quickly. I scrambled to keep up. As Master Silas mounted the stairs to the promenade, my brother, Renato, rounded the corner of the house and spotted him.
"Ah, Master Silas," Renato exclaimed, executing a formal salute worthy of a court presentation. "What brings you to our humble home by the back gardens?"
Instead of answering, Master Silas frowned and met my brother's eyes.
"No," Renato blurted out, confirming my conclusion that projecting and receiving were taking place.
"You mean none of you have ever suspected?" Errol asked.
"No, she has never given any indication." My brother looked at me. "Father is not going to like this."
"Well, he is going to have to do something about it whether or not he wants to."
"You don't understand." Renato ran his hand through his hair. "She was supposed to be the son, the one that restored our family honor. Bringing this up now will only agitate him. His dreams are gone, past, this will only..."
Silas lifted a hand and Renato's attention snapped to him. Unheard words passed between them even as I watched.
Renato lowered his head. "Very well, I will bring you to him. This way, Master."
Master Silas turned to me. I must have looked as confused and worried as I felt, for he said, "Don't worry, child." He touched my forehead and a single word popped into my thoughts, "peace." The sensation was strange. It was as though someone had placed a piece of fresh plum on my tongue, sweet and juicy, except my mouth was empty. My eyes widened.
The man smiled, his strange green eyes dancing. "I told you, child." Then he turned and strode away. I stared after him. So, that was what receiving felt like.
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