She saw less of her brothers as of late. Their faces grew longer as suns drove on and she could see, even in sweet Harvard, the tempering of their hearts into something harder. While she found more and more reason to sneak away from her lessons, Harvard found fewer and fewer excuses to join her at the river that crept through Old Garwater’s land. She skipped rocks on her own and then not at all. Suns moved on, indifferent to the rifts growing beneath their rays.
“I got to,†he confessed late one evening after their parents had retired to their bedroom. His hands twisted as they always did when he was anxious, and he was almost always anxious. “Y’know how da gets. I can’t just say no, not with him an’ Westor both. It’s important.â€
“I’m important,†Delial said. “I’m your sister. You ought listen to me, too.â€
“Aye, I ought. But I can’t. Not… not so much, anyways. Maybe next week? We’ll see.â€
“We’ll see,†she said as he tiptoed out of her room. She watched him go with the hope that he might look over her shoulder and see that she knew when someone was patronizing her. He did not.
Suns moved on, indifferent.
“Distraction.â€
“Aye. The fighting. I worry it is becoming too much for her.â€
Delial kept her eyes low. The eyes pinned upon her were hawkish, far too knowing and far too intense. Some weeks Delial swore they shimmered from amber to emerald and took every shade in between. Even so, Delial could never be certain: she found her difficult to look at, as though she were a sun in mortal flesh, and she remained hard pressed to describe the Witch to anyone else.
What she knew was that Hrathi was beautiful not in the way that all women were beautiful, but rather as hawks were: alien and elegant, with a body and a sharp face and eyes far too large and bright for a woman of her age. What age that was, Delial noticed, was largely dependent upon who was asked for no two people ever gave the same number. She was part maiden and part crone, some said, and those parts seemed to change with every season.
“Distraction,†the Witch said again. Her voice was disdainful. Beside her, Delial’s mother folded her hands and sighed patiently. Lyra did not frown outwardly but there were creases of anxiety tugging at the corners of her eyes, aging her in quiet ways.
“What say you, child? Hmm?†Delial kept her eyes low as she was questioned, the Witch’s words coming as sharp barks. “Speak. Speak.â€
“I-I’m sorry,†stammered Delial. There were other eyes on her as well, she noticed, eyes belonging to many of the other girls who had come for the evening lesson. Most of the other girls who could actually manipulate their flames, came a morose realization.
The Witch snapped at her before her thoughts could continue. “You are not sorry, girl. Listen.†The command was spoken and cold, spider-leg fingers wrapped themselves around her shoulders. There was a chill that lurched down Delial’s spine, part fear and part electricity. The Witch never touched her. The Witch never touched anyone.
“Magic exists in paradox,†spoke Hrathi, the rasp of her voice reaching her in dizzying stereo. “Chaos writ in energy, set to purpose: your purpose. Chaos given intent becomes order. Which becomes chaos. Which becomes order.â€
Delial’s ears rang with heartbeats and bells and the rush of blood that was not blood but aether, but not her aether. “The things you cannot master will destroy you, child,†the Witch went on. “And if you cannot master magic then it will devour you whole. It is a part of you: there is fire in your veins that has scorched generations before you, but you are stone.â€
“Mother--â€
The Witch released her. Delial fell at Hrathi’s feet with starry shapes stuck in her eyes, blinding flecks of red and orange that swam in her vision no matter how hard she tried to blink them away. She gasped. She retched.
“-- she is just a child.â€
“We never stay children for long,†said the Witch. “That is our price. If you fall short, then you will not suffer this world long.†She turned and rustled away, the train of her robe scratching the grass behind her bare feet.
Delial considered later as her mother was helping her home that she had been staring into Hrathi’s face but she could not remember it no matter how hard she tried.
“I got to,†he confessed late one evening after their parents had retired to their bedroom. His hands twisted as they always did when he was anxious, and he was almost always anxious. “Y’know how da gets. I can’t just say no, not with him an’ Westor both. It’s important.â€
“I’m important,†Delial said. “I’m your sister. You ought listen to me, too.â€
“Aye, I ought. But I can’t. Not… not so much, anyways. Maybe next week? We’ll see.â€
“We’ll see,†she said as he tiptoed out of her room. She watched him go with the hope that he might look over her shoulder and see that she knew when someone was patronizing her. He did not.
Suns moved on, indifferent.
“Distraction.â€
“Aye. The fighting. I worry it is becoming too much for her.â€
Delial kept her eyes low. The eyes pinned upon her were hawkish, far too knowing and far too intense. Some weeks Delial swore they shimmered from amber to emerald and took every shade in between. Even so, Delial could never be certain: she found her difficult to look at, as though she were a sun in mortal flesh, and she remained hard pressed to describe the Witch to anyone else.
What she knew was that Hrathi was beautiful not in the way that all women were beautiful, but rather as hawks were: alien and elegant, with a body and a sharp face and eyes far too large and bright for a woman of her age. What age that was, Delial noticed, was largely dependent upon who was asked for no two people ever gave the same number. She was part maiden and part crone, some said, and those parts seemed to change with every season.
“Distraction,†the Witch said again. Her voice was disdainful. Beside her, Delial’s mother folded her hands and sighed patiently. Lyra did not frown outwardly but there were creases of anxiety tugging at the corners of her eyes, aging her in quiet ways.
“What say you, child? Hmm?†Delial kept her eyes low as she was questioned, the Witch’s words coming as sharp barks. “Speak. Speak.â€
“I-I’m sorry,†stammered Delial. There were other eyes on her as well, she noticed, eyes belonging to many of the other girls who had come for the evening lesson. Most of the other girls who could actually manipulate their flames, came a morose realization.
The Witch snapped at her before her thoughts could continue. “You are not sorry, girl. Listen.†The command was spoken and cold, spider-leg fingers wrapped themselves around her shoulders. There was a chill that lurched down Delial’s spine, part fear and part electricity. The Witch never touched her. The Witch never touched anyone.
“Magic exists in paradox,†spoke Hrathi, the rasp of her voice reaching her in dizzying stereo. “Chaos writ in energy, set to purpose: your purpose. Chaos given intent becomes order. Which becomes chaos. Which becomes order.â€
Delial’s ears rang with heartbeats and bells and the rush of blood that was not blood but aether, but not her aether. “The things you cannot master will destroy you, child,†the Witch went on. “And if you cannot master magic then it will devour you whole. It is a part of you: there is fire in your veins that has scorched generations before you, but you are stone.â€
“Mother--â€
The Witch released her. Delial fell at Hrathi’s feet with starry shapes stuck in her eyes, blinding flecks of red and orange that swam in her vision no matter how hard she tried to blink them away. She gasped. She retched.
“-- she is just a child.â€
“We never stay children for long,†said the Witch. “That is our price. If you fall short, then you will not suffer this world long.†She turned and rustled away, the train of her robe scratching the grass behind her bare feet.
Delial considered later as her mother was helping her home that she had been staring into Hrathi’s face but she could not remember it no matter how hard she tried.
![[Image: d_footer.png]](http://cuideag.com/ffxiv/resources/d_footer.png)
