"You!" Isabella looked like a glacier on the verge of transforming into an avalanche.
"You! Grrr." Lirka, standing beside me, radiated an almost physical heat, a small volcano about to erupt.
You! Emma's pointing finger was a black storm ready to turn into a hurricane.
The three were on the verge of tearing each other apart. In triangular formation, they studied each other's movements. Each had slightly dirty or damaged clothes.
"You."
"Me?" I didn't want to turn my head; the clash of those primordial forces before me stole all my concentration.
"Yes, you, Champion."
How I wish he'd stop calling me that. I turned to the left: it was Magnus's voice that had called me that way, not Tyeron's.
His quizzical smile had returned, like that of a snake showing its teeth before striking. The staff with three spheres stood straight as a spindle beside him, without anyone touching it, while the orbs floated placidly on top.
"Explain what happened before. Hurry."
"Magnus, does that seem like the way to ask?" Tyeron intervened. "Did you leave your manners in Lumia?"
"Well... I was struck by lightning and passed out." I started.
And I saw... something. But why should I trust you and tell you these things?
"Sure that's the whole story, boy?" The wizard's fingers moved sinuously through the hairs of his goatee.
I felt the caress of a warm hand from above. "Arek, dear, I think we can trust Father Tyeron's old friends." Sister Cora's smile, struck by a ray of sunlight filtering through the kitchen window, sparkled.
Outside, the garden had returned to its original appearance. At least from that position, I saw no trace of the white cage beyond the window.
"Trusting Magnus is a stretch." Tyeron's graying hair had the same patch of white as Magnus's, though his was brown underneath and not black like the Mage's. "But I suppose that, though slow, he's as reliable as he can be."
"Who did you call slow, excuse me?"
"I wrote you a letter about the boy almost a year ago. How would you define a person who responds to a friend after a year, excuse you?"
Shaking my head, my gaze fell back on the three colored heads of hair to the left. They had their backs to each other now, competing to see who could remain the most still. Sipar apparently arrived as silent as a snake and was beside them, dried from the water, his gaze fixed on Isabella and his cheekbones vaguely flushed.
"What do you expect from me, Tyeron? I'm a truly busy Master, I am. Not some parish priest." Magnus raised an arm, rotating his wrist as if making us a royal concession. "I received the letter and already knew I'd have to go to Astermond to be Isabella's tutor. I simply put the matter of the boy on my list of things to attend to."
"Thanks for the concession, Your Most Magnificent Uselessness." The pat on the shoulder that Tyeron gave him nearly made his eyes pop out of their sockets.
The two continued to bicker for a while, like an old married couple that never stops rehashing the past.
"Sister Cora?" A firm voice came now from even further left, preceded by a sharp metallic sound. Roderick had bent toward us, his every movement followed by the vague squeak of armor and the scent of mineral oil.
"Y-yes, Sergeant Roderick." Cora stood up so quickly that I nearly fell off the bench; my head was still resting against her, but the nun didn't seem to notice.
The soldier straightened and the light fell on his blond hair, giving him the appearance of an ancient warrior. It was strange how the same light, landing on different people, brought out such different qualities.
Roderick towered over Cora by an entire head and the air around them suddenly grew denser. The tension became palpable.
"I-I apologize for the garden. We got a bit carried away. We didn't mean to create a mess."
Cora's arm rose and her expression became unreadable. Does she want to hit him? I thought, holding my breath. Instead, her palm went to frantically rub the back of her own neck, while her cheeks burned.
"Don't..."
"In the coming months I'll be coming here often," he went on, impassive but with his gaze fixed on hers. "I propose to fix it myself, if you'll allow me."
He'll be coming here often? To do what exactly?
Her hands grabbed the apron at her waist, pulling with such force that the strings pressed against the black tunic. Her gaze was nailed to the ground, while the tip of one foot rotated nervously on the floor.
"You can do whatever you want to my garden, Sergeant."
A sudden silence fell. Everyone had stopped to look at them, even the triangle of fire among the girls froze for an instant. Slowly, Roderick and Cora's faces competed to see who would turn the deepest crimson.
"No, I meant... well... don't worry," she stammered, desperately trying to recover a shred of monastic dignity.
"He'll be coming here often?" My brother was either too clever and decided to change the direction of the discussion or too naive to notice what was passing between the two.
Roderick opened his mouth, but the answer came from another throat that preceded him.
"The Isabella here present," Magnus had moved to the right, reaching the girls. His hand rested with studied delicacy on the young woman's shoulder: the azure dress came alive again, moved by a sudden breeze. "Will study theology here, with the good Father Tyeron, by the will of her father, the beloved Coun—"
"Stop right there Magnus, I haven't accepted yet, to tell the truth," the priest interrupted him, arms crossed and feet spread, solid as an oak.
Isabella's dress stopped abruptly. The mage, without being fazed, moved his fingers from the girl's shoulder to a fold of his own robes. "I was saying... she'll come here every penta-week," he continued, raising his voice as he extracted a large leather purse.
He tossed it in the air, making it spin, then caught it on the fly. The metallic jingling that followed left no doubt, it was full of coins.
"This was the compensation her father had thought to give you." He stuffed the purse back into the deep pocket. "This, however, I'll keep; after all, you'd use it for useless things, like buying blankets or food for the kids. I've thought of a better reward, after all."
Sleazy, I thought.
Magnus extended a leg, raised a foot to take a step, then stopped for a moment pointing his index finger at the ceiling. "Right, almost forgot! I always leave things half-done." He brought his index finger back to Isabella's shoulder, and her dress resumed fluttering, lighting up slightly with the same electric blue as its owner's hair.
In a few moments, the dress returned to immaculate: clean, with no more trace of cuts or fraying from the fall. Cora and Emma's jaws dropped in unison. I suppose that, for anyone who spends their days breaking their back between laundry and soap, that power is a lifetime dream.
"The compensation will be taking care of the boy here present."
The mage knelt beside me, followed by his staff which floated a hand's breadth from the floor planks. We were at the same height now, with me on the bench and him on the ground. His eyes didn't move from mine. "Come on, let me see."
"Sorry?" I stammered.
"Off with your clothes."
"SORRY?!" My voice was immediately joined by those of Cora and Lirka, astonished by that absurd request.
"Out with the Mark," he concluded, and this time there was no trace of jest in his tone.
I obeyed, standing up and pulling off my tunic. I felt my cheeks blaze under everyone's gaze; it was my turn to blush. They all studied the center of my chest as if it were the map to a legendary treasure.
Magnus nodded slowly, his expression severe and hardening with each moment.
"So?" I asked with barely a whisper.
"Mm... there's nothing here," he then declared solemnly, continuing to nod like a pendulum. "Sure you didn't mistake what you saw?"
Tyeron's outburst thundered through the kitchen: "For the grace of mighty Eteria, you Third-rate wizard! Are you actually sure you read my letter? Or did you leave your memory in Lumia too, along with your manners?"
"Ah, right... the Mark is only visible when it reacts to magic." Magnus's constant nodding reminded me of a crazed rocking chair. "So, if I do this..."
He snapped his fingers; the staff beside him trembled, and a small sphere of yellow light appeared, floating lazily above his head, bathing everything in yellow light.
Immediately, the itch in my chest flared up. Golden, translucent patterns began to chase each other from my shoulders to my stomach, drawing arabesques of light on my skin. I squinted one eye, but there was no real pain; just an unbearable discomfort, as if thousands of ants were walking under my skin.
"Tyeron, did you see? It resembles that image in that old book..." Magnus murmured, entranced.
Tyeron shook his head, exhaling, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Be careful not to bring that ball of light too close, or you'll hurt him."
Under the priest's admonishing tone, I could hear Lirka's muted Grrr, but I couldn't see her, focused as I was on not scratching my chest.
Magnus continued to nod. In that instant, our gazes locked like two blades crossed mid-duel. While the corners of his mouth rose in an ecstatic grin, mine descended in horror.
All I remember, before the darkness that followed, was the chorus of voices in the room shouting in unison, "NO!", while Magnus whispered an icy "Yes."
Then, the blazing sphere of light projected itself violently against my sternum.