The Girl Without a Necklace
The warm, late-afternoon sunlight was the first thing to hit Avacyna de Lukasa Arenelis' face as she was escorted off the ship. She thought she'd heard one of the soldiers on board mention the word 'galleon', but she didn't know the different kinds of ships or what galleon even meant. The elf's long ears twitched as she heard men shouting in the distance, the sea breeze cooling the docks, the rustling of fabric and the creaking of wood.
The armed guards at the shore end of the dock took over as her escorts, though all but one seemed to fear her. The other one was brimming with questions that, while frowned upon by the other seven of their party, weren't silenced. As they talked, she studied their armor's shining plates and jingling mail undercoats.
"When did you first start casting?" the guard asked, for the second time if she was remembering correctly.
"Fifteen," she answered steadily, practiced composure kicking in. "It was dark out and I panicked, and my mana manifested into a light. That scared me more than the dark, so it went out, but I experimented as I walked home. I was young, different colored lights made things look less terrifying."
"How many did you end up conjuring?"
She thought for a moment, then answered. "I think about seven. I had a solar light, a fire light, a pure arcane light, a lunar light, a natural light, a red light that I think might've been emotion magic, and a dark purple one that I couldn't identify. Still can't, actually."
As they chattered back and forth, the entire market row had gone silent, either fearing her or hanging on to every word she used to answer his questions. Maybe they were taking in her appearance,wondering how such a small young girl could be labeled such a large threat. High delicate cheekbones, gentle forest-green eyes, and pitch black hair swept over her left shoulder in a messy tail, a slight tan gracing her skin with a bit of a golden glow.
Maybe they were wondering if she was noble bred - which she was - or maybe they were wondering if she was a peasant's daughter with remarkable features. Nose as delicate as her cheekbones, hard jawline, prominent collarbones.
Maybe they wondered at her clothes, baggy grey pants and a shirt with cut-out shoulders, and what they were for. Maybe they saw the mint-colored trimming and wondered if it was elven embroidery, maybe they wondered what the material of the dark button that kept the two halves of her shirt together was.
Or maybe they were just afraid.
Most people were just afraid.
They saw her bare neck, heard the whispers of her power, and feared for what she could do without being restrained by an amulet or a magic type. She had no set spell tree, no mana stone to break, no limits on her powers except those that she herself put there. She was exactly like the first five mages, and everybody back then had loved them, hailed them as heroes and living gods.
But now they lived in fear of the unrestrained, their amulet-less necks and their mana-twisting palms. The last unrestrained - an Acquiri named Daizan - had been found out by his own family first, and they'd cut off both his hands before turning him in to authorities. He died of an infection nearly a week after.
That had been a thousand and eight hundred years ago, and things hadn't changed one bit since. Her parents, high ranking elven nobles, had panicked and turned her in as well, but they hadn't cut off her hands. She studied them now, perfect golden hands with soft skin and rounded nails, not a single thing suggesting that she was a prisoner and yet in so many ways she was.
Luka, as she'd taken to be called early in her childhood, had been shuffled from city to city in her homeland, poked and prodded t by her own people like she was an object, and then shipped out to the humans when they were done. When the humans finished with her, she had no idea what would happen. It wasn't that she was afraid of death, but of her body never being returned to nature, to her homeland.
Who was she kidding. She'd never see elven soil alive or dead ever again, probably. She's get shuffled from the humans to the other three kingdoms, most likely, then killed so they could experiment on her body, to see what the corpse of an unrestrained not riddled with infection could do, what secrets it could divulge.
Shaking her head, she realized that they'd stopped inside of a building of some sort and that the guards were staring at her.
"Miss?" asked the one that'd been next to her rather talkative interrogator, "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," she responded, with a forced even tone. "Where are we?"
"Your quarters, miss." The word prison crossed her mind, but she didn't say it, allowing herself to be led inside the sparsely furnished room and have the door locked behind her. She heard voices through the door for a few more moments, then the rattling of their armor and stomping of their boots as they departed.
It'd been a few hours since they'd deposited her in her containment room - oh wait, sorry, 'quarters' - but she was still too wired to try to sleep. What Luka was waiting for, eyes scanning the room's windowless walls, boarded floors, and textureless ceiling, was the gaggle of mages that would come to examine her and see if they could find what let her tap her mana so freely, why she didn't have a set type, and why she was so powerful at such a young age.
Maybe they'd even try amulets on her, mumble and scribble on their notepads as they watched it either change colors rapidly or lie dead and inert on her chest. Both had happened before, and both times she'd had no explanation for the confused mages that prodded her for answers as to how she did it. Amulets reacted to her, not the way they reacted to normal people, and not in a way that could be explained, but they reacted. Whether that was for better or for worse, Luka didn't know. All that she did know was that it confused everyone that had ever witnessed it happen.
A soft click alerted her of the door opening, and she forced herself to turn around slowly after composing herself, arranging her high-bred features into a cool, neutral expression, rather than whirling around with all her desperation and fear plain on her face.
When she had turned, she was greeted by two young-looking human girls in the light gray robes of what she assumed must be the humans' version of a Mages' Guild. The crest embroidered on their left shoulders, partially obscured by dark red wisps that had escaped their brothers and sisters hanging down the girls' backs and come forward over their shoulders, were familiar enough, but with a few minor changes.
Around both of their necks hung silver-trimmed amulets, the metalwork looking almost elvish with delicate vine-like strands of metal being teased over the stones and small leaves curling off them.
The girl on the left, who had green eyes so pale they were almost white, had an amulet that glowed brightly and made the rest of the room seem dim in comparison. Every so often the stone fizzled, clouds of golden sparks falling down out of their metal cage, but they disappeared into nothingness before they hit the floor. A solar amulet, if she wasn't mistaken, though one of those with silver trim was an odd sight. Primarily they were golden.
The girl on the right, an exact copy of the solar girl except for her eyes being a pale blue, had an amulet that flickered like a flame, shades of orange and red and yellow waltzing with each other inside the confines of the stone and playing warm light over her freckles.
So solar and flame mages had turned up to either study or execute her. Twins, no less. Interesting, even though she wasn't looking forward to being burned alive if that was what they were there for.
After a few moments of the three girls studying each other, the one on the right - blue eyes - stepped forward and opened her mouth to speak.
The Girl Without a Necklace
"I'm Sylvirah Corrosa," she began, in a very high and small voice that made her sound much younger than she looked, "And this is my sister Ihrone." She paused again, giving the green-eyed girl - Ihrone - the chance to wave excitedly.
"We're your chief studiers, and the only ones actually allowed in your quarters for your trial run, or test period. For about one or two months, depending on how things go, you'll be kept here so that we can keep an eye on you and make sure you're not actually a threat and such. We heard some pretty nasty rumors while you were on your way here, and we just want to make sure that they were only rumors, mmkay?" Sylvirah seemed entirely too happy to be present, and her speech seemed a little too peppy. She was either faking the happiness entirely or was nervous, afraid, and had practiced. Or maybe both.
Luka nodded, and Ihrone stepped forward, making some gestures with her hands. She put her left out flat, facing away from herself, curled some of her fingers in and brought her hands together in front of her, and then did some kind of shrug.
Sylvirah studied her sister's hands and translated. "She's asking what your name is."
"Oh. My full name is Avacyna de Lukasa Arenelis, but..." she paused momentarily, then continued, though much less sure. "I guess you can call me Luka instead, if you want."
Ihrone clapped delightedly and pulled out a notepad, scribbling something down. She made some more gestures, this time cupping her fingers around her mouth and then bringer her hand down and out, pointing at Luka. Once again, Sylvirah translated: "How old are you?"
"I'm seventeen now, and I'll be eighteen in about five months. I was fifteen when my mana first- " she had to stop herself from saying first reared its ugly head "-showed itself."
Ihrone's signs got faster and harder to follow as the conversation went on, until her hands were simply a blur to Luka, but Sylvirah's eyes must have been equally quick, as she didn't miss a beat while playing translator. Eventually, after what seemed like at least an hour, Ihrone's hands settled back at her sides and she beamed at Luka.
Sylvirah held up a pad that contained her answers written in impeccable cursive, and explained. "We just wanted to get a basic profile on you to cross-reference what you say with what the elves have written on their sheet for you. Things can get miscommunicated, you know, truths stretched and whatnot, so we just want to be sure before we draw any conclusions of our own."
Ihrone nodded, head bobbing so quickly Luka wondered if it would fall off, and made some lightning-quick signs again. Sylvirah didn't translate this time, engrossed in the papers that they'd just filled out, until Ihrone sighed exasperatedly and poked her in the shoulder. SHe looked up, mildly annoyed, and Ihrone repeated her sign.
"She says this is all we'll be doing today, and that she's happy to see that their record about your compliance is spot-on. We'll be back tomorrow at about seven o' clock, if that's alright?" Sylvirah asked, as Ihrone tugged her out the door.
"That'll be fine," Luka answered, then right before the door shut she added hastily, "Goodnight."
She heard a muffled thump on the other side of the door and then silence.
Luka only realized that she'd fallen asleep when the glare of the sun through the window across the table from where she sat hit her square in the face, full force.
From the knock on the door, she assumed, that it must be somewhere around seven in the morning. Standing and stretching, wincing as she rolled out her shoulders, before answering the door.
"Good morning," she greeted, smoothing her messy hair out of her face and stepping out of the way. Sylvirah breezed past her at a business-like pace, setting up at the table with what looked like a stack of flash cards and a fold full of loose papers. They looked like transfer forms, though she couldn't be sure.
She was distracted from her thoughts when Irohne latched onto her with a hug, prompting a startled squeak from the elf and a disapproving frown from Sylvirah across the room. Almost sheepishly, the green-eyed girl let go of her, waving and signing something that Luka assumed must've meant 'Good Morning'.
Luka tried to copy the sign back, and Irohne beamed before practically bouncing over to the table. She must've gotten it at least half right, then.
Smiling a bit to herself, the elf made her way over to the table and sat down, where Sylvirah's frostiness prompted her to switch back to her noblewoman's formality. She spent the morning until what must've been lunch time answering questions about what she remembered from her childhood, what she could do with her mana, and so on.
At lunch they took a break and had some sandwiches delivered to her room, not little ones like there would be at a party or event but full ones, lettuce flaring out the sides and crusts uncut. Luka and Irohne devoured theirs while Sylvirah ate slowly and methodically, cookie-cutter bites taken at exactly eight-second intervals.
Afterwards, it was the flash cards' turn, and while Irohne held them up for her she told Sylvirah what first came to mind, while the blue-eyed girl would then write them down, both of them stopping every once in a while to brush wisps of red hair out of their faces.
A card with the picture of a tree on it. "Hunting with my brother in the forests."
Another with the picture of a stream. "Taking my dog out for walks."
Yet another with the picture of a young human woman, dressed for a formal event. "My bethrothal ceremony."
That answer warranted raised brows from the twins, but otherwise they continued on as normal. They went through about twenty cards before the sun went down and the two redheads packed up shop, informing her that they would be back at the same time next morning, and to get some rest so that she could stay at the top of her game.
As Luka sank back into sleep, this time on the rickety bed set about five feet from the table, she thought about Irohne's hand gestures, and how foreign they were to her. Resolving to ask about it the next morning, the elf's green eyes fluttered shut.