Sahren chewed on the words a moment, looking down to watch the surf lapping at the sand, refraining from looking at him as she spoke.
“There was an accident on the farm, Pa got trapped under the harvesting thresher, there was blood everywhere and Jarn the farm hand was screaming….I ran to help – I can remember screaming and being so scared…The farm hands were trying to lift it, but they couldn’t. As I was running, I just pushed out my hands, just trying to get to him. I wished so hard and something happened…” Still the nervous habit of whittling at that bottom lip presented itself.
The instructor listened quietly through her story, and placed a hand on her shoulder at its end.
“You’ve a rare gift, Sahren. Threshers are big machines, and heavy. Not too many trained field mages can lift them with the aid of their art, and you did it by instinct alone. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, missing this class,” he added, that sarcastic smile turning rueful. “They’re learning to pull wisps of Mist out of nothing and tip over small reed tripods. Something you’d be able to do in your sleep.”
Sahren found herself swaying into his touch a little, the warmth of another person turning her mood, forcing her to look at him with shining eyes.
“I didn’t mean to do it though, just my Da was hurt, and he was going to die and I didn’t even think – The farm hands were spooked, refused to stay around as long as I was there…Said I was a curse. Then they were sore as it took them days to get the thresher back in working order.” Giving him a long look with her doleful blue eyes “You won’t tell anyone I’m different will you? I don’t want to spend my time here as much an outcast as I left home for…” Almost imploring “In fairness, I’ve not the idea how to do it on purpose.”
“Different?”
Frost laughed, the sound bell-like and ringing through the calm seaside morning. The hand that was on her shoulder lifted up, the sleeve falling – the glint of a stone bangle visible for a moment before it does the same. It shines with unearthly light as the Instructor traces a tiny sigil in the air, leaving a trail of flame hovering in place behind the movements of his fingers. Sahren watched the trail of his fingers, the glowing borealis after them – eyes catching the firelight until they shine as she turns to look at him – caught in his eyes, unblinking – cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted as if trying to speak.
“Sahra,” he whispered, interrupting her. “Different doesn’t apply here. When your Talent comes to its fruit, people may act as though you’re strange for a while, but this place has hosted thousands of different Talents in its time. Your differences won’t set you apart here.”
“Yes they will,” she protested. “Perhaps not my Talent, but my voice, my body, even the cut of my clothes…They set me apart as sure as you picked my birthplace. Already I am, apart from my classmates and ignored for the most part…You are my first friend here, and you are my instructor. I am different, Anrui Frost. But at least I mind less now than I did an hour before.”
One eyebrow rose slowly, the smile washed from the instructor’s face.
“Everyone here is different, Sahra. That’s the point. If you weren’t different from those you left, you’d not have left. I’m from Tan Maevin, near as I can tell. Grale, who’s in there working with my Blackcards, is Moorish. One of my students is a Balthus-damned Namari, for Jag’s sake. We’re all a mixed bag of nuts here, something you’d best not forget. Now, there’s still an hour before lunch, so I suggest you get in there and learn what you can. Try not to show off too much, alright? We’ll talk more later, after I get your barracks situation sorted.”
Sahren felt hurt a moment at the sudden shift, the dismissal, but recovered without more than a flash of it in her eyes. Nodding meekly, accustomed to rebuke.
“Don’t worry, Sir, I’ll not show off…And thank you for your kindness and for offering to sort out the barracks.”
Reaching to touch her hand to his elbow for a moment, Sahren allowed herself one last look at the strange man’s eyes.
“I’ll remember what you told me, I’ll not let you down” She meant it, every word so steadfast and sure, even in her soft voice – with her awkward frame and baggy clothes – finally rejecting the automatic, timid body language she had adopted without thought. Finally, she felt some hope at fitting in, even if it was with only one person on this rocky, strange island so far from her home.
The instructor nodded, smiled, and promptly dragged out a small notebook and pencil, split the book open to the place of a ribbon marker and began writing. Capricious, obviously, but nonetheless entrancing with his easy manner, Anrui Frost disappeared into his writing as readily as he had dived into their conversation, his attention completely engrossed in the task at hand and nothing else.
About Ian
