Awakening, Quickening

New Mage in Grebefal pt 1

The captain entered the room with his characteristic heavy boots tromping across the stone floor. His normally bored tan aura was tinged with more than a little excitement and concern. Harlan's eyebrows flew up. "Captain? What seems to be the matter?"
Captain Jaksson's voice sounded mildly put out. "My Lord, there appears to be a newcomer in Grebefal. A strange young lady, with an elven maidservant and a newborn babe. She says she's a Mage!"
Harlan felt the shock spread across his face. "A young lady? a young lady MAGE? How is that possible?"
He heard Jaksson scratch himself. "Not sure, My Lord, but she seems pleasant enough. I sent her to Granny sos' she could check the babe, and Granny'll take her to the Inn after. Not sure what she wants in Grebefal. She seemed pretty lost." he coughed. "Kinda pretty, too. Not my type, but..." he trailed off.
Harlan grinned. "You think my match may finally have come to town? You're always telling me about some pretty young thing or another. This young lady already has a man, clearly. I wouldn't presume."
A rustle, like shaking cloth. "I wouldn't be so sure, My Lord. She's all alone, didn't even bring nothin' with her. Just the babe and the elf, and the clothes on their backs. I didn't see any bags or anythin'."
Harlan pondered this. "That is odd. Very. Well, keep an eye on her–on them–for me? I expect you'll tell me all about it tomorrow." He shook his head. "Anything else to report?"
He heard the click as Jaksson saluted. "No Sir. Nothing new in Grebefal except for that. Farmers report is, crops are doing well, some deer damage to the south. Lower levels of water in the supply cistern than last week–we've not had rain in a while. The bard from Blackwall brings news of stirrings to the far West, in the Barantides Islands. Stories of pirates and an end to the Blackwell and Barantide alliance." Jaksson 'clicked' again. "That's all I know, My Lord."
Harlan nodded. "Do spend some time in the tavern with the Bard, too, will you? I'd like to know more about that bit."

"Yes sir! I will Sir."
Harlan waved his hand at shoulder height, palm down. "You may go, thank you Jaksson."
He listened as Jaksson tromped away and the heavy door closed. Then he slid off the glasses and put them back in the drawer, and stretched, pushing himself away from the desk.

A new lady in Grebefal, he thought. And a mage? What country could she be from? As far as he knew, there were no schools of magic which trained women to be mages–and the only women he had ever heard of who had any magical abilities at all, were his mother and grandmother. It did happen, he knew–but it was definitely rare. And for this one to just turn up here? Why Grebefal? And why with only a babe?
His curiosity peaked, he decided he would do something different; he would go up to the tower and 'look' at the town, today. He would try to see if he could see this new Mage, feel her aura. Harlan smiled. He couldn't wait to try.
A shuffle and a soft blue aura told him that Mistress Fyn was back. Harlan waved her over. "Fyn, I have decided I would like to take some sun today. Would you assist me to the tower chair?"

The blue aura brightened considerably. "Aye, that I will, Master Harlan, I'd be right glad to! It'll do you ever so much good, to get ye some sun." Harlan smiled. "I certainly hope so." He rose from his chair and reached out a hand, feeling with his aura the path.

The tower chair was a chair built and bolted to a small platform that was raised and lifted by ropes slung over wheels on each side; it was lifted by a crank which was then settled into a groove in the stone, and a shutter locked over it to keep it from sliding back down. Uvin had had it built long ago, to carry Harlan up to the tower on good days, once he was too heavy for Uvin to carry on his own. His father had asked the town's blacksmith to manufacture the great wheels and gear, and he himself had installed it, to avoid having another person come into the tower. Harlan felt the ache in his chest as he remembered the first time he had felt how strongly and smoothly it lifted him upward, and his father's gentle voice telling him to lift his hand, to feel for the tower's trapdoor above so he wouldn't hit his head. Uvin used to carry him up the tower ladder himself, slung on his back like a sack of potatoes; but Harlan grew... He became too heavy and Uvin had become...
The chair rose smoothly; Harlan lifted his hand; there was the trapdoor. He pushed it upwards until it clicked into place above. The chair rose again a little more, then stopped; Harlan felt it lock, below. Then Fyn's blue aura rose through the ladder door, and her gentle old hands helped him out of the chair. Fyn was the only one who knew him, besides Master Jer. They were unwavering in their loyalty, albeit for different reasons.
Harlan felt the breeze on his whole body; This was the reason he usually didn't come to the tower–he felt as though there were no walls here, as if a single wrong step would blow him away, to fall down and down and smash on the rocks below. The air was full of mana here; it poured through him and into him, and he staggered drunkenly. Mistress Fyn helped him over to the wall, let him lean on it, get his bearings. Harlan reached out and spread his hands wide on the strong stone wall, feeling it, following it, letting his senses flow outward from its wall, towards the town. Normally his aura would not reach further than the inside of the castle; but in this wind, which roared around him, he was able to draw on its massive amounts of mana and continue to seek further until he reached the outer limits of Grebefal's fields, far beyond the town walls. The winds boosted his mental strength, even as they drained his stamina and physical ability to move.
Harlan settled himself onto a 'sunning seat', and reached out to each of the buildings in Grebefal, checking meticulously. He immediately sensed a difference; people in town were excited, curious; a few were angry. Jaksson said she was at Granny's, he thought. That was good–he could look in on her, there. He followed his mental map of the town, reached the big straw-roofed house, and gently touched Granny's warm, golden aura to let her know he was there, and who he was. He felt her gentle mental 'handshake'--Granny was the only other person in Grebefal who had the ability to sense him back, so he always asked her permission before visiting her. Granny opened her mind to him, and 'showed' him her room; allowing him to use her eyes, to really see–a thing which he could only do, when Granny allowed him to. He didn't expect Granny knew that, but he was exceedingly grateful for her presence in Grebefal because of it. Granny was sitting beside the fire, hands before her, stirring something. Across from her was a large wooden chair, and sitting in the chair, appearing half-asleep, sat a young woman.

Harlan couldn't see much of her face–she looked pale, and sat in the shadows–, but young woman's hair glowed like a second fire, in the dim fireplace light. It poured down from her head like a river of molten gold. He saw bloody scratches on her harms, which were bare, and blood on her skin. Her clothing was odd–a richly colored red velvet dress, but it was cut like a sack; tied awkwardly at the waist by a simple belt, without shoes, stockings, or hat. Beside the young woman lay a tiny baby in a basket; his aura was like tiny, white-hot spark, which flickered like a bright candle-flame as he slept. The young woman's deep violet aura was full of pain and weariness, and something else, something unfair, and cold. A kind of darkness, but it was directed inwards–at herself. She was clearly a strong and skilled mage; Harlan could see the glow of her aura brightly. He could see her wand, which glowed in her pocket, and the cord on her wrist which supported her body; he could tell how gently and carefully she drew her mana from the earth, and made certain not to draw from other people or touch them without permission. Her mana core sparked and dazzled in a curious manner, and was oddly misshapen–then Granny's eyes turned, sweeping across the room. She turned towards another figure, this one a young girl-elf, seated across at the table. At least, she appeared to be an elf, but Harlan could clearly see that the figure had the same aura as the young woman. Was this was an illusion? An extension of her, somehow? His curiosity deepened, almost got the better of him, and he almost reached out and touched her aura himself, to try to introduce himself. But he thought better of it, and pulled back. Back, back to the tower-top, and the warm sun, and the whipping of the wind, and Mistress Fyn's calm, studying hands.
No, not yet, he thought. She needs to rest. I'll find out more about her tomorrow.