" An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging me: Die with me."
- Anna Akhmatova, Song of the Last Meeting
∞
I stayed in bed for the next week. Not because I was avoiding Paris, though the uncomfortable interaction was a benefactor towards my self-inflicted quarantine. I slept and slept and slept. It was predicted, seeing that necromancy sessions could not, or as I proved should not, be completed alone. I had extorted and strained myself, and now my body was reaping the consequences.
People came and left, most of which I ignored at the door. I had planned to stay another week, until I got a warning notice from Rowena. Magic exhaustion was a viable excuse for missing class, as long as I kept up with my school work, but I was not allowed to miss my private lessons with Rowena. I had missed one, and she warned me that I would get a violation if I missed two in a row.
Though my feeling had somewhat come back, sickness decided it would be the perfect time to sweep in and knock me off my feet again, while I was crippled from magical fevers. I was unwell. As I always seemed to be this time of year.
As the colder, winter months rolled in, through the form of heavy, grey storm clouds and howling, biting winds, illness proved to be my constant companion. It was true that I hated the heat, unable to stand any form of humidity, but I also hated the cold. I hated the feel of the constant, uncomfortable chill that followed me all throughout the winter, no matter the amount of clothing I bundled onto myself. I hated the feel of numb fingers and burning skin, frostbite slithering under my scarves and layers of cashmere. I hated the feel of soggy clothing from the snow, and constantly having to watch out for icy pathways. I hated winter in general. It was a nuisance.
I tightened my scarf around my face as another wind rammed against me, forcing my stride to falter. Sensitive to the changing seasons, I felt horrid, but couldn't risk missing my tutoring with Rowena. And besides, I was used to it anyways. I was a fussy, sickly child. I still am, considering the way I still haven't grown out of my peculiarities and difficult personality. I was even worse to deal with as a child, though.
All throughout my childhood, I was plagued with illnesses. Nothing serious of course, seeing that my mother had me thrown at healer every single time I fell ill. I was always underweight, my knobby, bruised limbs failing to properly maintain my body weight. I couldn't exerisize or run, constantly lacking energy and tiring easily. My face in pictures was always sour, pale with a sickly grey tint as my small mouth was pursed in a thin line. My eyes were always bruised, the dark, heavy shadows underneath reflecting my insomnia. I could not sleep, my mother eventually resorting to pumping me with sleeping pills and dream elixirs. That went over splendidly.
The family healer claimed it was because my magical signature was not conscious yet, and that I would get better once I began using my magic. But the family healer was a horrid doctor, and an even worse person, corrupt and greedy in his practice. He told my mother what she wanted to hear, and signed off on any treatment my mother deemed necessary. Maybe If he was a genuine healer, who practiced medicine on a base of merit besides how much my mother payed him, his diagnoses might have actually been useful.
They weren't. At all. I'm still too bony, too morbidly pale to look healthy, my face refusing to retain any color, with my appetite still difficult, and my temper still short. Sensitive to the slightest change, my capricious mood shifts quickly, making my personality very hot-and-cold. Yes, I was indeed quite unbearable, but at least I had the self-awareness to know so. Unlike some of the blockheads my age. Unlike Paris.
Speak of the devil, Paris was sprinting towards me. I had done a concise job on avoiding him these past few days, by remaining barricaded in my room. I did not have the energy nor the temperament to deal with him at the moment. Paris' feet pounded on the stone of the courtyard, the puddles from the rain splattering as he came near. As he neared, he took care to slow down, as to not splash me.
"Are you stalking me?" I croaked out, my eyes watering against the wind. I had applied eye drops before I left, to help keep them from being so irritated, but they so far proved to be useless. I stomped past Paris as he casually matched my stride. His hair was wild, disheveled by the howling wind, and his cheeks were red from the cold. He was wearing a grey peacoat, looking awfully academic. Or homosexual. Whichever way you interpreted it.
"No" he said plainly. I stomped into a puddle, wetting my black, leather loafers. The grey water flew in all directions, and Paris carefully side stepped it.
"How did you know I was out of my room?" I asked again, scrutinizing him.
"I may or may not have found out from Rowena..." He trailed off. I narrowed my irritated, red eyes at him.
"So you are stalking me" My voice was nasally from the cold I had caught.
"No", he said plainly, denying my suspicions.
"My private lessons are confidential information"
"Totally are not, if Rowena was willing to send me to come collect you" He quickly justified, opening the door for me. I stepped, the warm air washing over me, making goosebumps rise on my arms. Instantly, the heat made me gain unbearable awareness of how stuffed my red nose was.
"She personally sought you out, just so you could come for me?" I asked Paris, blinking away tears from my irritated eyes.
"Yes". Paris was not looking in my direction. Had it not been for the way he adamantly refused to make eye contact, I would have assumed the reddening of his cheeks was from the cold.
"You. Big. Fat. Liar" I announced, sniffing out his falsehoods. My eyes were narrowed. I crossed my arms, and stopped to stare up at him. He glanced at me sharply, before looking up at the ceiling. His eyes wandered the walls, as if searching for a way out of this conversation. The hallways were peacefully empty, seeing that most students were at their private lessons. He was trapped. Finally, he gave in.
"Alright, fine. So I may or may not have gone down there to ask when you were coming out" He finally confessed, and my face twisted into a scowl of disbelief, though my expression was half covered by my huge scarf.
"I knew it! You're a bloody stalker!" I proclaimed, pointing at him. The idea that I was right, had my lips tugging up into a snarky smile. I grinned up at him condescendingly, will full intention to embarrass him. I somehow managed to turn my nose up at him, despite being a full head shorter.
"I am not" He said indignantly, as if offended by the statement that questioned his intentions.
"So you conveniently went to ask Rowena about my lesson, the same exact day that I had to attend it. How lucky that you were at the right place at the right time, Paris. Isn't it simply too coincidental? Hmmm?" I grilled him.
"No...well not exactly. I came by a couple times, actually. It was hard to catch her. She's quite a busy woman" Paris rambled on in one breath, his eyes roaming the ceiling. I was silent, my lips repeatedly turning downwards as I pursed them. I was failing the battle in containing my smile, before a laugh tremmored from my throat. I tried to hide my jeering expression by covering my face with my hands, before finally looking up at him with my fingers pressed against my pursed lips.
"Paris...Don't tell me you spent your time lurking outside Rowenas office..." I paused, my voice breaking from the laughter. I took a deep breath before continuing, attempting to calm myself, "...attempting to catch the poor lady, and hound her for information about me" I snickered, my eyes tearing up again at the absurdity of the statement. I couldn't stop the giggles as they continued to flitter out my mouth.
"You are such a stalker" I proclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. I clapped my hands together in childish delight. The satisfaction was short lived though, as the action was suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. I hacked my lungs out, wheezing for air, as pain shot up the flesh of my neck.
"I am not a stalker" He protested, "I was trying to find you because I had to talk to you... About the Chudovische"
My amused mood quickly diminished, like a flame smothered out. My expression fell into a displeased frown. I could never catch a break, could I? My life was a rotating circus of demons and investigations and bodily pain and accusations and aggression and fights and wounds and prejudice. I could not have peace for one singular moment. Paris, as if sensing the change of mood, also became increasingly serious.
"About what?" I asked tightly, beginning to walk again. There was no need to just stand around. We wound through the corridors, down towards the catacombs where Rowena and I usually practiced. There was more shadow density down here, so It worked better than being out in the open daylight.
"Well we autopsied the body and got Aline's testimony about what happened. We need to sort out our information, and actually move towards catching the demon. I gave you your week, now lets get back to work", He stated professionally, as if we had a quota of progress to meet. He'd be a great legion leader; he already had the commanding bossiness down.
I pressed my fingers into my stinging eyes, attempting to rub the irritation out of them, before pressing them against my temple. I already felt the migraine working it's way up.
"Fine" I sighed out, "After your Wyvern Fray practice. I'll meet you at your dorm. I'll bring my notes of her testimony. All the information I have"
He gave me a solemn nod, his lips pursed. He was such a killjoy. He ruined everything- the current thing being my life. This man was quite literally ruining my life.
"I'll see you later then" He told me in farewell as I strode past him. I threw up a drunken hand behind me, waving him off as I strode forward. I didn't look back, till I reached the empty room Rowena dedicated to our private lessons. Stepping in, I realized that I wanted to get wasted. Very, very wasted, to the point where I could not think about anything of relevance. Maybe then I could stop the racing alarms in my restless mind.
The door creaked open, the metal handle nearly black from the light. Rowena was sitting behind a desk filling out some paperwork. Her papers were washed in the orange light of a flickering candle, the rest of the room engulfed in shadows. I assumed she could see just as well as I in the dark, seeing that she was also a Dark Practitioner.
Rowena was a blood witch, by speciality, and she prospered in the dark arts of necromancy and such. I never questioned her about what tract she pursued, but I knew her gaining the position as headmistress, was outrageous for it's time. Dark Practitioners were not meant to be in powerful positions like that; it was too much of a risk.
"Hello, Eulalia" she stated, scribbling on her desk, before placing her quill into the ink pot. Rowena was old. Centuries old. So she had old habits carry on throughout the years. I wondered if she knew how to write with a pen, besides her trusty quill. Surely her handwriting wouldn't be as nice with the ballpoint.
"Hello, Headmistress Rowena" I greeted her, sitting down in an empty seat across from her desk. It was tall, and my feet dangled in the air from where I was sitting.
"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, though it does look like you could have used a couple more days worth rest" She stated, slightly frowning at my feverish state. I rubbed my eyes tiredly.
"Yes, well, I had Paris Arobynn breaking down my door this morning, so I hardly had the chance" I replied, lying completely about how my interaction with Paris went. He didn't meet me at my door. In fact, I was already out by the time he met me. He hadn't caused me much inconvenience, if you don't consider his unbearable presence in general. But I liked lying and believing myself more the victim than I really was. I gave her a watery smile, to pass it off as a good humored joke.
"Yes, well I was quite eager to see you today. It seems as though he was too" She stated, adjusting her silver spectacles, and giving me a knowing, shadow of a smile. Headmistress Rowena Pelegrine was beautiful; long, shiny black hair, glimmering black eyes and pale-as-snow, white skin. Her features were sharp and stunning, making the contrast between her personality always quite shocking. Her ebony hair was styled in voluminous finger waves, and was consistently tied up in a tight bun. She was stunning, in a chilling type of way, as you might view a black swan or an intelligent raven.
"I discovered a new Skill" she proclaimed to me, her dark eyes glinting with excitement. She was leaned towards me, her hands clasped at the opportunity. I couldn't help but lean towards her too, in intrigue. Magical Skills were passed down through generations, through stories or grimoires or family heirlooms. To discover one was very rare, which meant It was powerful enough to be hidden in the first place.
"What is it?" I asked quietly, my voice low in secrecy. Rowena treated me as her prodigy, offering me the juiciest bits of magic, the best quality of education. I knew she prided in my potential, and viewed me as a younger version of herself. She let me train with her personally, when I could of been handed off to Grisbane as any other Dark Practitioner might. We usually were, seeing the lack of Dark Practitioning professors in the school. There were not enough beldames when It came our various tracts, so they were all taught by Grisbane, besides individual masters of their specialty. As always, resources were limited when it came to us.
"It's old. Very very old. And conveniently, only shadow welders can master it" She told me, and the shadows on the walls rippled in excitement. I was a Shadow Syphon. I was the only one in the school. It was mine. It was meant for me.
"What is it?" I asked her again, urging her to continue. She pulled out an old scroll. I expected it to be a grimiore of sorts, not a scroll. It was moth eaten, the paper having soiled with age to a beige color. How old was this thing?
"It's original origins were Greek, dedicated to the Roman counterpart of Nyx: Nox. The author was a philosopher of his time, and he studied the Goddess in attempts to discover how the Dark Mother managed to incorporate her existence into Greek and Roman Divinities"
"So he was a mage, attempting to root out her influence. Attempting to discover how the mortals found out about her. He was a son of Nyx, wasn't he?" I asked Headmistress Rowena. She nodded.
"He was also a Shadow Syphon then..." I trailed off, noting the son of Nyx. Nyx was the primordial Goddess of Night and all Dark Life. She was one of the three daughters of the Mother, who was the original Godess. Nyx was my personal Patron God, the source of all my magic. My entire family's patron divinity was Araw- Godess of Light and the Celestials- one of the many reasons we did not get along all too well. My divinity did not particularly like theirs.
"He was advanced in his dark practice. Extremely advanced, which is why you and I will proceed with caution" Rowena claimed, rolling the scroll out towards me. I didn't dare touch it, as the image revealed itself to me.
It was written in the language of Antesh, a prehistoric dialect from the Golden years of magic. It was now outdated and dead, seeing that magic no longer had a specific language. Only the truly devoted knew it now. I looked it over.
The ink was old, faded upon the tanned papyrus paper. According to the outdated language, this was written during the Golden Age of magic, and sourced straight from Greece. I would not be surprised if the scroll was held in Alexandria afterwards, and forgotten upon the start of the fires. The scroll was old, and seeing how it was preserved in magic, in normal circumstances it would have been disintegrating upon the slightest touch. Instead, it sat insignificantly infront of me. A scroll with ancient secrets from before the collapse of Rome, was now in the care of a temperamental school girl.
My hands were shaking as they lay clasped in my lap. I didn't dare touch it.
"I've read it over" Rowena told me flipping it over, to reveal imagery and hieroglyphs. The hieroglyphs were of a human outline, before it filled in completely. I had originally assumed it was the body's shadow, till I saw the images of the shadow morphing with the human shape.
"The shadow is attaching itself to the physical body" I said to Rowena, confused by the imagery.
"No," she stated, pointing out the direction of the imagery, "it's separating itself from the body"
I stiffened in my seat, barely breathing as I observed the image. Why would the shadow remove itself from the physical body? It made no sense. There was no use of it, seeing that I could draw from other shadows besides ripping off from my own. Why would Rowena try to show me this? I had no use of it.
"What you see here, is a diagram of a man separating his shadow from his physical self. But he is not removing it from the body, instead attaching himself to the shadow" Rowena clarified.
"I don't..." I trailed off, before looking up at her, "I don't understand". My brows were furrowed in contemplation as I tried to understand what this Skill was.
"He is not shedding his shadow, Eulalia. He is doing the exact opposite. He is shedding his physical body, to project onto the form of a shadow, and travel as umbrae" She stated, scanning my face for comprehension.
"You mean to say, that this Skill, will allow me to...what? Astral project as a shadow? I'll be able to slip my magical signature out of my body and into darkness?" I asked, my tone disbelieving.
"Yes, simply put, it will be like shedding your skin. Not possessing a shadow, but gaining your true form. Astral projection, as you stated, is one name for it"
I inhaled a quick breath, feeling lightheadedness wash over me. I had not been breathing. This skill. This skill had been forgotten, extinct for centuries. Ancient Greece. That was the last time a mage had used this Skill on record. If it came out that this Skill had been practiced, it would have been recorded, noted, or at least mentioned somewhere. It was too powerful for the Magical Bureau to ignore.
And yet, after my years and years over pouring over magical Skills, specifically the dark arts, I had never heard of this. Spiritual projection was one thing, a weak form of projecting yourself into the spiritual world. It was ultimately connected to healing. But this. This was something else entirely. This was walking among the real world, not just the spirit world, completely undetectable. It was loosing your corporal form, and slipping into the world of the shadows.
When spiritually projecting, you remained in the spirit world. But with this Skill, I could be every where, in real life, and yet remain invisible and undetected. I would not be restricted by magical barriers or binding rings. The potential was limitless. Learning this ability would lift my spying to a whole new level.
"How do I do it?" I asked her suddenly, snapping my head up to look at her. She gave me a wide smile, her excitement visible. She clapped her hands together, as if applauding me.
"Practice. Lot's of practice, and intent. Intent will be what will pull you to the other side" She said, glancing at her pocket watch, "I was only planning on introducing you to this today. If we jump into it too quickly, it can cause bodily harm. If you're not ready and properly prepared for this, you could get stuck in your non corporal form. You body could fall into a coma, a vegetive state, while your mind wandered among the spirits, unable to find your way back"
"I want to learn the Skill. I want to reclaim it- to bring it back into existence after being forgotten for so many years" I interrupted her cautionary lecture, "I can do it. If anyone can, it's me"
She gave me a proud smile, nodding her head in agreement, "Yes. I'm well aware. That's why I knew you were the perfect candidate to master this Skill. Today we'll just study the scroll, get down the details. We have no room for error.
Next lesson, we can begin practicing the intent. I do not know how long this will take to master, but with your capabilities, I have absolute confidence in our success" She said to me, a determined glint sparkling in her eye. I assumed that was what mad scientists looked like, before attempting something unbelievable dangerous.
What we were planning to had risks. Of course it did. Everything had risks. But I was never one to be stopped by the threat of danger. There was either achievement and glory, or the shame of failure and ultimate death. I would gladly accept the latter upon failure. There was no room for defeat, and I knew with the help of Rowena, we would succeed in mastering this skill.
We spent the rest of my private session examining the scroll, deciphering it's codes and memorizing it into our minds. By the time we were attempting this in practice, it was mandatory that every corner of this scroll would be ingrained into my memory.