XVI. Clouds-
Fellan claimed it would take a week for Senn to ‘recover’--though he insisted he felt fine, better than usual in fact. He tried not to complain often, however, as the lord as been as kind as to allow Amora to stay in the manor. There was no question about Senn’s housing. The former stablehand doubted the lord would let him leave considering his ‘condition’. He also doubted he could work in the circus any longer. he dread the good-byes, the very though making his gut twist at night.
Though Lord Fellan refused to tell him much in this one, calm week, Senn managed to observe many of the happenings inside the grand building--and much of the lord himself. He decided two things were constant about his behavior:
Emotions were the bane of the man’s existence. Rarely did he show any sort of feeling more intense than slight surprise or bewilderment--and even then, his face remained nearly as impassive as a mask, only an arched eyebrow and small frown betraying his thoughts. His voice maintained just enough infliction to be considered more human than a mythical automaton.
However, despite this odd quirk, he seemed fond of jesting, especially sarcasm. Often it would be randomly scattered throughout a conversation--and on occasion, jokes as well--said in his normal tone of voice so it was quite hard to detect them. And most times, they left Senn blinking in confusion.
Or recoiling in shock as Senn did that early morning when Fellan asked over breakfast:
“Why the long face?” To which Senn was forced a chuckle in reply and tried to focus on his meal rather than the urge to claw at his pale face. The lord, however, seemed unaware of the distress he caused his new ward as he spooned egg into his mouth and skimmed over a small piece of parchment. Florence--who Senn noticed often spent mornings in the Avelli manor--pursed her lips.
“Don’t be mean,” she chided, eating food from Fellan’s plate with a rather large amount of poise and grace considering her act of theft. She earned herself a glare.
“Don’t tell me you don’t find this the slightest bit amusing,” he asked, one thin eyebrow rising. “You hate the creatures too.”
Florence snorted in the most unladylike fashion. “That’s not the point.”
Senn frowned. “Such a hatred again the whole of a species is a bit irrational, won’t you agree?” he asked. Fellan had displayed nothing but contempt for horses and anything remotely connected to them since Senn had arrived. He was a very logical person, though, so he hoped questioning the lord’s reasoning would help his case.
“Phillip,” Fellan said intensely. “Every time I go near one of the things it stomps, snorts, bites and kicks. Why would I ever think very highly of one?” Senn blinked for a moment.
“Oh, right,” he said, finally putting everything together. “You’re one of... them.”
Florence frowned, making sure to respond before Fellan could managed a seething retort. “So are you, Phillip. You just aren’t quite used to it yet.”
Fellan finally looked up from his paper. “Are you insinuating that I’m doing a poor job tutoring him?”
“If I’m insinuating, then I have done a poor job,” Florence sniffed. “I meant to scream it--at the top of my lungs perhaps.” She paused as she took a seat on the table and took another bite of Fellan’s food.
“Fine,” Fellan said. “We’ll go to the charts today--how does that sound?”
“It sounds splendid,” Florence agreed. “And I have something to tell you once you get back.”
“Is it about the attack?”
“Pertaining to it, yes.” she said with a nod. Fellan frowned.
“Then tell me now,” he ordered. “It must be important.”
“Important, but not imperative,” she replied. “The enriching of young minds is much more so than the art of war. I’d rather it not poison your thoughts while you are teaching him.”
“Yes, but now I shall be trying to figure out what it has to be,” Fellan said. “It’ll be distracting.”
“It’ll make you more keen to get back,” Florence corrected. “And more aware of the knowledge you are giving to your yong ward.” Fellan sighed as he tried to go back to his food and Florence made a childish grab at his parchment. Senn noticed the entry of Benedict as he started to collect unused dishes. Leaning back, he caught the attention of the elderly butler.
“Are they always like this?” he asked. The servant sighed.
“They are more rowdy when we have company,” he replied mildly. Senn stifled a laugh.
“You make it sound as if they’re children,” he said, amused. The servant--obviously less so--grumbled something inarticulate and left with an armful of plates. Senn frowned. Fellan stood and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Before I kill her,” he said, gathering his dark scarf about him and snatching a cup of tea from an annoyed-looking Benedict. Senn followed obediently.
“What about Amora?” he asked. This was the first time both of them would be away form the manor--the girl didn’t know anyone else.
“Florence will deal with her, I am sure,” Fellan answered, taking his thin sword from the mantle as they passed and strapping it to his belt. He paused to check his pocketwatch. “For now, I’ll bring you to the our charts.”
Senn coughed. “Charts?” Fellan sighed and Senn prepared himself for what he was sure would be a frustrating encounter.
“Ancient bloodlines,” the lord said as they exited the Avelli Manor. “Each great House owns a copy of each and it can be used to track any lychan back to the original four--are you sur eyou know none of this?”
Sen nodded. Slightly exasperated, Fellan continued, “Perhaps I should start at the beginning then. Lychan politics and mundane politics are largely different, but intertwined. You have the great Houses and their earls, yes? Then, each smaller Houses--like mine--and lords who sworn to one. All are under rule of the City-lord. Similarly, there are four factions--breeds, if you will--of Lychans, each being ascociated with one great house. House Erden is the house of the Lupine, Auran Vulpine, Rime Undine, and Saladryn and Ignine.”
“So the earl is the leader of his faction?” Senn asked eagerly. Fellan gave him apointed look.
“No, each Lychan faction is ruled by the eldest among us, titled the First,” Fellan said. “That way--in theory--the wisest and most powerful of our kind may speak for us, and everyone will get a chance to rule.”
“That sounds quite fair,” Senn admitted.
“Until the Firsts start killing to make sure only his family stays in power,” Fellan commented. “Which is why we have the Second--a lychan appointed by the First to keep himself in check.”
“So, the First elects the very person who’s supposed to keep him from taking more power?”
“Would you rather the second oldest take the position?” Fellan replied. “While Lychan and mundane politics remain seperate, they still affect each other, allowing lesser Houses to rise in power over even the great Houses.”
An thought suddenly struck Senn. “My ringmaster mentioned that Lord Drake had a great deal of influence for a lesser House,” he said. Fellan nodded.
“Lord Drake is the Undine First,” Fellan said. “and Lady Florence is his only child.”
“And you are?” Senn asked.
“I serve his lordship,” Fellan replied vaguely, then paused as he remembered who he was talking to. “Lord Warren Cassius is the current Vulpine First and I his Second.”
Fellan stopped in front of a tall building. Though it was only a story taller than the one’s around it, it’s slender frame made it appear higher and a great deal more elegant. It was composed of whitewashed brick and many stain-colored windows. THE AURAN FIRST LIBRARY read in stone letters at the top.
“Coincidentally, this was the first library my House organized,” Fellan said, scaling the staircase to the door. “But the pun still is quite humorless. Don’t talk once we’re inside.”
“It’s just a lib--” Senn started as they entered, but a harsh, amber-hued look stopped his words in their tracks.
The library was dim and silent. Not even the sound of boots scuffing against wood came to Senn’s sensitive ears. The air was thick and clogged with the odor of decaying books. Alchemical lights were used to light the rooms--Senn guessed their finicky nature was the cause of such a gloom.
A balding man sat at a dark wood desk near the corner and looked up at Senn and Fellan’s approach. He saluted wordlessly to Fellan, not even sparing Senn a glance and neither a word. Fellan bowed his head slightly in response and retreated to one of the back doors, opening it with a silver key and closing it with barely a snap.
“We can talk now,” Fellan informed, though his voice remained hushed. There was something in the air that made one want to be quiet, furtive. It was a tension that made Senn want to squirm. It certainly did not smell good.
This second room was smaller than the main one, but quite large all the same. The walls were formed of slate grey stones, as was the floor. Only a few wooden chairs sat at an equally plain table. Hanging from the walls were four large tapestries and provided the only color in the otherwise dull room.
“The four factions can be seen somewhat as a family. The lychans within them share a certain appearence, though it make vary considering any sort of mixed blood or simply heredity. A Vulpine like me would probably sport black points and red fur; Lupines are thick coated and brown; Ignine large and dark; and Undine slender and light. I’d take a guess at what your faction,” Fellan said. “But I have yet to see you as a wolf and you will not be able to alter your shape until the next full moon.”
Senn blinked and cocked his head in what he realized must look rather canine. “I can’t belong to one of these.”
“Phillip,” Fellan addressed. “I realize that before I go further, I must inform you that knowledge of lychans is a secret from the general populace--only nobles can be lychans, because only nobles belong to these bloodlines.”
“But I’m not a noble,” Senn protested. “I turned; I was bitten.” The thought made his arm throb and he wished to scratch under the bandage.
“Not all nobles are born lychans,” Fellan said. “The trait can remain hidden until brought out by the bite of another. Anyone without our blood would simply suffer from the wound. I could be considered luckier, as I did not have to go through the ordeal. Some think of lychanthropy as an advantage.”
“Some?” Senn asked.
“I thought it obvious,” Fellan replied. “That I do not.” He sniffed slightly, tasting the air. “It is more of an inconvienence than anything.”
“What of the moon?” Senn asked, changing topics. “I’ve heard myths about men changing into hideous wolves on a full moon and going on rampages.” Fellan gave a dry laugh.
“The moon does affect a lychan’s power, but the older he is--or the longer he has been infected--the less draw it has. By thirty of so years, a lychan should be able to resist shape-shifting on a full moon, and--with a great deal of struggle--change on a blood moon.”
“Blood--?”
“A new moon,” Fellan quickly interrupted. “It’s a nickname, my apologies. There is evidence that vampires gain more power on nights without a moon--hence the name ‘blood’.”
Senn paused, making sure he registered Fellan’s words correctly. “Vampires don’t exist,” he replied firmly.
“A lychan for a week and you think you know everything?” Fellan asked sacastically, studying the tapestries with a slight reverence. Senn tried to decode one, but the lines and words jumbled in his eyes and he decided it was much too convoluted.
“Could you explain turning?” Senn asked, bored. It still bothered him that he had drank blood; the thought makign his stomach churn. It seemed quite... brutal to say the least.
“There’s a reason for the Lychan factions,” Fellan said. “With out the power and control of the First, we would all be beasts--out of control, acting only on instict. Some of us are still beasts--but I digress,” he sighed. “By giving you my blood, I bound you to me, and--by extention--the Vulpine First.”
“The First can control the rest of his faction?” Senn asked, aghast. “Am I some sort of slave?”
“Yes,” Fellan answered bluntly, but seeing the further horrified look in Senn’s eyes he sought to explain himself. “Well, to an extent. Just like the pull of the moon, his influence can be resisted. Mostly it’s a simple feeling of deep loyalty. He doesn’t force actions on his faction, but he makes them want to please him.”
“It’s like a pack!” Senn exclaimed. It was easy to see the way dogs would seek to please their masters and how force was used to gain dominance over all others. However, the connection made Fellan frown.
“In a base way, yes,” Fellan said. “Come, we’d best be leaving.”
Amora tackled Senn’s leg as soon as he entered the manor. He started, then glared at her as he tried to shake the monkey of a girl off.
“I swear, Amora,” he said. “You plan these ambushes--lying in wait like somesort of cat.” She sniffed at the thought.
“Lady Florence said Fellan’s training you!” she said excitably. “Where were you? What were you doing? Can I try too?”
Senn coughed and looked to Fellan for help. However, he was talking with Florence, who had just entered the main hall.
“I’m not quite sure,” Senn replied. “I think you should ask Fellan. He’s the tutor, after all.”
She took this with a positive smile and rushed off to the already occupied lord. Afraid she might earn herself something quite worse than a sharp retort, Senn rushed after her. She tugged at his dark blue scarf.
“Lord Avelli?” she asked, eyes and face sickeningly sweat. Senn knew it would have no effect on the near emotionless lord, and expected him to simply scorn the girl and turn back to his conversation--
“Yes, dear?” Fellan asked, crouching so to talk with Amora eye-to-eye. She gave him a shy smile.
“I’d like to learn too,” she said. “I don’t like sitting around. I can be helpful!” Fellan didn’t smile--Senn would have thought himself mad if he had--but the kind look in his normally sharp as a blade eyes was as close as the newly turned lychan supposed he would get.
“Of course, dear,” Fellan replied. “We can’t have you helpless.” He stopped, studious. “You are a tad bit small, but I think you could handle daggers, yes?” Senn started. Weapons? This coming from the man who’s nose was upturned by a girl in men’s clothing, and now he expected her to fight? It felt unreal.
“Have you any prior schooling in more scholarly arts?” Fellan asked. Amora shook her head. Senn doubted she was even literate. He himself was glad his father had bothered to teach him basic reading and writing.
“Hmm,” Fellan murmuered. “We can work around that. Phillip--the next full moon’s soon, I’ll have Florence teaching you of your alternate form. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Rest?” Senn asked, wary of what the strange lord might require him--an adult male--to do.
“General schooling,” he replied. “Math, literature, culture, and of course, you’ll have to be proficient with somesort of blade. I’ve known many lychans who depend too much on their alternate forms. You’re lucky to have one of the finest duelists in Caelis at your disposal, young man.” Fellan straightened his back pridefully and stood an inch taller.
Senn could barely stifle an outburst of sardonic laughter. Disposal? He shook away the annoyed amusement. It was faint, but the lord’s arrogance could still be abrasive.
“Why aren’t you going to show me anything of shape-shifting?” Senn asked curiously. “Why Florence?”
“Do you think me incapable?” Florence interjected sharply. “Because I’m a woman? Or--”
“Florence,” Fellan said calmly, cutting the petite noblewoman off. “It’s fine.” He turned to Senn. “It’ll benefit you to know that I have forgone any sort of shape-shifting for many years now--and I do not plan on doing so for many years yet. Perhaps the rest of my elongated life. I have yet to decide.”
“Oh,” Senn said, it made sense--strangely, it seemed to fit the distant, cold lord. But, on a vindictive impulse, Senn decided he would not that ‘long face’ comment go untried. He let sarcasm stray into his voice. “Let me guess--I enjoy guessing at backgrounds--you find other lychans so unrefined. Too bestial for your tastes. I’m guessing you look down on them too, right? Because they don’t have the integrety you do.”
Fellan started, entire body tensing. His voice was level when he spoke, “May I remind you who’s house you are currently standing in, who has just offered to give you a decent education, and who saved you from a horrible and confusing life on the streets, shall I?” Without another word, he turned on his heel and left. Florence glared daggers at Senn.
“I thought you were better than the others,” she spat, following Fellan out. Even Amora seemed against him, giving the former stablehand a reproachful look with her deep brown eyes.
Senn rose his hands helplessly. “ ‘Long face’!” he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely in the direction Fellan had gone in. Amora did not waver. Senn sighed. “Too far?”
“I think so.”