heliosanthus

[heliosanthus]

Eltea: Soul Stealer

“What do you think the essence of one’s life is?”

The girl shivers, narrowing her eyes at the approaching dark clouds that loom over the distant hills like a lurking shadow. The manor is unusually cold today. “The blood,” she replies, “Obviously it is the blood.” She is annoyed at her mother’s question and resumes reading her textbook of medicinal herbs. Currently, she is fixated on a diagram of hemlock. 

“Why’s that?” 

The girl rolls her eyes. “Father told me,” she says flippantly, “the blood is what circulates all the essentials of vitality.”

“The essentials of vitality?” Her mother’s eyes are crinkled at the edges; she is amused by her daughter’s answer. “Do tell me what those are.”

The girl frowns and tries to recall what she read from one of her father’s books. “Nutrients,” she says finally, “in order to live, one needs nutrients. That’s what I read.”

“Asa, you read far too much,” her mother sighs, “you’ve got too much of your father’s blood  in you. All both you do is stick your head in books, hoping it’ll give you the answers to everything.”

“Well, what do you do then? Where else would you find answers?” Now the girl is curious; her mother always seemed to have wisdom beyond her years, but was never seen reading a book of any sort. 

“Instead, I have my head up in the clouds,” her mother says, smiling.

The girl narrows her eyes once more, and it is clear that she is not satisfied by this response. “That’s preposterous, you can’t glean answers from that,” she scoffs, turning a page of her book. Then she yelps; the edge of the page had cut a thin line into her index finger. 

Her mother, who has been standing next to the window this whole time, rushes to her side. “A cut?” she asks, gently holding her daughter’s hand. 

“It’s nothing,” she mutters, although deep inside, she is terribly embarrassed. “I’ll go get something to wrap it in.” She steps off her chair and is halfway across the room when she hears her mother’s words.

“There’s no need my dear, it’s already healed.”

The girl pauses mid step and glances at her finger.

True to her mother’s word, the small cut is entirely gone, not a scar remaining. 

/ / / 

When I wake up from my dream, I am left in a layer of cold sweat, yet somehow still burning hot. I quickly press a finger to my wrist, checking my pulse. Too fast, I think to myself, it’s still too fast. The room is eerily quiet and I turn my gaze to the bed next to mine—empty. 

“Typical,” I scoff. Although I had never confronted her, both my roommate and I knew she was no stranger to leaving during the night. Alexandra Atwood, I mouth to myself, the roommate who I’ve had for weeks now, the girl with no backstory, the girl who never talks to anyone. I’m annoyed at how easy it is for her to get under my skin. It’s not as if I expect her to open herself entirely to me, but as my roommate, she should at least talk to me. 

I glance out the window, eyeing the bright moon in the night sky. Well, if I can’t sleep, I may as well take a night stroll. 

/ / / 

Redmount Academy is situated on an island, quite frankly, in the middle of nowhere. It is not necessarily that the nearest town is far away, but rather that it takes both a boat and a day’s journey on foot to reach the institution. It is the only establishment on the island, which is appropriately named Redmount island. 

The academy boasts a number of titles and achievements, but it is known to most as the academy for children of the Bloodline, a number of families who have inherited certain powers throughout the generations—the ability to manipulate the Ether to their liking. In other words, Redmount academy is very much a school for the Ether-bound, or in layman’s terms, mages. 

The school day is split in halves, with the morning being full of academic classes and the afternoon to master each student’s own powers. Once their four years at the academy are over the student may choose to remain in service to the academy, as a teacher or a member of the Magi Force. Or, they may return home to fulfil their duties as heirs to their families. 

Most return home. 

 It should be stated that families of the Bloodline are typically wealthy, using their powers to service those of higher authority. It is not a surprise that many are close friends with lords, and even the King of Boreal himself. But not Atwood, I think to myself, there are no families in the Bloodline under the name of Atwood.

I gently open the window, now dressed in my uniform, and perch on the window ledge. Outside, it is lightly snowing and I make a note to myself to be wary of making footprints in the snow. Fortunately for me, my room is facing away from the main courtyard, where I know two guards are probably sleeping right now. To make matters better, the roof of the lower dormitory buildings are a small jump beneath my window. With little difficulty, I leap off the window ledge, careful not to make a sound as I land. Looking down, I can already see a pair of footprints leading off to the distance. I scowl. Ms. Atwood’s, I gather. Once again, I ponder what she could possibly be up to in the middle of the night. I have my own reasons, but so far, I have no idea what hers are. Part of me does not want to see her face, but the other part is insatiably curious. 

I decide to follow the trail of footprints. 

/ / / 

The prints lead out of the academy proper, into the thick coniferous forest that surrounds the academy on all sides. I follow the prints mindlessly, my curiosity growing with each step. I wonder where I got my curiosity from: my mother or father?

I look at the snow-flecked pine-needles above me and the moon that is still beaming as brightly as it did before. “How pretty,” I murmur to myself. I take a deep breath of the crisp cold air. It almost feels like home. I could feel the winds of the high alps and the faint smell of wilderness at one’s doorstep.

But my peace is interrupted when I hear the  branches snapping and a deep-throated growl. A growl? Redmount doesn’t have anything bigger than the common wolf and even they know to stay far away from the academy. My hands immediately reach for my weapon, but grasp at nothing. A spike of panic flares up. “Fuck,” I swear, “I left it in my room.”

Instead, I slip my hands into my utility pouch, which, thank god, is part of school attire and permanently stuck to my hips. In it, I find a pencil, a few scraps of folded up paper with scribbled notes, and—

“A knife,” I breathe in relief, my fingers closing around the familiar wooden handle. It was supposed to be used to sharpen said pencil, but I was nothing but resourceful wasn’t I? For a moment I ponder over whether I should leave immediately or find whatever beast is hiding in the woods. Then I freeze, realizing the high possibility that Atwood is in the woods. And it’s not impossible that she was the cause of that growl as well. 

“This pathetic excuse of a roommate,” I mutter vehemently as I approach the source of the growl, “She can’t greet me in the halls, she can’t tell me shit about herself, god knows what she’s dreaming about in lectures, and now she might end up as a meal to some starving woodland creature.”

I step carefully over fallen branches and twisted roots, gripping my knife tightly. It’s at moments like these where I curse why I hadn't been born into a Bloodline with less passive powers. I hear another roar, this time much louder than before. I nearly jumped in fear, but that’s when I see them. And the sight nearly brings me to a halt. 

I stare into the eyes of a tiger. 

/ / / 

They’re incredibly blue. Almost sky blue, but a tad darker. It reminds me of the colour of the sky back at home whenever a storm was brewing. The tiger is only a few meters in front of me, lying on its side. The branches were so dense that I could not even see the animal’s pelt, which was strikingly white. It was the exact colour of the snow that surrounded it, laced with dark black stripes. 

When it sees me the tiger snarls, baring its long sharp fangs. I flinch, but keep myself steady. What on earth is a tiger doing here, I wonder. They are nowhere close to being an indigenous species in this region. A hundred questions race through my mind, and I find myself unable to answer any of them. 

My first instinct is to slowly back away from the animal, but there is something about the situation that irks me. In the air, I can smell the faint tang of blood. It is barely noticeable, but I have had years to get myself familiar with the scent. As I lock gazes with the tiger’s eyes, there is something about its blue depths that compels me to stay. 

“Good evening,” I say as calmly as possible, “Or, er, middle of the night, should I say.” The tiger is not amused by my attempts at socializing and raises itself. “I’m so sorry to be bothering you,” I continue, my mouth reaching for any words that might come to mind, “But, I really have no intention of harming you.” The tiger, almost seeming to understand my words, tilts its head in the direction of my knife. 

“Oh, this?” I scoff, “This is nothing, this is just something I have to sharpen my pencils with.” But nonetheless I drop it to the ground. Keep yourself together Asa, it’s just a tiger, why are you bending to its will? “I guess, I should leave you.” The tiger stares at me for a few more seconds and then lowers itself back to the ground. I take this as my exit but something stops me. Something is still nagging me at the back of my mind. A question that is more prominent when I think about it. Why isn’t the tiger attacking me? 

I take a few more steps away before I turn right back around. At my return, the tiger raises itself again, snarling viciously and extending its claws. I look around it, and spot what I’m looking for: a splotch of bright red against the white snow. 

“You’re hurt right?” I say to it, raising both my hands in a gesture of goodwill. I have no idea if the tiger understands what goodwill is but I take a gamble that it understands the fundamentals of my actions. If it can understand that a knife can hurt it, maybe it can understand that I can help heal the wound. 

The tiger stares at me once more. We seem to be eternally stuck in the middle of a staring contest of sorts. “I can help you,” I urge, and point to myself and then my hands. “I can heal you. My hands can heal you.” 

The tiger blinks once, and then snorts, chuffing at me. It slowly lifts its front paw, which was hidden neatly behind its other paw, revealing  a bear trap clamped tightly to it. I wince at the sight of it. “That must hurt.” 

Cautiously I approach the tiger, closing the gap in between us. I take a quick look at the trap’s mechanism, noting the set of springs on either side of it. Then, with all the strength I had left in my body in the middle of the night, I press down on the springs, forcing the jaws of the trap to open little by little. The tiger, taking this as its cue, immediately pulls its paw away and I let the trap snap shut again. 

“Okay, now the wound,” I say mostly to myself. “May I?” I gesture for the tiger to let me see its paw and with reluctance, it does, slowly sliding it towards me. Pursing my lips, I investigate the wound. It wasn’t too deep nor was it particularly large. But it had somehow caught the paw right in the middle, and had pierced through the animal’s foot padding. 

It shouldn’t be too hard to fix. 

I take a deep breath and let my hands do its work. A faint blue glow emanates from them as I glide the tips of my fingers over the wounds. I have no idea how the technicalities of my powers work, but it does. I suppose Redmount is not the type of institution that would teach me my craft anyway. I picture the muscles located in the paw, and the bone structure beneath it. My understanding of animal anatomy isn’t perfect, but I’ve read enough visual dictionaries to know the gist of what I need. Gradually, the wound fixes itself, the cut closing up and the skin reforming as it was like before. 

“There,” I say, “All done. It’s good as new, right?” The tiger is looking at its paw in curiosity, turning it around. It stands up, on all four feet this time, and tips its head towards me. I assume it’s thanking me. I tip my head back in return and suddenly remember what I’m here for. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen this other girl right?”

The tiger is back to its silent treatment, staring at me with no response. “She’s a bit taller than me, very blonde hair. Incredibly blonde, it borders on white.” Still, no response. “She’s my roommate you see, I was looking for her. That’s why I’m out here.” The tiger chuffs again before stepping into a light trot in front of me. 

I follow it. 

/ / / 

“It’s incredible that you understand what I’m saying, or at least comprehend my intentions.” I walk alongside the tiger, but keep a firm one meter distance between us. “I hope I’m not being delusional or anything. I’ve never read about anything close to this.” A pause. “Should I tell you about myself? On the slim chance that you might actually understand me?” Another pause. I’m beginning to think I sound out of my mind by now. 

“Well then, where to begin,” I start, watching the snow crunch beneath by feet as I walk. “My name is Asa Wynter. 16 years of age. Raised in the capital city of Etheria, right here in Boreal. Are you with me?” The tiger chuffs. 

“My father is a doctor. But not the same as I, no. He’s not of a Bloodline. He’s quite a normal man, just a bit fixated on the workings of the human body. He runs a hospital in Etheria you see. As has his father before him, and so on.” I raise my hands and wiggle my fingers a bit. “But the ether I inherited came from my mother’s side. My parents are quite the pair aren’t they? She’s part of a Bloodline that is, essentially no more, to be honest. I’m the last of the line.” I laugh weakly. “There are other healers with similar powers to mine, but none work in the same way. Technically, I’m not even a healer. Do you know what they called my mother’s lineage? They were called soul stealers.” 

At this, the tiger stops in its tracks and turns its head to me. “Oh, you seem surprised,” I say, squinting at the animal’s wide eyes. “To be honest, no one knows this but me and my family. If word got out about the nature of my powers, that would cause a calamity.” I bend down to a nearby flower poking out of the snow. “Soul stealers are infamous in Boralian history. They were called silent assassins, spirits of evil, necromancers, a whole list really. I must keep it a secret from my peers or . . . who knows what will happen to my reputation. I suppose that’s why it’s so difficult for me to . . . socialize.” I shrug. “The closer you are to someone, the more likely it is to spill your secrets. It’s quite lonely really, to have no one to talk to. It’s only been a few weeks so I don’t expect everyone to give me a warm welcome but . . . from one isolated house to another, I guess nothing has changed. Lonely people never bode well alone.” I’m reminded of my roommate again. “Especially with other lonely people.” I gently touch the flower’s petal, feeling its smooth texture. I can feel the vitality that runs through it, the force of life that powers it to live. 

And with just a bit of nudging, I force all the life to leave it. It’s easy really. As simple as drinking from a cup. In many ways, it’s exactly the same as drinking from a cup: simply taking in the contents of a vessel. The flower immediately withers, turning into a faded brown in mere seconds. I snap the flower off of its stem, and watch it lying in the middle of my palm. “Do you see,” I say, turning to the tiger, “What I mean by soul stealer?” 

Suddenly a strong gust blows the flower away, and I’m left staring at where it once was. The tiger does the same, looking intently at my hands as well. “Life and death are all the same,” I whisper, “it’s just a matter of direction that determines which is which. They are faces of the same coin. Inverses of one another.” 

The tiger looks a second longer and then bolts off. 

/ / / 

That night, after I was left alone, I had found that we were quite close to the back entrance of the academy anyway. I assumed that the tiger was trying to lead me back to the building to avoid me getting lost, especially since the snow had covered most of my tracks. By the time I had climbed back into my room through the window, I had found that the other bed was already occupied. It seemed that my roommate, while I was on my rendez-vous with a tiger in the middle of the woods, had returned to sleep. For some reason, this made me even angrier than before. 

But the encounter with the tiger leaves me wondering; I feel compelled to answer all those questions I asked myself back in the forest. After classes, I take a quick bath and immediately head to the academy’s central library, armed with nothing but my notebooks, a few pencils, and a (new) sharpening knife. 

The library is mostly empty, save for a few senior students and a handful of staff. The rows of shelves are illuminated with nothing but the shortening wicks of candles and upon stepping into the room, I can almost smell the presence of knowledge and wisdom. Although, in reality, it is simply just the smell of mold and aging paper.

Being no foreigner to the library, I direct myself to the animal section, and scan the shelves for anything that might sate my curiosity: encyclopedias, journals, paintings, anything. By the time I’m finished, my hands hold a stack of texts that nearly reach my eyes. I drop the stack onto the nearest table and set myself to work. 

 / / / 

“How did you do that?” the girl asks, amazed. “What kind of medicine did you use?”

“I didn’t use any sort of medicine,” the mother objects, “I have no talent for that sort of thing. That’s up to your father to do.”

“Then what did you do?” The girl marvels, scrambling back to her mother. “You must teach me. Then you should teach father, he would love to know.”

“I’ve already informed him Asa,” the mother says warmly, although the girl can sense a smidge of . . . sadness in her tone. “He knows everything that he needs to know about this.”

“Then what is it?”

The mother shifts, drumming her fingers on the table. “It is not healing exactly.” She ponders for a second, as if in deep thought. “Asa, may I borrow your pencil?” 

The girl gives up her writing utensil without a moment’s hesitation, ready to inspect whatever diagram her mother was about to draw. But no drawing was made at all. Instead, the mother balanced the pencil on her index finger. 

“Do you see how this pencil is perfectly balanced?” The girl nods. “Think of this as the life force in one’s body.”

“The essence of life?” the girl brings up.

“Yes,” the mother smiles, “the essence of life.” She tips her finger to one side. “When there is too much on side, it’ll push on that side more, yes?” The girl nods. “And if I do the same on the other side, the same thing occurs, right?” The girls nods again. “However, if you tip it too much, if the balance is disturbed in a way that cannot be repaired, then—” 

The girl watches the pencil clatter onto the table. 

“—the life is no more.” 

 / / / 

“Are you awake?” 

I wake up to the sound of someone snapping next to my ear. I bolt up, adrenaline flooding into my blood. “My apologies Mrs. Greenway, I was lost in research.”  

“Terribly sorry, but I’m not the librarian.” 

I lift my eyes off the table and look to the person next to me. I nearly choke on my own spit. “Ms. Atwood, what are you doing here?”

My roommate frowns. “I could ask the same of you. It’s almost curfew.” She pauses. “And why do you call me Ms. Atwood, just call me Alexandra.”

“Yes, well, Alexandra, I was just doing a light reading. Some of us do not like sleeping in class but instead prefer the company of textbooks and equations.” I hastily get up and scramble to organize the mess I made. 

Alexandra glances at the books I was reading. “Tigers?” she asks, “I may sleep a lot in class but I don’t recall any lesson on jungle animals.” Both her tone and expression tells me that she is highly amused from finding me in this state. 

“Yes, well, this is just—”

“Neat drawings,” she interrupts, eyeing the diagrams on tiger anatomy I made. 

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Thank you,” I reply, my face obviously flushed. 

“I mean it,” Alexandra says, fixated on the hasty notes I jotted down before I fell asleep, “No wonder your marks are so high.”

Not used to compliments, I attempt to segue into a new topic. “Why are you in the library this late then Alexandra?” 

My roommate shrugs. “You weren’t in our room. I asked around and the others told me that you’d probably be here, nose-deep in some books.” She has the hint of a smile on her lips. “I suppose they are right. Your reputation precedes you, Asa.” 

I say nothing and focus on stuffing all that I can into my knapsack. 

“I’m sorry.” 

I freeze. Did she do something to our dorm room? “For what?” 

She helps carry a few books in her arms. “For not talking to you.”

I deflate a little, reminded of my loneliness again. “Ah, well, it’s not that big of a deal. I was just worried about what you found about me so repulsive.” 

“I don’t,” she exclaims so suddenly that I’m a bit taken aback. “I don't find anything about you repulsive. I swear. I’m just the kind of person that doesn’t talk much to begin with. But it appears that you are the same as I am.”

“I am?”

She nods. “You are.” We reach the library doors and I’m surprised when she opens the gargantuan oakwood door with one arm. “And I’ve learned that when you put two people together who both like to tend to themselves, it never results in anything good.” 

I laugh. “Who taught you that?” 

Alexandra looks me in the eyes and gives me what may be the first smile I’ve ever seen her wear. “Someone I met recently.”

Although I don’t voice it out loud, all I can think about is how incredibly blue her eyes are. It’s a familiar blue. Almost sky blue but slightly darker. Like the sky on a stormy afternoon. 

Where have I seen that before?

#my writing #writers #short story #snippet