"Academy Chronicles Ch.1" by H. Coyne

A soft hiss rolled over swaying fields of waist high wheat. The mounds were speaking to one another, private whispers and breezes sounded out in the shuffling of larkspur stalks. As the correspondences crossed over clay roads, brown mice strained to listen, chittering what they heard to the earth.

"Red envelopes, red envelopes- a spirit kin carries them."

A leather hat bobbed and swayed above the wheat, jigging to the hummed melody of the man who wore it. He lilted like a grasshopper, impossibly thin arms and legs whipping and swinging, barely brushing the wheat. A brown sack coiled across his hip, and clutched in his hand was a single red envelope with no address only a name: "Solorya Aranon".

On the field's final mound, a thatched house was encircled by green grass and orderly gardens hedged by a half painted pine fence. A girl stood ram-rod straight in the garden, red hair loosely covered in a periwinkle kerchief and her sleeves rolled. She peered out into the gold expanse and ran indoors. "Mama! Mama! Someone's coming!"

By the time the man had reached the front door, a tiny but sturdy looking woman with wavy auburn hair and a pleasantly frank look to her emerged with a tiny girl tucked on her hip. Three other white faces curiously looked out from the doorway, surrounding their mother on the porch.

"Good Aftermark to you, Stranger."

The thin man smiled broadly and his body flitted into a bow. He chirped when he spoke "Milady, I hope the sun finds you well!"

The woman colored and laughed at his fine, city manners. They seemed glamorous in this land of hard working hands and ease in talk.

"I'm Katerine Aranon." She laughed, "And these are my children peeking between my skirts. What can I do for ya? Perhaps some water and food, you can come in and rest a spell or longer if need be." She moved to the side as if the invitation was already accepted, but the man raised a hand and chirped, "Thank you very much, Milady. You are more courteous than most, but I have to be quite a ways from here by sunset. I am here only as a messenger. I bring word from The Academy for Solorya Aranon and her guardians as well."

Katerine's brow scrunched momentarily, "I'm 'fraid she's gone with her father for the Aftermark, but I'll give her the message."

The red envelope was passed between them. Eagerly given on one side, tentatively taken on the other.

Katerine called over her shoulder "Go and wrap, the man some biscuits for the road, Senna."  She turned to him, "While you seem intent on going . . .?"

"I truly am, Milady."

"Aye then, I'll send you off with our bread and blessing." The eldest girl passed the man a cloth of buttery smelling biscuits.

"Eliant go with you, Stranger."

The messenger smiled and bowed. "And Eliant keep you, Milady. Wayleratay and thanks." As he passed from the door through the garden his spindly fingers waved over an apple sapling. From that day on the Aranons' garden was famed for the sweetest apples with the whitest flesh.

Katerine weighed the envelope in her hand, fixedly staring at its form. She looked up to the horizon, but the man was gone. The child on her hip whispered into her ear, her words slurred by a soft palate.

"Mama, where's The Academy?"

"A long way from here, Silla." She set the girl down, "In more ways than one."

Red envelopes sang through cracks in castle doors and fluttered into enchanted vales. Into hands slender, small, scaled, furred, noble and base. They bloomed in the luxurious temples of Siren City, the garden keeps of Evereve, and the bucolic scape of Cornucopia. Some envelopes anticipated others as unforeseen as summer snow.

In the unexpecting quarters, a distant memory stirred in the guardians of the addressees when their fingers touched the crimson paper. They recalled stories of an Academy full of wonders and wrapped in secrets, established after the distant Empire War to make guides, leaders and artisans for a precarious new world. Strangely, many never remembered where they had heard of the place or even when. An amber haze of dusky images surrounded the initial event, as if they were submerged in water at its nascence.

Solorya looked out the doorway into the fields, her father awaiting her in the wagon and her pack tied comfortingly snug against her back. A favorite tome "A History of Kinath's Knights" was cradled in the crook of her arm.

The wheat before her was so bright and full, waving gold like a vast ocean, gleams of white swam through like lustrous schools of fish. She remembered standing on the hillcrest during harvest, the wind challenging her with its every gust and an endless sea before her. It was then she was first aware of something bigger. The sun blazed and rolled over so much more, the path stretched on forever. The sky was too grand for only her clouds. It was possible to eternally reach towards a space, a road never before touched; to travel the ancient ways of ancient knights. And this path's gates had opened to her with the arrival of a red envelope.

It was at the table that Solorya had opened her envelope. Her parents sat beside her, carrying looks of both loss and joy. Stiff yellow parchment was unfolded and faint silver script informed her:

The Academy asks Solorya Aranon into its prestigious halls. Basic room and board is covered under the tuition of three thousand Mannahs per year to be paid moonly. Transportation to the school will be provided at the crossroads of Hearth and Orchard on the third Eliantsday of the Moon of Summer's End . Enclosed is a list of necessary items for students. We look forward to giving Solorya the finest education in Kinath.

Cordially, Superior Squamose Vizard

She had read it aloud to her parents in her always steady voice, finishing with a quiet observation: "I don't understand, Father. I never applied to the Academy. I thought it was only a story."

Mr. Aranon's eyes had suddenly looked more gray than blue as he recalled the day his brother received the same envelope, when he was still a Northern Human, a friend to Eldars.

"It is a fable only here amongst the Southern humans. And the Academy chooses its students, there is no petition."

Her mother had possessively wrapped her hand around Solorya's, "I don't want to see ya go, but what can I say in the face of such an invitation."

The decision was made, and a wisp of bright excitement ignited in Solorya's stomach, as possibility suddenly broadened beyond her borders. Borders she was finally going to break after this ride to the crossroads with her father.

Home still lingered about her when she was finally left alone at the crossroads. It was like a fragrance she could not shake, nor did she want to. It was emitted from her very bones. In time a rider came, followed by a white stallion. It moved with him, free from any guidance or bit.

The man was tall and his woodman's garb rumpled, his face shaded by an archer's cap, but he moved his chestnut mount with a noble's skill. Adventure was woven into accoutrements, and a strange authority seethed beneath the grime of travels. When he spoke, though, it was kind and low.

"Ms. Aranon?" She fit the description in the letter: human, short white-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and wearing a pewter pendant.

Solory bowed her head, "Yes, Sir. I am she."

In a polite gesture the rider doffed his cap. Solorya' breathe spirited away witht hat motion. His unshaded face was regal and ageless, and his eyes possessed the varying shades of a star. Elongated ears poked through long evening colored hair.

"I'm to esc. .."

Solorya interrupted uncouthly, "You're an Eldar!"

His expression softened to a laugh, "Yes, Miss."

"I'm sorry, Sir Eldar. I've never seen one. Most here believe the Eldars a myth, or long gone."

"They are very wrong on both counts, Ms. Aranon. It seems that is no accident that I am here to fetch you. Come, I will tell you many things as we ride."

The white horse suddenly knelt, a glorious suppliant before Solorya. She spoke a dreamy "Thank you," to the horse as she slid onto its pale back. It whinnied in response and stood gracefully. Solorya's hands lifted from its neck in surprise. She had spoken to it but did not expect an answer.

The Eldar was now looking back at her expectantly with his eyes that shifted from one opalescent shade of silver to another. In that breath, Solorya knew and feared that anything was possible.

A week was all Solorya had to accustom herself to the Academy before complete immersion in classes. Every hall and face startled her with something she had previously doubted. The structure of her world was melting in the heat of knowledge, but strangely she let her world collapse without a backward glance. She had somehow known that the empire stretched and bent into landscapes and blossomed peoples different from her own. The bucolic farm was a phase of her life that was slipping away with only the smallest protests.

The structure of the Academy was a lesson in geography. It's quarters roughly mapped out portions of the empire of Kinath. Her little hovel was clumped amongst other humans, but they shared banquet rooms with the Eldar, simulating the North- eastern territory of the empire.

Another aspect of acclimating to the Academy was learning the unspoken hierarchy, more stringent among the Eldars than any others. Pure Eldar of the original seven families, whatever that meant, were the rarest and highest, only three or so graced the Academy with their presence. They kept company with somewhat prim High Eldars. Beneath them were all manner of Elemental Eldars that were created centuries before by the slightest intermingling with other creatures. The few examples of this Solorya had ferreted out were the Wood Eldars, they represented a mix of the Earth family of Eldars and Dryads, and the Sea Eldars, originally of the Mist family but part Siren and Eldar. The centuries that passed had rendered them a distinct people group.

With all the knowledge of the wonderful races, though, came the counter knowledge of the wicked. Solorya could no longer believe Death Eldars and monster kin were only faded remnants of distant horrors. Each race still thrived, far from extinction, but hidden in the belly of the world and the darkest pockets of the empire. She tried to not dwell on the facts that breathed life and wove flesh for her childhood bogeymen.

It was during her fifth supper at the Academy when Solorya's bogeymen left the hazy realm of elsewhere and entered her sphere with dreadful finality.

Rain beat against the wide glass windows, each gust clattering against the glass like a careening chariot. Students entering from the deluge dragged in small, squelching swamps of black earth and water onto the stone floors. The matron of the banquet hall took the mess in stride, her motherly attentions bestowed eagerly on "the poor sodden dears".

The fireplace roared in protest to the damp and dark evening, overwhelming the room with a baleful orange light.

Solorya took her supper on the Human table furthest from the blaze. She huddled over her stew, blowing lightly on each spoonful and letting her eyes dance across the room with the waves of firelight.

With an ominous torrent there came a forceful beating on the doors, too direct to be the rain. The matron pulled the door open as the evening flung in a figure cloaked scarlet and dripping little pools on the stone floor. Solorya could tell she was Eldar by her long fingered hands. As the matron pushed the door shut, the new arrival's head slowly circled the room, searching for the order of her space. She seemed more like a cardinal hoping for shelter than a student.

The matron finally addressed the figure. "Are you new here, Dear?"

The voice sounded relieved for such kindness and laughed softly, "I'm afraid I am."

"Well, Dear, just leave your coat on a hook and have a seat in your section. We'll get you some hot food."

"Thank you very much, Ma'am. But please tell me, what are the sections?"

The girl began to remove her cloak and wring the water from her strange red and black hair. Solorya glimpsed Eldar ears pierced ceremonially with silver and felt smug in her original guess from only the hands.

The matron clucked her tongue, "Oh tut, silly me. For the first week you sit with your kind to get acquainted and feel a bit more at home and then you may plop down wherever you like. In here we have High Eldars, Humans and Elemental Eldars."

"Ah, I see." The voice began to betray the slightest apprehension.

"So come on in, Dear, and get to know your new friends. I'll take good care of you. Oh bless me, I forgot to say, I'm Matron Merriwen."

"Thank you kindly, Matron. I'm Mykalah." She finally turned to the matron hand extended. At the sight of her face the matron released the student's proffered hand. Despite her soft smile, the student's features roused a sinister chill.

What upset the matron were her eyes. They seemed to smolder in her face, colored the same gruesome red as her hair and singed with ebony. Only one race had those eyes.

The matron spoke the term like a curse, hot and low. "Poison Eater!"

"No! No!" the student began to panic, raising her hands in a motion that both defended herself and calmed the matron. "Only part. I have my papers here."

She pressed documents bearing Squamose Vizard's seal into the Matron's unwilling hands. The documents were perused with a dark countenance. "Very well, Ms. Duath. What are your parts?"

"Half High Eldar, quarter Human, quarter Pois . . .Death Eldar."

The matron spoke mercilessly, remembering what fathers and brothers had fallen in the Empire war with such creatures as Death Eldar. "Then you'll sit with the High Eldar."

"Please I would like to sit with the humans."

"I'm afraid you can't change your blood."

The student hunched, her mouth becoming a grim line until she spoke. "No. You can't."

As expected, the High Eldar, the most critical race in the room, ignored the student. Their avoidance was punctuated by subtle verbal jabs whenever Mykalah tried to reach for food. It was cruel to watch, but then all the childish cruelties in the world were not enough to recompense the Death Eldars for what evil they collectively wrought.

Solorya sympathetically watched the mix stab her meat and glare around the room. She could almost pass for all Eldar, but her narrow features lacked their intrinsic gracefulness. When their gaze met, a frost filled Solorya's marrow. The mix's crimson and black eyes were overwhelmed by her pupils. Perfect pools of jet filled with an unutterable loathing latched onto her. This was just the beginning of Solorya's acquaintance with Mykalah, despite all her hopes of it being the last.

~*~

It was beautiful; everything Orelle could see filled her with sublime content. She felt the cool weight of a harp in her hands and when her fingers caressed its strings a melody so enchanting and pure fluttered out like a hundred butterflies into the crowd before her. And what a crowd it was. The male faces ranged from noble, to dashing, or chiseled, each and every one pleasing to her amber eyes.

Their upturned countenances beheld her with the rapturously glazed eyes of the spellbound. Their voices murmured her name like a prayer, some calling Orelle their golden idol, a muse of music, or simply the loveliest creature they had ever seen. Orelle then played a lullaby with nimble fingers, her silken voice wafting above it all. The reverent quiet faded as the men clapped louder and louder and louder, shouting her name, "Orelle Doria! Orelle Doria!"

"ORELLE DORIA! Wake up this instant! You dare slumber in MY class?" Instructor Thermen clapped his large hands directly in front of her face, his voice booming through the hall. Orelle shot up from her cushion seat on the floor, ready to run like the startled half deer she was. The class grew eerily silent, so only the clicking of Orelle's hooves was heard. The Barbarian turned teacher was not very longsuffering. When vexed by the students he was known to grunt and point to a well used axe he kept mounted on the wall, an emblem of his younger days. It was a poignant deterrent. Subtle, just like him.

"Remember, if you do not pass my earth study class you will never get Bardic training." He turned towards the rest of the class, "None of you second years will go on to your chosen field if you do not obey the rules set up in Thermen-land! I will smash your chances, like I did the skulls of the Snake eaters!" Thermen loomed over Orelle, pinning his wandering attention back on her "Do you understand me Ms. Doria?"

Orelle dropped her head; spilling honey colored hair forward, so she would not be seen blushing. The small horns on her head were now more visible to the rest of the class; for once she wished they were bigger so she could run through whoever was daring to snicker behind her.

The hind finally sputtered, "Yes, Instructor Thermen, I'm very sorry."

"Sit down Ms. Doria." He expansively turned to the rest of the class and with the same enthusiasm reserved for phrases such as "Thermen smash!" he commanded, "Now we learn!"

Orelle wilted onto her cushion, sitting amongst the others of her race. Their size and build compelled them to forgo seats for piles of cushions and rugs on the floor. This decidedly more sumptuous arrangement only increased their thinly veiled air of superiority. They were almost as bad as High Eldar.

The species of hinds resembled centaurs in form but instead of a horse half, hinds possessed the form of the more delicate deer. Less obvious traits of the deer crept into the lovely race as well, though. A doe's lissomness was imbued in their gestures, and their eyes seemed perpetually dewy and round. The females of this race were the sort that encouraged all manner of chivalric deeds and had the exasperating habit, or charm, of speaking too softly, so one had to draw nearer to hear them.

Orelle's aristocratic mien made her stand out from the flock. But her haughtiness was not without reason; she was truly one of the most sumptuously beautiful creatures at the Academy.

Her honey hair was straight and full, curling bountifully only at the ends, and a faint gold sheen coated her tawny skin, making her limbs and expression radiant. She brought to mind a gilded vessel, shapely and shimmering.

Orelle casually looked over her comrades, smugly daring them to make comments. Clever and socially conscious hinds that they were, they never did. She then perused the classroom to see where the light, mocking laugh had come from.

The class was mostly divided into sections by race, through the choice of the students as opposed to the will of the faculty. The Glimmers sat with the Glimmers, Man-ilk with Man-ilk, Burrowers with Burrowers, Eldars wth Eldars and so on. Orelle searched each section but failed to find the one who mocked her, that was until she turned around. She should have known without looking. It was Mykalah, a one- girl section in the back corner.

Orelle slit her eyes and scowled at the Eldar riff-raff. Mykalah only smiled as if she just savored something delicious. Every student in the class surreptitiously watched the wordless play between Orelle and Mykalah. Every student, save for the fair featured Solorya in the front row. Her focus was fixed on the lesson.

Solorya was now known among the faculty for her determination to do well. Over her brief time at the Academy, she had decided that if she could graduate the warrior training, there would be no scarcity of kingdoms willing to take her on as a Knight of honor, and then her life would begin to matter. She had come far from being only a farmer's daughter, lost in a predictable cycle of planting and harvest.

But sometimes she longed for that comfort again. Goals provided little warmth during the foreign moments of an impossibly wide world. Facing insurmountable odds had only enhanced her sense of indomitable chivalry, though.

When it was not almost comic, there was a startling nobility to her purity of intent. She was a nostalgic object for the faculty. She even carried her sword at all times, a code of the older brotherhoods.

In the distant courtyard of the Academy, a dwarf with skin like a leather bag and coarse black hair on his face ambled towards a row of ornate bronzed discs, selected one of medium size and with a decorous motion raised and swung his mallet against it. The disc's sonorous clang rang throughout the Academy, marking the end of class. The gong sounded like the heavenly voices of Metterelis or the throes of Depth Spawn to every student. When the disc's very first peal reached his class Mr.Thermen cut off the lesson mid sentence.

"Right then. Out of my class, now! I have weapons to polish and you have work to do. Questions four through seven in chapter ten of the gold book are due tomorrow." The students wilted as they filed out the door. They could see their free afternoon dissolving before their eyes.

"Questions. Pish-posh." Orelle commented to her herd of friends as she filtered into the main corridor, "We can just find some scholarly sap, to do it for us." She smiled coyly, "I say we head over to the Centaur training grounds to watch them spar, for educational purposes of course."

Mykalah passed Orelle, rolling her eyes at what she'd overheard. Orelle caught the disparaging look, and the wheels in her head began to turn. When the flock of hinds came closer to the Eldar mix, Orelle ever so slightly stuck her back leg out before Mykalah.

She was catapulted over the hind's leg, sprawling across the corridor with books and papers sliding everywhere. Most students present laughed merrily at her prostrate form. But when the mixed Eldar looked up and began to stand, the students hid their faces by glancing to the side or hurrying out.

The hinds tittered amongst themselves, and Orelle seemed to be almost glowing with triumph. The hind slowed her pace so she could watch Mykalah struggle to rescue her papers from underfoot.

When the corridor was almost empty, Orelle finally began to saunter out. In the door's threshold, she spoke loudly to her friends and no one in particular, "Now she knows what it's like for people to revel in your misfortune."

Mykalah's eyes raised from her papers on the ground as the door slammed behind Orelle "Ownetch Kiza lo!"* Her curse was quiet and darkly spoken, for it was in a language the Academy had long forbidden.  

After a moment of righting her things Mykalah reached for the last paper, only to meet a pair of glittering, green eyes. The jewel like eyes widened upon seeing Mykalah's face and a small bright voice exclaimed, "Your eyes are black!"

The Eldar mix fell back on her haunches to look the surprising creature over. It was a precocious little Glimmer, with dragonfly wings and flax colored hair pulled back in a blowsy bun. She was about a foot and a half tall and had whispers of sparkle and shimmer all over: in her hair, on her eyes, in her eyes, and over her skin. Mykalah found it mildly nauseating. In her tiny hand was a paper belonging to Mykalah, which the mix promptly snatched.

"Your eyes are green, both are colors."

The Glimmer shook her head. "But your eyes are creepy." She peered into them. "They look like soulless obsidian..."

Mykalah blinked and said impatiently, "Soulless obsidian? Let's not wax poetic."

"No whites or pupils. It must be dreadful to play staring games with you. How can people tell if you are cheating or not?"

"They only blacken when I am upset." Mykalah finally huffed. "It's because I am part Poison Eater."

"Wow! A Dark Eldar!" The Glimmer's voice took on an ominous, theatrical tone. "An offspring of Shadow Eldar and Depth Spawn! Real poison eater eyes wrought in the belly of the world from eons in caves . . . Can I touch 'em?"

Mykalah recoiled, "No!" She focused a moment so her eyes returned to their natural form with red and black coloring. "As rousing as that history was, I've got places to go half pint." Shifting her books under her arm, Mykalah made for the exit.

But a sound like bells being played faster than humanly possible followed her, and then the Glimmer was hovering in front of her face. Mykalah had to cross her eyes to see the Glimmer at first.

"You know," began the wad of sparkle, "Red isn't much of an improvement. And I'm at least five inches taller than a pint. " Mykalah's eyes narrowed, "Your opinion is duly noted, little Miss . . ."

The Glimmer giddily answered, "Alyssum, alyssum Thistle-velle."

"Miss Alice-"

"Alyssum!"

"Close enough, go find your Glimmer friends and talk about how lovely your eyes are or drown some fish. Just leave me be. Understood?"

Alyssum stared blank face for a moment but soon started giggling madly, "Drown fish! That's a good one . . . "

The chime like laughter grated in Mykalah's ears even after she made it outside the building.

For exactly six minutes and thirty-seven point four seconds, give or take some, Alyssum giggled mid-air. Stopping only when her body compelled her to with a debilitating side ache.

"Oh ow, ow! Whew. . . I must learn to control myself better. Hm. The Eldar mix didn't look too happy when she left, mayhaps her eyes were a sensitive subject. Oh, Shimmergin! I'll make friends here, even if it kills them!" Alyssum smoothed her filmy dress and pinched her cheeks. She had only just arrived today, surely there were gobs of other students to meet. Hopefully ones that did not seem as strange as the previous.

With new confidence, Alyssum lifted her chin and flew towards the large ajar door. She pushed it open a crack and proceeded to move ahead, but the thick wooden door swung back and smacked her soundly towards the ground. An ominous "click" resonated through the hall as it shut all the way.  From a heap of glitter and fabric on the floor came a soft moan, but Alyssum's defeat did not last long. She stood up fiercely, pulled on her skirt, clenched her jaw and attacked the door with her tiny fists in a sudden fury.

"Oooo! Let me out! Somebody Let me out!"

 * "Depths take you" in the language of the Poison Eaters or Death Eldar