Chosen (9781742844657) (32 page)

‘Sterling, I already said I would,' I reminded her, for the seventy-ninth time. ‘He probably won't do anything except make a start on that massive pile of paperwork he keeps on his desk. He's the most boring guy around.'

‘It's not fair that you've seen his office, and I haven't,' Sterling pouted. On her other side, Kendra rolled her eyes.

‘Sterling, it's an office,' she said bluntly. ‘There's nothing exciting about a man's office. If Aristea had seen his bedroom, then, maybe, I'd allow you to be jealous. Maybe.'

‘I suppose,' Sterling agreed glumly. She glanced up at the staff table, but very few of the White Elm were present tonight, and Renatus was one of the majority who had chosen not to attend. Aside from those with classes, actually, I'd not seen any White Elm all day. A vague rumour about something big going down outside of the school had circulated among the students, and I suspected that this may be true, from what I'd experienced last night, but I wasn't very worried. After all, it hardly concerned me unless Lord Gawain needed to make some kind of announcement, and he hadn't.

‘You're just so lucky,' Sterling murmured again.
Eighty-freaking-one
.

Hiroko met my eyes knowingly over the table. The previous evening, sitting on our bathroom floor, and I'd filled her in on everything that had been said and done on Thursday morning (the real truth, not just the story I was allowing to circulate). As usual, she'd made the perfect audience, listening intently, and cringing and covering her mouth in apprehension at all the right places. She was grateful to be given the truth, I knew, and even though I wasn't meant to share the real truth with anyone, it felt right to do so.

Hiroko was a good friend and I knew I could trust her.

I checked my watch and arranged my cutlery.

‘Got to go,' I said, standing and pushing in my chair.

‘Aristea – don't forget!' Sterling said brightly. Sophia looked up at me earnestly.

‘Yes, don't forget,' she said. ‘Enjoy taking notes on the headmaster's ass, and the way his hair falls into his eyes.'

I poked my tongue at her and Sterling blushed while the other girls laughed.

‘Aw, I knew my baby sister had funny in her somewhere,' Kendra said adoringly. Sophia threw a pea at her.

‘Yeah, but sadly we're still looking for it in you.'

‘What are you on about? I'm the funny twin. You're the quiet, boring one.'

‘Bye,' I called, smiling as I walked away. I had made some really fantastic friends here, which I would never have found had I not been brought into this incredible multicultural environment. I had my own dear sister to thank for signing the form and letting me come.

I reached the door of Renatus's office and raised my hand to knock, assuming that if he hadn't attended dinner, he must be inside already. Before my knuckles could connect with the door, though, it opened, and several White Elm walked out.

‘Oh,' Lady Miranda said when she saw me. ‘Did you need to speak with us?'

‘No, I-'

Qasim was right behind her, and cut me off abruptly.

‘Then what
are
you doing here?' he asked. His voice was cold and nasty, and made me want to shrivel up into nothingness.

‘Aristea has detention with me this evening,' Renatus said, folding his arms and stopping beside me. Two other councillors, Susannah and Emmanuelle, slipped past him quickly. ‘Every weeknight for three weeks, just as you requested, Qasim.'

The Scrier and the headmaster stared at each other coolly for a long, uncomfortable moment. The anger of yesterday's exchange seemed to have been healed by whatever adventure they'd undertaken last night, but they were clearly still not friends. Qasim finally looked away.

‘Yes, it was,' he agreed in a tense and reluctant tone. He turned and left. The rest of us stood in awkward silence until Renatus gave the other three councillors a nod, which served as a respectful dismissal. Renatus watched them leave, and then waved me inside.

I hovered uncertainly in the centre of the room, waiting for instructions. I'd never done a detention before. He'd said already that I wasn't expected to scrub tables or write lines. What, then, was I meant to do?

The door closed, apparently of its own volition, and Renatus turned to me.

‘Did you have any homework to carry on with?' he asked. I shook my head. ‘Do you like reading?'

‘Yes, I love to read.'

He went to his bookshelf and withdrew a hardback book. He nodded in the direction of the door, and I looked over and saw that a school desk and chair had been placed against the wall beside the door. ‘You can sit there, and do whatever you like, just as long as you're quiet.' He handed me the book, and I hesitantly took it. I remembered reaching out for the books when I was Haunting. It was a beautifully bound book, with nothing written on the cover or spine. ‘You should probably read this, though, if you've nothing better to do.'

He went to his desk, and I wandered over to the one he'd assigned me. The book felt nice in my hands. It was old and worn, and the covers were creased along the spine where it'd been held open again and again.

I sat down and opened the book in silence. The inside title page read
A Scrier's Instruction
. Intrigued, I turned the next page and began to read the preface.

A scrier is a sorcerer with the natural ability to perceive past or present events without bearing physical witness. Most scriers discover their abilities in childhood through experimentation, but this book has been designed for those sorcerers who, for many reasons, have not naturally progressed to the level of skill others have achieved.

Scrying is a beautiful and precise art and should NOT be confused with the lesser art of Seeing, which, on its most basic level, relates to the deciphering of the metaphorical and symbolic language of the subconscious. Seeing is an interpretation, while scrying allows the sorcerer to actually witness a situation in its entirety.

Unlike the other five classes, a scrier never takes a capital letter for himself. Telepaths, Seers, Healers, Crafters and Displacers are always referred to, both visibly in print and inferred in speech, as capitalised proper nouns, whereas scriers recognise their class as only one facet of themselves and historically use only lower-case. The one exception is the White Elm's Scrier, whose honourable title is capitalised out of respect for his position. Some say this habit is derived from the famous scrier pride, and their pride in the White Elm Scrier; others insist this is only another representation of the infamous scrier stubbornness and unwillingness to conform.

There are three forms of scrying, all of which are explained in detail in the first chapter of this book – Conscious, Passive, and Haunting. Each can be highly effective, and each scrier will likely find one form more useful than the others. Conscious Scrying is by far the easiest form to achieve, and many non-scriers are able to develop this skill – however, Passive Scrying and Haunting are skills which require the natural predisposition of a born scrier. The latter has never been achieved by any non-scrier.

I had never realised before now that even in my mind, Qasim was Scrier with a big capital S. How strange that ours was the odd class out, even grammatically.

I skipped the rest of the preface and went straight into chapter one. I had Haunted, though obviously not deliberately. Only true scriers could do it. It was undeniable proof to me, beyond the insistence of Sophia Prescott and beyond Qasim's mentioning of giftedness. I was a scrier.

I flew through the first two thirds of the chapter, deliberately skipping the section on Haunting. The second chapter talked about the dangers of scrying, including perceiving things that the mind or heart was not ready to know. It talked of scriers in history who had scried things they thought they wanted to know – Who murdered my son? Where is my husband tonight? – only to bear witness to the horrific truth, destroying happiness and sanity.
Be careful what you wish for
.

I stared at the wall, my imagination taking over. What kinds of things would I see when I learnt to scry properly? Sophia had alluded to there being good reasons for the mind blocking the ability to scry. Would I scry into the past and witness events that I should never have known? Other than the deaths in my family, my past was relatively happy. And no one could have stopped that storm – what had happened was an accident. Probably the worst I'd see, looking back into my childhood, was Aidan hiding my toys, or Angela blaming me for something she'd done. Right?

‘Don't be so sure,' Renatus said without looking up from his paperwork. ‘The problem with digging into the past is that we see things as they
are
, rather than as we thought they were.'

Again, he'd picked up exactly what I was thinking and responded to it. How did he do it? A little unsettled, I put the book down with my hand between the pages so I wouldn't lose my place.

‘What do you mean?' I asked.

Renatus paused for a very long moment. His eyes were still cast down onto his work. ‘Sometimes it just isn't worth taking a second glance at the past.'

I really didn't know what to say to that, and I was spared having to think of something by Renatus opening a drawer and withdrawing an ancient pocket watch.

‘We're all finished here,' he said, breaking the quiet. ‘You can take the book with you, if you'd like to read it over the weekend.'

I hadn't realised it had been an hour already. I was about halfway through the book, having skipped the sections on Haunting. It was to-the-point and engaging, so I nodded appreciatively.

‘Yes, thank you,' I said. I stood.

‘I'll see you again, this time on Monday,' Renatus said. He gave me a nod of farewell and waved a hand delicately; the door opened.

‘Good night,' I said, turning to leave.

‘Speaking of which,' he added, ‘how has the pendant worked?'

I stopped and turned back. I had worn his pendant, as he'd suggested. From the second I'd slipped it over my neck and laid down to sleep, I'd known that I never wanted to Haunt again – especially if it meant I'd be issued this
thing
again. The pendant's energy felt like a lead blanket strewn across my body, holding me down, holding back my power. I'd been overwhelmingly relieved to wake up and remove it, knowing I hadn't done any magic (illegal or otherwise) during my sleep.

‘It works,' I agreed, wondering if my reaction to it was normal.

‘I know it isn't nice to wear,' Renatus said, ‘but a few more nights will be necessary before your mind has had a proper chance to close itself back up. Let's give it one week, and then see how you are after that without it.' 

‘Alright,' I said, pleased with the notion of giving the awful thing back and never seeing it again. ‘I'll see you on Monday.'

‘Monday,' Renatus agreed, and I left.

I went back to my dorm and took my key from around my neck to unlock the door. I held the book underneath my arm while I turned the key, then stepped inside.

‘Tell me everything!'

I slowly pressed the door shut before even looking at Sterling. She was grinning fervently.

‘Well?' she pressed. I smiled thinly at her and looked around. Xanthe and Hiroko were sitting at their desks, doing homework. I had no escape.

‘Nothing. I read a book for an hour,' I said.

‘And what did
he
do?' Sterling asked, jumping backwards to sit on her bed. I shrugged disinterestedly.

‘
The headmaster
sat at his desk and got some of his paperwork done,' I said, opening my drawer and placing
A Scrier's Instruction
inside with the pendant. ‘Just like I said he would. I told you – he's completely dull.'

Not entirely true, but an entirely forgivable lie in the circumstances. If I could convince Sterling that Renatus was boring and lame, perhaps she'd lay off this stalker routine.

‘And,' Sterling encouraged, ‘what did he say?'

‘Practically nothing,' I said. I collected my pyjamas and headed for mine and Hiroko's bathroom.

‘Aristea,' Sterling pleaded. I turned back to her.

‘Really, that was pretty much it,' I insisted. ‘I went to the office; he told me to sit down and gave me a book to read so I'd be quiet. After the hour, he said I could go. I came back here.'

Sterling nodded, but she looked intensely disappointed. What had she expected me to say? What had she expected me to have seen or heard in a detention? Sophia's parting words replayed in my mind, and I had to turn away so she wouldn't see my smirk.

The weekend passed much too quickly for me. I finished
A Scrier's Instruction
on Saturday morning and spent my alone time flicking back through its suggested exercises to practise. I played cards with the girls, and explored the library with Hiroko. Each night I braved the daunting pendant and awoke from dreamless sleeps, glad to remove the thing but also glad that I hadn't left my body unattended again. I got a letter from my aunt and wrote back. I ate my meals with my friends, trying to ignore the intense flirting that was escalating daily between Kendra and Addison. Afterwards I would laugh as Sophia teased her sister. Then it was Sunday night, and the weekend was over.

On Monday I had a scrying lesson first thing in the morning. It had been slinking around the back of my mind all weekend, inevitable, speeding up time. I apprehensively followed Xanthe to our classroom, wondering what Qasim would say, if he had anything to say to me at all.

Our classmates quickly arrived, sparing me curious glances. Obviously they could remember the introduction of the last lesson and wanted for me to explain exactly why I'd been dragged so aggressively from the class by the instructor, but by now Sterling's version must have spread far enough that I needn't bother myself.