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 Posted: Mon Nov 27, 2006 12:14 pm
To his surprise, Malecoda stopped pacing and fuming to look at him, clearly startled by his outburst.
"You asked what has put me in a temper? This! This is what has 'put me in a temper'."
She flung an envelope at him. The wax seal was broken, and he couldn't make out the crest which had been formed in it.
"Go on, read it. It effects you, too, you know."
He slid a fine parchment out of the envelope. It was an invitation to attend a Yule Ball held by...the Goblin King. Ah.
"Why is this a cause for upset?" Lore asked.
"You wouldn't understand if I tried to tell you, so I won't. Suffice it to say, though, that it is a cause for upset. Do you have anything to wear?"
Lore glanced at the invitation once more. He certainly did not. He had never attended a masquerade ball in his life, nor had he ever felt inclined to do so.
"I thought not," Malecoda said drily, snatching the invitation from him. It occured to him that she only came up to his chin, a thought which he really oughtn't to voice, he figured. "Very well. I'll conjure something up for you. You have to make a good showing, after all."
"Thank you?"
"You're welcome. We'll depart this evening, when darkness falls. Meet me in the main dining room wearing the closest to appropriate outfit you have. I'll work with that."
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Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2006 6:58 pm
Lore returned from the Goblin King's Christmas Ball bewildered and exhausted. He was glad that Malecoda was not there to pepper him with questions of all he had seen and heard while at the Ball, because, to be honest, he had neither seen, nor heard, anything. He had been too engrossed in his reading.
And he still hated the outfit she had put him in. Black and gold and scarlet indeed. What did the sorceress think he was, a traveling player? Hardly.
He sniffed disdainfully and magicked himself to his room, only to find it empty, save for a note.Malecoda's Note It didn't look as if you would ever get around to it, so I took the liberty of moving your things to your new quarters. I trust you will appreciate the trouble I went to on your behalf while you were out gallivanting.
He dropped into his bed, too tired even to change out of his magicked finery, and fell asleep.
During the night, Malecoda's magic stripped his clothing from him, cleaned it, and returned it to its place in his wardrobe, making for a surprise upon his waking in the morning.
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Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2007 6:29 am
Lore was woken by something hard and round bouncing on his stomach. He opened his eyes blearily, ready to murder whatever it was, even if it turned out to be Malecoda herself. He was tired, by all the powers. Why couldn't she let him sleep a full night, just once, he wondered.
What he saw with his eyes open was hardly what he had expected. His blue and yellow orb, which had been more like a paperweight than anything else in his previous experience, with the exception of its tendency to reappear where ever he happened to be if he left it somewhere, was now showing signs of animation. To be honest, it was more than animated. The thing was bouncing wildly, as if it had suddenly gone dysfunctional.
To spare certain parts below the waist from getting bounced on in the sphere's haphazard flailing Lore scrambled out of bed and realized as a blast of cool air from the window hit him that he was naked. Well, it wasn't a result of drunkenness at the ball, he was certain, since he had not imbibed. That meant Malecoda probably had something to do with it. He was still willing to do whatever the lovely sorceress asked of him, but he had learned to resent some of the abuses she heaped upon him so casually.
As he watched, smoke and swirling ribbons it seemed, began to pour forth from his orb, which miraculously remained intact throughout. When the colorful display dispersed he found himself staring at what seemed to be a very small, horned person. The small, horned person looked chagrined at having made such a fuss to arrive and looked at Lore shyly.
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Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2007 6:32 am
Lore looked back at him - he guessed it was a him - warily.
"Hello," he said finally.
The creature, which Lore now realized had no legs, merely smoky-ribbony trailings below his waist, raised his eyebrows, probably mimicking Lore's expression. Lore reached for his reading glasses and put them on, though he didn't need them to see the creature. It was a comfort thing.
"I'm Lore. What are you?"
The creature continued to stare levelly at him, silent.
"Do you speak? Do you understand me?"
Deafening silence and disconcerting regard from the horned one.
"Malecoda!" Lore cried. "Help!"
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Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2007 9:25 am
It seemed to take the sorceress an age to appear. If there was one time Lore wished Malecoda would be herself and magic herself wherever she wished to be, it was this one, but she, of course, chose now to enter his room the conventional way, preceeded by a knock. She stepped inside and blinked a few times, and then she shook her head in dismissal.
"What is it, Lore?" she asked.
"My orb. It's...hatched?"
"So it has. Congratulations. I think he's a seelie fae, though he's a bit young to tell at this stage." Malecoda seemed somewhat less than impressed by the events which had startled Lore so badly.
"What do I do with it?"
Malecoda shot him a withering glare. "I would recommend that you name him, feed him, and take care of him until it grows old enough to do for himself. And you might stop referring to him as an 'it.' I'm pretty certain he's going to turn out to be male."
Lore gaped and wondered how she could possibly be so unaffected by the strange goings-on. Then, slowly, it occurred to him that she might have experienced something like this before.
"Have you ever...?"
"That's none of your business," she said sharply. Her gaze softened as it fell on the young creature. "In the stage he's currently in he's called an Undera, by the way."
Lore nodded. As he nodded he happened to notice that he was as naked as the day he was born. He blushed furiously and grabbed a sheet from his bed in a belated attempt at modesty. Malecoda seemed unaffected by this, too, except for a slight smirk which touched at the corners of her mouth.
"I was wondering when you would notice that. If that's all, I'll be off. I have work to tend to. Let me know what you decide to name him."
So saying, she swept out of his room in a way that made the place seem quite desolate, leaving Lore holding up a sheet ineffectually and looking dubiously at the Undera which might be a male and might be a seelie fae.
"A name? I have no idea. I suppose Lysander will do as well as any."
The Undera looked up and with bright comprehension in his eyes he repeated, "Lysander."
"Yes," Lore agreed, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed. "That's you."
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 9:50 am
Over the next several months, Lore found that Lysander had been hatched with all the manners and mannerisms found in most court gentlemen. This was something of a relief to Lore, whose mistress had been exceedingly unreasonable since Lysander emerged. It was only when she saw Lysander regarding her with his serious gaze that her demeanor softened. She seemed to genuinely like the Undera, even if she barely tolerated his companion.
She still refused to give him any real work or studies, though months had passed since the Yule Ball and Lysander's subsequent appearance. It was nearly time for the Midsummer Festival and she still seemed to be miffed at Lore for whatever reason. It made him edgy. On the bright side, she was no worse to him than she was to any of the castle's other occupants.
He asked the kitchen staff about it once and they all shrugged and said that it was the growing season.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
They looked at each other and repeated, "It's the growing season. Sor Malecoda is a sorceress of the Underground. Her magic is tied to King Jareth, and sometimes there is much to control, especially during the growing season."
Lore found this response less than helpful, as it only brought more questions to mind. He picked one and asked:
"So she cannot control her power?"
"We wouldn't say that," the staff answered and then went back to work. They ignored any further attempts Lore made to draw them into conversation for the rest of the week.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 9:51 am
Lore's next attempt to discover the reasoning behind Malecoda's moodiness took place in the stables. Malecoda did keep a stable in her castle, though she rarely ventured outside of her keep, and it was stocked with all sorts of interesting mounts, the most fearsome of which being a basilisk which was tended by a blind handler.
Lore had found the stables a month after Lysander appeared when he was seeking refuge from Malecoda's temper tantrums. He had never quite worked up the courage to yell back at Malecoda after the first time he did it with such startling results. He still wondered if she might be harboring a grudge against him for that, and if that might be part of the reason she was so awful to him.
He asked the head groom, a werewolf named Phfenrir, who had always welcomed him in the stables, using what he had learned from the kitchen staff in his question:
"Why does Malecoda get testy when there's more power in the Underground?"
Phfenrir pulled on a pair of gloves and began polishing the silver bit on a bridle and said, "Well, the more power there is, the more important it is to control it, wouldn't you say?"
Lore frowned and went to pet Malecoda's mount, Noir, an easy-going black tiger with bat wings and silver eyes. Noir rumbled happily as Lore's long fingers found the Spot between his shoulders where his wings rubbed. Lore kept at it for several minutes before posing his next question, which he knew would make the head groom clam up, but which he had to ask.
"Can Malecoda control the power?"
"Why would you ask that? She's a sorceress. Of course she can control the power."
"Then, why -?"
"If you're just going to ask questions which you ought to put to Herself, I'll have to ask you to leave." Phfenrir looked regretful, but firm. "It's my job if I say more to you."
Lore understood and left, Lysander floating along at his heels. On his way back to his rooms he encountered Malecoda
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Posted: Thu Jun 14, 2007 12:31 pm
Because he had been enquiring into her personal affairs, Lore immediately felt guilty when he ran into Malecoda unexpectedly. Because he felt guilty, he knew he looked guilty, because that was simply the way he was. Ignore the fact that much of the time he could keep his feelings well-hidden. Whenever he was around Malecoda the best he could hope for was blatantly hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a blank mask and unquestioning acquiescance. He felt Malecoda could read him like a book. Ironically, if her weren't so sure of it, she wouldn't be able to do so at all.
"Malecoda," he said guiltily. He could rarely meet her eyes, but he couldn't even lift his gaze above her chin at the moment.
"Lore." She made his name sound like a threat. "I hear you've been asking questions of the staff. Questions about me. And, what's more, I hear they haven't been the nice sort of questions, like 'What's her favorite flower?' They've been the uncomfortable, prying type, like 'Can she control her power?' Of course I can control my power."
Without meaning to, Lore's eyes flickered upward, startled by the outburst which punctuated her dangerous monologue. Looking up (though still looking down because she was far shorter than he) he saw that furious spots of color had appeared in Malecoda's cheeks and that she was biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He'd never seen anyone actually do that before.
"Of course you can," he agreed, trying to placate her without sounding like he was. "No one said you can't."
"But they wonder. Not just you. Everyone. They wonder if I can control my power. And they're right to wonder." She inhaled and her breath shuddered. If Lore didn't know any better, he would say that she was sobbing.
"Surely not," he said reassuringly. "One doesn't become a sorceress if she can't control her power."
"But it's not really mine, is it? It's Jareth's. He gave it to me, and it's dependent on him and his Underground."
Lore nodded. He had surmised as much, reading between the lines of what the kitchen staff and Phfenrir had said to him. He hoped that she might be encouraged to continue, though, and tell him more. It wasn't because he was nosy, he told himself, but because he was her apprentice and he had a right to know things like that about his mistress.
"You have either no idea what I'm talking about, or only some idea of what I'm talking about, and in either case I'm probably worrying you. You're probably afraid the castle will fall down around our ears or some such nonsense, aren't you?"
"Not at all. It's a master's prerogative to be as cryptic as he - or she - likes."
Malecoda smiled ruefully and a little derisively.
"I like you. You know that, right?"
Lore said nothing. He had been given to wonder, particularly of late.
"And for that reason, if no other, I will tell you what you wish to know. Meet me in the observatory after you have had your evening meal."
"Yes, Sor."
She smiled again, but it was still rueful, and then she left him. As she turned Lore saw her rush the back of her hand across her eyes, as though trying to brush away tears surreptitiously. But surely not?
But why not? Lore wondered. It wasn't inconceivable that Malecoda might cry if she was under a great deal of pressure. Yes it was.
"She always knows exactly what she's doing, and she never does anything by accident," he said aloud. "She meant for me to see that."
He glanced down at Lysander for confirmation and the Seelie turned one hand over, bending his arm slightly at the elbow in an elegant shrug.
"Come on. Of course she did."
Lysander tilted his head toward the arm he was shrugging with.
"She did," Lore said firmly, though he was no longer at all sure that she did.
In some ways it was frightening to think that anything could make a terror like Malecoda shed tears. On the other hand, it was reassuring, and even cause for hope, because while Lore tried very hard to ignore it, and sometimes even forgot it entirely without trying when she was behaving particularly foully, Malecoda was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he would love to be the person she turned to for reassurance. Which was about as likely to happen as Lysander was to find a scarlet top hat and parade around whistling "Hail the King." Less likely, if he was being honest.
Well, he could wait until after supper, he supposed. He continued to his room, smiling just a little bit at fantasies he couldn't quite supress, though whether the smile was at the fantasies themselves or was his amusement at himself for fantasizing was anyone's guess.
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Posted: Sun Jun 17, 2007 5:15 pm
At the time Malecoda had specified, Lore went upstairs to the observatory. He had been in there a few times before, and had found that it was not like most observatories at all. One could certainly observe things from it, but only if one possessed any Sight or any skill at scrying. He had no idea why Malecoda had one, as she professed not to have any of the Sight and little interest in scrying, which she equated to spying, but if pressed to speculate he would say she had one because it seem the proper thing for a sorceress to have. She had a lot of things which she seemed only to have for that reason.
The observatory, like everything else in Malecoda's castle, was upstairs. It was up a lot of stairs. This actually made sense, for once, as there was a telescope for those who cared to examine celestial bodies, and telescopes tend to require a view of the sky which cannot be acquired on a lower floor. However, it made the climb no less strenuous. By the time Lore reached the door, he was very slightly out of breath, though he was not particularly out of shape. Lysander, who had only to float, seemed less effected by the climb.
"Lore, come in."
Always. She always did that. A person never got a chance to knock in Malecoda's castle, or even to clear his throat politely. She always knew when he was outside her door, and she always invited him in before he could give any normal indication that he might want an invitation. It was incredibly irritating sometimes, particularly in a sorceress who claimed no prescience. Perhaps she had magical observers placed in the wall sconces, or the invisible servants reported to her the moment he drew near. Neither would have surprised Lore.
"Yes, Malecoda."
At least she let him open the door himself this time. Usually doors would swing open. At least, if they opened in, they would swing open. He noticed that they never did if they opened out. Maybe it was to prevent whomever was on the other side from getting mashed into a wall if he or she wasn't fleet enough of foot.
Malecoda was perched on the arm of a couch wearing clothing unlike that in which Lore was accustomed to seeing her. Ordinarily, she dressed appropriate to what the others Underground wore and more like what Lore himself was used to wearing. She had been that afternoon. This evening, however, she wore a tight top which fit her like a second skin, or like it had been painted on. The thing seemed to be without any means of being so tight - no buttons, no hooks, no laces. Hanging from the flare of her hips was what appeared to be a skirt, but when she rose to greet him he saw that it was actually very wide-legged trousers which flowed like water, giving brief glimpses of the shape of her legs. Lore's collar felt too tight suddenly.
It seemed she was in no hurry to discuss the promised matter. Indeed, she began with pleasantries which she seemed only to make use of when Lore was in trouble. It put him further on edge.
"I trust you enjoyed your dinner?"
"Yes, Sor."
"What did you eat?"
Lore told her and she nodded. It seemed as though she had asked the questions in a perfunctory manner and was glad to have done with them. Lore, too, hoped she might dispense with the pleasantries and tell him more of what she had hinted at earlier in the day. It had been gnawing at him for aeons, it seemed.
"Do have a seat, apprentice. This may take some time in the telling, and having you standing, shifting from foot to foot is simply ridiculous."
Lore sought out the nearest seat - a straight-backed chair draped with a brocade cloth - and sat down on it. He could tell at once that it was a poor choice. he could feel himself slipping on the brocade, and there were no arms he could lean on to slow or prevent himself as he slid off the chair. At least he wouldn't slide off immediately, he decided, though it was a distinct possiblity for the future.
"Let me begin by explaining how I came to live Underground, since you may have guessed that I'm no more a native than you. I was born and raised on Terra Prime, as they call it in your world. I lived there until I was fifteen, when the Goblin King granted me a special gift. He gave me one of his orbs, like yours, but containing a different sort of creature. Qarouc helped me achieve my wish, in part: he got me out of my situation and saw to it that no one would ever think me ordinary again. He was not powerful or knowledgeable enough to grant me the second part of my wish, so he brought me here, when he was fully grown, and saw to it that I met Jareth for myself, in hopes that the Goblin King could grant my wish."
She paused. Her eyes were not unfocused like those of many storytellers tend to be when recalling personal history. They were fixed on Lore, though to what point Lore could not tell, as it served only to make him want to fidget.
"Jareth saw me, and he told me that he could, indeed, see to it that I would never need to be afraid again, and that I would never need to inhabit my world again. He granted me citizenship Underground, but he told me that it would come at a cost, a great cost, for I am not of the Underground, and to dwell there permanently would be eventually fatal. He said I would have to become a creature of the Underground, at least in spirit."
Lore frowned. He had never heard this before. Of course, he knew of few people who chose to make the Underground their permanent residence, or even a rarely-visited vaction spot. Malecoda was the only one he knew of who was fully human. Others were like Jareth, Other. At his frown, Malecoda continued.
"I took Qarouc's life under Jareth's guidance, and took into me his essence. So, essentially, I am not exactly human anymore. I am also one of Jareth's creatures, in essence. Once I had become one of his creatures, he trained me in the ways of sorcery. While I studied with him, I was a member of his court, the only one who had not been created by Jareth or was not the spawn of one of Jareth's creations. I held other positions while at court, but those are not your business.
"When, some time later, Jareth found himself fascinated, entraced, obsessessed by and with another human, a true human, not a hybrid like myself, he asked me to remove myself from court, that he might pursue his new quarry. Her name was Sarah."
Lore was startled. He knew that name. Everyone knew that name. Malecoda had been her predecessor? A different girl, who had accepted Jareth's offer to move the stars and give her her dreams, if only she would fear him and love him. Seeing the expression she wore speaking the Goblin King's name and hearing the bitterness in her voice speaking of Sarah, Lore believed she still did.
"As to my power, which I'm sure is more interesting to you than my sordid past, that's simply explained. I am a creature of the Labyrinth, of the Underground, and I am subject to the fluctuations of its power. In the growing seasons, spring and summer, the power available to me is flush, and it must be controlled and contained, or else, with Jareth's current distraction, it will become potentially dangerous.
"Ordinarily, this would be fine, as I could channel the power into my work and serve as a conduit, but I have no current projects, and so I am forced to contain more power than I ought to. Besides, I am afraid to try to direct it now, while it is in flux. We all have limits. If I tried to use only a little, I might lose control of all of it. Jareth could control the power and contain it easily, but he not interested in doing so at the moment, so it falls to me, the second-best magician in the Underground. I am barely up to the task. But I am up to the task, Lore. Make no mistake."
She spoke the last with authority.
"Sor, is it why your moods are volatile?" Lore asked cautiously.
She grinned quickly and it vanished quickly before she answered. "It plays a part in making my moods so volatile, as you so diplomatically phrase it. To control power, as you know, is an effort of will. When one's physical form cannot contain all of the power one must control and when one will not use objects it must all be done with force of will and strength of mind. It gives me headaches because of the way I am forced to exert my will over the power."
Lore cocked his head to one side, inviting her to continue.
"You know I took on an apprentice because Jareth told me to do so. I suspect he instructed me to take on an apprentice that said apprentice might take my place when I am dead. Because I will be dead soon, Lore. My headaches are killing me. My cells are dying, burning out with the effort of containing what I cannot."
She smiled and was heartrendingly beautiful, made more so by the infinite sadness in her eyes.
"I am sorry that I've doomed you to a similar death by taking you as my apprentice. If you wish to end your apprenticeship, knowing how it will end, I will be pleased to write you a recommendation to any master you wish to study under."
Lore shook his head, feeling ennobled and helpless at once. "That won't be necessary. I will continue my apprenticeship with you, and when it becomes necessary I will assume your duties. But you will have to teach me something about the work."
"Yes. I suppose I will. I was avoiding giving you real things to study in hopes that you might stalk off in a huff, but if you're certain you wish to do this, I owe it to you to prepare you properly. You're relieved of your chores herewith. Perhaps you ought to go to sleep, then. Tomorrow you'll have real work to do."
Lore smiled and nodded, relieved to have been allowed to stand before he slid off the chair. His hand was on the doorknob when Malecoda caught him by surprise. She crossed the room and insinuated herself between Lore and the door somehow. Standing there, with barely any space between them, Malecoda reached up with one hand and drew Lore down to her height. When he was at an appropriate height, she stood on the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on his cheek.
"You are a noble soul, Lore, and I will do everything within my power to see to it that you, at least, will be spared my end."
She vanished, leaving Lore to make his way back to his room and to Lysander alone and floating.
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Posted: Wed Jun 20, 2007 7:03 am
That night, Lore barely slept. Between learning all that he had about Malecoda and the kiss she had given him, sleep was more than evasive. Yet, he did wake up in the morning, which left him to surmise that he had, at some point, fallen asleep. Lysander, not similarly smitten with the sorceress, had been asleep when he got back to his room and had only opened one eye to acknowledge Lore's return.
The next day Malecoda surprised Lore by joining him for breakfast in the kitchen. He usually ate in the kitchen to avoid running into her first thing in the morning, when she was not at her best, or anything like it. Additionally, it gave him an opportunity to talk to the servants who were not invisible and silent, though he had learned to converse with the invisible and silent ones, too, by writing.
When she came in, the kitchen staff were pointedly ignoring Lore, unaware that he would ask no more prying questions of them, as his questions had been answered by Malecoda herself the day prior. He understood their caution, but he missed the companionship and the conversation. He was not, by nature, solitary, and while he was very fond of Lysander, the Undera was not talkative.
So when Malecoda came in Lore was wary, but grateful to see someone who would not, at least, ignore him. Yell at him, maybe, make him feel stupid and clumsy, maybe, but she would not ignore him. Thinking about her story, he guessed that she had been ignored herself when she was young, and that she didn't care to do it to others. Which didn't quite explain the silent, invisible servants.
"Good morning, Lore. Hurry up and finish eating. We're going out."
Lore almost choked on his oatmeal. They were going out? To his knowledge, Malecoda never left her castle, sending minions or servants or whatever to do whatever needed doing in her stead. The only time he had ever heard she left her castle was if she received a direct summons from the Goblin King, and he was fairly certain that she would not be dressed as she was if that was the case.
Understand, she was dressed in nothing resembling her usual finery. It wasn't even elegant. She wore a plain wool skirt with a plain cotton blouse over which she wore a simple bodice of a color to compliment the other two. Her hair, which she usually left down or might occasionally pull back in a horsetail, was braided and wound around her head like a crown. She looked as though she were in a peasant costume.
"Yes, Sor. Where are we going?"
She brandished a basket at him. "To pick wildflowers, of course." The smile which accompanied her statement was not reassuring.
"Oh," Lore said a little helplessly and finished his breakfast. Lysander looked worried.
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Posted: Thu Jun 21, 2007 8:47 am
Clearly Malecoda had a different definition of the term "wildflower" than the one under which Lore had operated most of his life. When Lore thought of wildflowers, he tended to imagine flowering plants growing in the wild. Usually said plants' flowers were white or pink or yellow, and tended to resemble violets or daisies. Even having been raised in a magical family, this was what he tended to imagine, because when someone in his family said "Let's go pick wildflowers," that was what they meant.
Malecoda, on the other hand, did not mean this at all. Malecoda seemed to define "wild" as terrifying and ferocious and "flower" as plant-like thing. Or so Lore discovered as he stopped his ears against the scream of a well-grown mandrake root as Malecoda pared off extremities like hands and feet with complete indifference. It made Lore's heart ache and his stomach turn to watch something so humanoid and clearly in a great deal of pain being butchered and the parts dropped into Malecoda's wicker basket.
The mandrakes, actually, aside from the risk involved with their screaming, were not so terrifying and ferocious, but Lore still didn't care for the process of harvesting them. He had known, of course, what mandrakes were, but he had not considered how they were harvested. He wondered if it bothered Malecoda at all, but he didn't quite dare ask her. She seemed not to mind either the mandrakes' screaming any more than she minded that in some worlds her actions would constitute torture with a couple of add-on charges for mutilation.
Without being asked, Malecoda turned to him once she had finished her task and pulled beeswax out of her ears. That explained one thing. She, herself, explained the other.
"I know how it looks, Lore, but it isn't as if I can order in supplies. The elven merchants have not been particularly reliable lately - pirate troubles, I hear. Besides which I prefer to collect my own supplies."
She must have seen Lore's eyes widen at her last statement.
"Don't misunderstand. I don't enjoy cutting up semi-sentient beings, but I do prefer to know that I'm the only one doing so, and only as needed. Have you ever seen a mandrake farm?"
Lore shook his head. He had never considered that such a thing might exist, though, now that he thought about it it made some sense. Farmers grew corn because it was needful, why not grow mandrakes? There was a need for those, too.
"Mandrakes on those farms are grown in pots to keep them from getting too large and their skin from getting too tough. They are harvested as soon as their limbs begin to grow back, and they're harvested more severely, often losing all but their heads and torsos. The soil they're kept in encourages them to regenerate their parts more quickly, so that they can be harvested that much sooner. When one finally dies from overharvesting, its heartroot is split four times. Usually two or more new roots can be grown from it."
Lore felt distinctly ill.
"How do you know this?"
"I read, and I keep abreast of current issues in the magical worlds. Mandrake farms are among them. It's taken some time for the issue to rise to the public eye because mandrakes are only semi-sentient and there are more intelligent, more articulate beings being exploited equally cruelly. How do you not know this?"
Lore shrugged. His family did talk about their work, but not about controversies regarding it. He wasn't even sure if his father used mandrake in his workings or not. He knew his siblings didn't. It wasn't part of the requirements for their jobs.
As he told Malecoda this, he found himself surprised by the real fury which had colored her pale cheeks as she spoke of the situation with mandrake farming. He would not have imagined this particular sorceress as an activist for humane treatment of anything. She certainly didn't treat him particularly humanely, and he was a sentient being. He made the mistake of muttering the last under his breath as he tromped after her into a nearby glen to collect nightshade and wolfsbane.
"What gives you the impression that you are a sentient being?" Malecoda asked in a scathing tone which made Lore feel as though he had been flayed right to the core of his being.
"I am one," he protested before he could stop himself. Getting into an argument with someone who had a handfull of nightshade was just not a clever idea.
"That remains to be seen. Make yourself useful."
She handed him a pair of gloves and a pair of shears, both of which were pulled from apron pockets - Lore had never thought he would live to see Malecoda in an apron. As she handed him these things he caught a hint of a smile which reassured him that she was, in fact, teasing him.
"Yes, Sor."
He set about cutting nightshade and wolfsbane as directed, not minding that the glen was ridiculously dark for the time of day or that he was grinning like an idiot. Malecoda had teased him. This was, he felt, a very, very good thing.
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Posted: Thu Jun 21, 2007 1:13 pm
The day was very long. Very, very, very long. At least it felt that way. Despite Malecoda's oddly cheerful disposition - that is, cheerful, when compared to her usual disposition - she was not an easy person to be with. It was made more diffiucult for Lore because he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. There must be a reason behind her good mood, or else she was setting him up to be in a great deal of trouble. He hoped that it was not the latter.
It was made longer because Malecoda had decided that it was Lore's job, as a male and as her apprentice, to carry the basket. Fine, well, and good, except that said basket was enchanted to carry much more than it ought to otherwise. By the end of the day it was quite heavy and Lore's hands and elbows hurt from switching back and forth between them. He was still expected to help her with her wildflower picking.
When the sun set, he fully expected that Malecoda would press onward, compelling him to gather the dusk- and night-blooming plants which she decided she needed. However, she did not. She cocked her head to one side with two fingers resting lightly on her lips in a charming pose, and then she turned to Lore.
"I think we ought to go back now. This will do for a beginning."
"Yes, Sor."
"Can you find your own way back to the castle?"
"I think so, Sor," Lore lied. He could not. He had not left the castle since he arrived. He hadn't quite dared to.
"You'd be sorry if I believed you," she said with her eyebrows in an amused arch. "Fortunately for you, I don't."
Together they walked back to the castle. Malecoda asked Lore to tell her about his family, as he mentioned them relatively frequently in his mutterings. He blushed when he realized she had heard every muttered complaint he had made, but he overcame it and did as she asked. Months with her had not made him particularly immune to her. She still had him wrapped around her littlest finger.
As he recited his recent family history, taking care that he be honest and fair in his descriptions, his mind wandered. Honesty came easily to him, though dissemblement was a skill he had grown adept at in the last two years, which he had spent at the court of King Henry Tudor XIII. In his mind's ramblings he stumbled over an idea. It was one which was so simple he was surprised that the had not considered it sooner. In his surprise, he exclaimed aloud, "Oh!"
Malecoda stopped walking and looked at him carefully. "What is it? Were you bitten by anything?"
"No, Sor, but I think I have a valid solution to the matter of the Underground's surfiet power."
"Really? Do tell."
"Siphon it."
"That would be an investiture. I told you that I don't care to do that."
"Not into an object. Into a person, someone who will be needing to use a great deal of power, and learn to manipulate the Underground's power anyway."
"You. I will not. It will only hasten your death."
"But I'll use it. If you're going to train me, I'll be using it, not just containing it. It could work."
Malecoda looked very weary. "Perhaps we will try this. But the moment you get anything resembling a headache, you will tell me, and we will discontinue the experiment. I will not kill you prematurely if I can help it."
Lore nodded soberly, but inside he felt like leaping for joy. He might be able to help.
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Posted: Fri Jun 22, 2007 10:52 am
The next morning Malecoda woke him early, with absolutely no sympathy for the fact that she had had him spend most of the night before storing their findings and labeling the containers.
"You're cruel," he muttered as she waited by the window with her back turned to him, allowing him to dress with some semblance of privacy, though not much.
Lysander didn't seem to agree with him on this, but the Undera said nothing. As usual. Were it not for that fact that the blue-haired Undera did occasionally speak, Lore would have guessed that Lysander was mute. He was pleased that this was not the case, of course, and wished that the Undera would give evidence more often.
"You think so?" Malecoda asked. He couldn't tell from her tone whether she spoke in jest.
"When you do things like this, yes. It's inhuman to wake a person after they've only had three hours of sleep. It's inhumane."
"You think humanity concerns me? You do not listen well, it seems. Aren't you eager to begin down the path to certain destruction? You seemed so gung-ho yesterday. Perhaps you've thought the better of it and decided to go home."
Lore was momentarily outraged that she would tease him so, that she would think him so utterly without honor, but then Lysander looked at him piercingly and shook his head, gesturing for Lore to allow him to whisper in his ear. Lore, of course, complied, lowering his head and lifting Lysander up.
"It is what she wants and hopes, not what she thinks," Lysander said very softly. "Do not be angry with her."
"Okay," Lore said softly to his Undera. "I'll try."
Malecoda probably heard him, but she said nothing, permitting him to speak with Lysander uninterrupted. She rarely interrupted them in the rare instances when they were actually conversing and she was actually present. She'd never done it, come to think of it.
"Are you dressed yet?" she asked finally.
"Yes, Sor?"
"Good. Come with me to the library and we'll get started."
In the library she levitated four or five books off the shelves and dumped them into Lore's arms.
"Read these. Come see me when you think you're proficient."
She left him then, staggering under the weight of the assignment. He managed to lighten the books marginally so that he could climb up the stairs - always up the stairs - to his room to get started. He suspected he might not see Malecoda for a year or more at this rate.
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Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 8:20 am
Actually, it wasn't taking Lore as long to read the stack of books as he had anticipated. He had discovered, to his delight, that much of it was elementary and things he already knew or had assumed. Just to be thorough, however, he skimmed carefully. The books on theory were the most interesting to him, because he had always found magical theory and philosophy fascinating subjects and ones on which he could debate for hours.
He had held his own against the university mages at home, and they were known for their ability to reason. One professor had offered to make him his assistant, based solely on his ability to reason, but Lore had turned him down at his father's insistence. His father had said that Lore was meant to be more than a professor's assistant, though he had not, predictably, indicated what more Lore was destined for. That would be making things too easy for his youngest and least talented son.
The books on theory came from many, many worlds. Some he recognized, others he did not, but it seemed basic theory was universal. Which made a great deal of sense, really. What particularly interested him about the books on theory, though, were the ones written by authors who lived in worlds which were unaware of the Dichotomy and the Dichotomous Worlds, as many referred to the worlds which were the results of splits from Terra Prime. These authors' speculations were naive, but refreshing because their misconceptions were based on the experiences of their own world and not on others'.
The basic magic books he found less interesting. Lore had always been able to do the simple magics, spells, and castings inscribed therein, and reading them was of little interest to him, but he did so dutifully and would try any variations from methods he had been taught in the privacy of his rooms. All of the variations were viable too, as he had anticipated they would be.
Because magic was the same on all worlds, despite what people tried to say, Lore was able to ignore much of the early chapters of the elementary magic books, which dealt with using power. However, out of deference to Malecoda's predicament and the one into which he would be getting eventually, he read what the authors wrote on the acquisition of power, even though it was mostly over-simplified and impractical for his purposes.
Lysander was always beside him, reading what Lore read, though Lore was unsure how much he absorbed, since he, himself, tended to skip around and already had a grounding in magic.
His father had been unimpressed with Lore's magical gifts from an early age, and so he had not really encouraged Lore to pursue any studies in magic, which is why Lore's reading had an odd effect on him of which Lore, himself, was utterly unaware. He was becoming more self-confident.
The knowledge that he had mastered all of the techniques and theories contained in the basic books of spells gave him a confidence in himself and his abilities which he had previously lacked. In the circular manner of most things, the increase of confidence in himself improved his magical abilities, and his improvement made his confidence increase.
Malecoda's servants made daily reports, and she was well-pleased.
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2007 7:51 am
After two weeks of doing little but reading, Lore had finished the books Malecoda had assigned him to read. As he finished each one, he returned it to her library, leaving it on a table with a note on an embossed card.The note's author Please place materials here when you have finished with them. They will be returned to their places by the staff.
Lore's relationship with his brothers was not particularly warm or fuzzy in nature. In fact, he hadn't written to them since he wrote to tell his father that he would be staying on as Malecoda's apprentice. His father's cursory reply had put paid to any hopes Lore might have entertained about pleasing his father with his accomplishments.
Lysander, sensing Lore's dark mood, suggested, "Malecoda?"
Lore knew that by this he meant would Lore go see Malecoda, having finished the assignment she had given him. There might also have been a hint that seeing Malecoda might improve his mood, but Lore didn't pick up on that, because he wasn't aware that he was in a foul mood.
He followed Lysander's suggestion and sought out Malecoda, which was easily enough done. He had only to stand anywhere on the castle grounds and speak her name. She would know, somehow, whether it was a summons and react accordingly. She also tended to know when her name was accompanied by disparaging remarks, and would react accordingly then, too. Lore tried not to attract her attention by using her name if he could at all help it.
"Malecoda," he said distinctly.
In short order she appeared and said, "You've finished. Good. Come with me."
She returned with him to the library and selected another dozen books for him to read.
"Let me know when you finish these," she said sweetly.
"I may never finish them," Lore said darkly.
"I doubt that. You made short work of the others. I thought to keep you busy with those for at least a month. You must know more of magic than you intimated when I asked several months ago." The smile which accompanied Malecoda's statement made Lore's day.
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