Chương 2: Chapter 3: Report

The halls that surround us are hewn out of the rock of the mountain in Korrien that the Nightshade Headquarters is carved into. I raise my hand to knock on the heavy wooden door, but Aarron calls us through before I can make contact with the wood.

"Come in." I scowl briefly and push my way into the room with Xan bouncing lightly behind me. That's the thing about Xan. They rarely go about anything in what I would call a "normal" way. Xan is always attentive, active, and often downright annoying. But very little gets past them, and, begrudgingly, I've come to respect that. Not that I'll tell them. Ever.

"Sit," Aarron says without looking up, like he assumes we are fine and not bleeding. Perhaps Sevrin delivered a scrying report. I wouldn't put it past him. He isn't the worst scryer we have.

"You almost got two of your Journeymen killed, sir." I place emphasis on the last word to show my lack of comprehension about why he did it in the first place.

"Not my intention, and yet, not wholly unexpected," Aarron mutters, his head bent over a report, a frown barely visible on his face. His lightly salted hair hangs over his eyes, the rest of it so black it almost feels like a void. When he looks up, there are several wrinkles around his light blue eyes, and some deep frown lines around his mouth and on his forehead. His skin is weathered and reminds me of one of the woodsmen my father often bartered with when I was younger.

Aarron's eyes are such a pale blue they seem closer to grey when the sun begins to shine through after rain, disconcerting in his otherwise tanned coloring. So, when he sits back and steeples his fingers, focusing that gaze upon both of us, it pierces. That's what it is. His gaze is piercing.

"Tell me. How did you know they were coming? Sevrin mentioned that his aim was to catch you off guard while you slept. The test should have been over without any injuries whatsoever." He watches us, waiting for either of us to deny or deflect.

"Yet you managed to wake and roll out of range before they could execute their plan. What skillset did you use, or else, did you set up a perimeter trap?"

"I'm a light sleeper," I say, crossing my arms. It's close to the truth and easier to tell him this than to explain that I simply felt the danger approaching. Just like how Lennick is the only person I can tell that the potency of my tinctures and potions stems from the fact that I ask the plants to lend me their strength. Other people just wouldn't get it.

"Light sleeper?" Aarron eyes me for a couple of seconds that almost feel like minutes. His mouth twitches and I'm not sure if he's fighting a scowl or a laugh, but he lets out a deep sigh.

"I'll keep that in mind for any future tests I send out for you, then." I bite my tongue so I don't tell him that he shouldn't bother. Telling my boss what to do given his position won't win me any favors. He sits there still watching us for several more moments, enough that even I want to squirm under his gaze. Instead of focusing on his intimidation tactics, I look around. His office has always been sparse.

Wooden beams run across the ceiling like braces against the stone, not that I think they're strong enough if the roof wanted to cave in on him. The walls have the Nightshade banner, Korrien banner, and the Arralesh flag draped on them. There are other depictions of Nightshade's emblem scattered around the office, with its distinctive black berry nestled inside the five star-pointed leaves, which also resemble a throwing star. But otherwise, Aarron's office is very impersonal.

As you'd probably expect from the Prefect of the entire Nightshade Order. When he finally breaks the silence again, I'm ready to get out of his highly uncomfortable room.

"Xan, you're dismissed." They shoot me a glance as they execute a brief bow and dart out of the room. I've never known anyone to feel more uncomfortable around our leader than Xan does.

"Taria, you need to report to Lennick. We have two scryers out sick right now. He needs you to fill in for their rotation." It sounds like a clear dismissal, so I stand up, but before I can step toward the door, Aarron clears his throat.

"After that, go and see Dougrant. You're at the end of your first Initiate year. He will fill you in about your next group teamwork test coming up in a few days."

"Thank you," I say, suppressing an inward sigh at more testing.

"And Taria." His tone is commanding, so I look up, meeting his gaze.

"Thank you for not killing Ellir."

"You're welcome. Though a split second later, and I don't think I could have saved him." I give a curt nod and leave the room before he can respond. Aarron has never been someone I understand well, though I do respect him. There's also a part of me that trusts him. Yet, like with everyone else, I'm always hesitant to fully trust anyone. He may not have sounded contrite, but I could tell he didn't actually want anyone to die when he tested our skills. For the most part, anyway.

The stone corridor is wide in the Western Enclave of the Korrien division of Nightshade. Such a mouthful, even when all I do is think it. I wonder how they carved this whole place out of the rock in these mountains. However they did it, it's beautiful in its own unique way. I walk past the other Adept and Master offices and toward the teaching areas. There are multiple places here for all the different levels of the order.

While recruits don't have actual assassination-based classes, they do get taught the fundamentals of the laws of Arralesh, down to reading and mathematics. You'd be surprised to realize just how much math is involved in alchemy and assassination. These are smaller classrooms, hewn into the rock face with slit-like windows that blend in from the outside of the mountain. Then there are the teaching areas for Novices and apprentices.

All of these lead to an outside courtyard in the middle of a natural valley that dips in the mountain we call our home. There is where we learn all of our weapon skills. Almost to the lab now, I suppress a sigh as I realize both Farin and Minx are approaching me. Friendship. I used to think it was everything, until my friends abandoned me like everyone else did after the fire killed my parents. It all seems so disposable now.

"What did Aarron want?" Farin pushes her long blond hair back off her shoulders and focuses her bright blue eyes on me. It's odd that she's a Nightshade; she seems like she should be in Sage or maybe even Rowan. Her tone of voice is always commanding too, like you have to answer anything she asks.

"None of your business," I respond, stopping in my tracks because there's no way to get around them now without pushing them out of the way. Sage is for pure alchemists, academics, and herb lore. Maybe Farin's lackluster relationship with equations kept her from being one. I really should have been there with my affinity for plant life. But I chose Nightshade for the respect, fear, and information networks. I wonder why Farin chose it. To be honest, I wonder that about everyone. This text was taken from Royal Road.

Help the author by reading the original version there. Poplar houses farmers and couriers. Laurel consists of fighters, guards, and mercenaries. Rowan is for the artists, storytellers, and music makers. Farin has a melodic voice. Rowan could have been perfect. Though she definitely didn't belong in Oak. My father belonged to that one. He had so much pride in the world of crafters. Bryony, the order of thieves, was never a blip on my radar. They'd been there the night before my parents died.

I could have ended up in any or all of them, but Nightshade lends me my best chance to find out the information I need. Frankly, I always thought Farin and Minx would have been better off in the Courts, but that system was a whole other nest of vipers. Minx pipes up, her voice always that bit higher than anyone else's, pulling me out of my contemplation.

"We're just curious. There's no need to be rude, Taria." I shrug.

"Maybe not, but I'm in a rush and it's not important." Minx nods and her tight, black curls bob around her head. Her eagerness shining from almost black eyes.

"He's never called either of us in."

"Are you sure that's a good thing?" I ask, considering how smug she sounds. Usually, I try not to let people's heckling get to me, but something about her superiority complex bugs me today.

"Well, it's not a bad thing!" Farin sputters and Minx just blinks at me.

"If you say so." I'm done now, and I push past them. Not too roughly, but I am expected in the lab.

"Going now." I can almost feel their eyes on me as they watch me leave. Ignoring them is easy, however. Disregarding distractions is something I'm good at. I focus on finding Lennick. He's holed up, as usual, in the alchemy lab. The large room is our learning quarters, where he teaches each Novice group the fundamentals of the craft. Off to the side is a huge door that leads out to a well-maintained and stocked garden of plants and herbs.

I've spent more time in that garden than I like to admit, coaxing the plants to be stronger, to yield more and faster. Green thumb is what they tell me it is. I'd prefer to think of it as listening to the earth around me. If I listen closely, it's like there's this hum all around me, asking me to sing along with it. The melody is easy enough to counter and harmonize with, and the life around it is immeasurable.

"Taria!" I look up, pulled out of my thoughts, and smile briefly. Truth be told, Lennick is one of the few people in my life who I genuinely want to smile for when I see them. He reminds me so much of a mixture of my mother and father that his comfort often makes my chest tight with memories.

"Hello," I say, somehow always maintaining that level of respectful distance. He is my teacher, after all. His green eyes sparkle, mimicking the life of the greenery he's dedicated his life to. Maybe green eyes means plants will love a person. It's at least true for both of us. Lennick is full of life and amazing abilities, like how to teach without causing students to resent him. While not as powerful as I'd like to be, he does have this talent for garnering respect.

Perhaps it's that he plays with poison, but either way, I want to get that sort of respect when I walk into a room one day.

"Well, don't keep me waiting. I want to hear all about that test!" Sometimes, I think he forgets he's supposed to be the teacher. I glance over at what he's got bubbling in his beaker and raise an eyebrow.

"Don't you want me to get to work?"

"You're earlier than I expected. Sit and grind some herbs with me." He says the last gesturing at the mortar and pestle next to him. Ah, he knows me well. I prefer to stay busy. My hands will work while we talk. I begin to grind up some of the plants, filling him in as succinctly as possible about Aarron's little test. He laughs. Lennick's laugh is one that doesn't annoy me. It's a low rumble that always sounds joyful and never fails to lighten my mood.

"You know, Dougrant has your whole group slotted for another test in two days, right?" It's difficult not to roll my eyes in response, so I incline my head slightly as I crush more plants.

"Just wanted to make sure you have a heads-up about it, that's all." There's a comfortable silence between us as he finishes off, closing a few more jars of crushed herbs for his stock.

"I'm not here to help you with tinctures today, am I?" I ask as I get through the last of the leaves and roots in front of me. Lennick sobers and smiles.

"No. I need you in the scrying room. Most of our best scryers are booked out on contracts right now. A few are ill. Aarron is juggling some of the members around with the other Enclaves, too." Scrying is the main means of communication for the Nightshade guild. It's as close as we get to real magic these days. Not everyone is capable of tapping into the contract stream, as it's known.

There are mind-heightening drugs those people can use, different herb concoctions we use to tap into the energies directly focused on our order. It's not perfect, but letters leave a paper trail. This does not. Scrying isn't my favorite thing. The first time I tried it, we realized that my reach doesn't require any type of focusing drug for it to exceed its potential. The reaction headache I got as a result of that first divination meant I slept for almost two full days. It's something I avoid wherever possible.

I may be good at it, but the cost for my reach feels too high. There are so many things I'd prefer to do other than scrying. Like waxing my arm hair. Pulling out my fingernails. Anything, to be honest.

"Fine. You owe me." I shoot him a glare, knowing he wouldn't have asked if he wasn't absolutely desperate. There aren't enough guild members adept at it. Minx and Farin, for example? Absolutely useless. Xan isn't much better. It's why all three of them need to be paired with someone stronger in scrying when they go on important contracts.

"Name your price," he says, winking at me. I scowl.

"You shouldn't be so free with promises. It'll get you in trouble one of these days."

"You're far too young to be this cynical," he chides me, guiding me as we move to the scrying room. I don't dignify that comment with a response. The scrying center is empty, which is in and of itself completely unusual. Most times there will at least be a few Novices and apprentices who are attending the stations, keeping an eye out. We're not just the headquarters for the Nightshade Order. Technically, we're also the Enclave for Korrien, the capital city of Arralesh. Where the Courts reside.

And the Courts feed us all manner of business. It's amazing what sort of money politics brings to our line of work.

"Is intake down?" I ask, curious now. Despite the harsh entrance exams, despite the shadow that hangs over our order, and despite the fact that we're literally assassins…Nightshade has never wanted for recruits. Lennick glances at me, like he can't figure out how much of something he should be telling me. I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"Fine." He looks around like he needs to check and see if anyone else is in the dimly lit room.

"Yes. Intake is down. I'm just not sure whether that's because the other orders have ramped up their recruitment, or because Aarron is being pickier than usual, or because rumors about our order have gotten out of hand." Rumors? Well, that's interesting. I nod, slotting that information away for later, and grab one of the concave scrying bowls. They're hewn out of what is known as moonstone, smooth mostly, with slight ridges inside.

I scoop some of the drizzling water that we funnel in from the waterfalls that spring up through these mountains, and sit down in my preferred seat. Reaching into my pouch, I pull out a few vials of oils. Scrying requires a very specific brew to turn a plain bowl of water into a communication and divination tool. I'd like to think I've helped Lennick with its potency, but I'm not entirely sure that's true. Perhaps it's just a little stronger. It's a mixture of diviner's sage, morning glory, and chamomile.

The latter adds a nice aftereffect that helps calm me. It also doesn't give quite the scrying hangover I got the first time I used the original mix. The form of the bowl allows the mix to circle in through the ridges and blend completely with the water. Most people sit when they're scrying. I prefer to stand and grip the table. The sharp stone edge of the tabletop against my fingers helps ground me. Scrying feels like falling, as if my brain is half asleep and I'm about to drop and jolt myself out of a dream.

Except the jolt never comes. I know Lennick wouldn't approve of my description, so I keep it to myself. For me there's this sense of tumbling through nothing, through complete darkness. Whirls of conversation churn around me until I'm enveloped in a spiral smoke of colors. Once there, the snippets of conversation avail themselves to me. Almost like an eager offering of the information I need. But that sensation leaves me sick, mildly fearful, and entirely too vulnerable.

I pull the scrying cloth up over my head, allowing myself to breathe in the scent of the water, and to focus into the depths, to see past what is in front of me to… well… see more. The cloth sounds grander than it is. It's just a piece of blackened cheesecloth that helps us focus in on what we need to so that nothing outside our immediate vision can distract us. Pushing into the sensation, I breathe in again, and my sight separates.

From just being able to see the water in the bowl, to being able to see beyond the bowl. I'm uncertain how else to describe it. It pulls and tugs at me, willing me to come with it, to slide through the tunnels and channels it creates, to follow it to the information I'm seeking. Whispers tug me here and there, but it's just chatter about us. Occasional whispered words initially flagged, but dismissed as inconsequential. Lights flare and disappear as quickly as they arrive, allowing me to move on.

Just as fatigue tries to pull at me and begins dragging me back, there's a spark, one so bright I have to follow the trail to it. I grip against the desk with a gasp as my awareness is dragged there, forcefully, with an obvious agenda I can't escape. And suddenly I'm there, at a clearing in the middle of some trees with a high brick stove outside in a part of the wilderness. Yet I'm certain I can spy the remnants of stone buildings off in the trees.

The picture is warped, like the water I'm using is shaking, having trouble with the reception. I focus in on it harder, pushing myself even though I know this is going to hurt me later. Words flit around, and it's difficult to hear them, to read them. I will myself to concentrate harder, to hear what it is that has roused the interest of the scrying dish.

"…Western Enclave…"

"…Nightshade entrance…"

"…attack plan initiating at dawn…" As if I'm a slingshot, the connection suddenly drops and fires my awareness back into my body.