Syrallo, Byzantion, Solar Age
~ 100 years prior to the Schism

- Mishael -

          Mishael rode far away from Byzantion as quickly as his horse could take him. He had done what he promised to do. Byzantion had drowned, though he had not been able to finish the job completely. Great waves had risen at his command and washed parts of the city away. The cathedral had not been damaged, but the destruction around the city was nothing small. Mishael knew his brother would soon be after him. His own power was not strong enough to destroy everyone and everything. He needed to secure passage across the sea before any neighboring cities became aware of what had happened.

So many people could have died, Misha.

           I had to.

           You are a Healer. It was wrong.

Tears of anger and grief streamed down Mishael's round cheeks as he spurred the horse forward.

They would have killed me.

           We understand. But using our power in such a way, as it was not meant to be used, you should not have done this, not with such willfulness.

           I'm sorry.

If he could reach another city, perhaps an Ungifted city, they would not know what had happened at Byzantion for some time. They would not know what he was. Mishael could board a ship. His clothes were of fine make and he had coin and proof of his status as the son of a Highborn Guardian; he had saved his fine dalmatica. No one would question him, so bartering for passage would be easy.

           He rode on, pushing his horse until he reached such a city as he had hoped for. His horse, near to collapsing at the gates, would go no further once Mishael allowed it to stop. Mishael ran his hands along the horse's chest and ribcage, soothing its pain, using the water he had collected in a pouch. Then he left it in the charge of a boy several years younger than himself. He had no need for it now, he could get another one once he reached the far peninsula where the other cursed peoples like himself gathered.

Not cursed, his spirit said gently, Chosen.

           Maybe it is not a curse. But it is not the Gift.

           But it is. It is merely one aspect of the Gift. Elam's Gift is too great to be known in only the way his descendants know it.

Mishael sighed. There was no use arguing with the spirit on this point. As he walked through the cobblestone streets of the small city, hardly more than a village compared to Byzantion, he felt the spirit stirring inside his soul. He stopped; he felt something else tugging at the back of his mind as well, and an overwhelming fear took over.

What is happening?

           Be at peace, young Élu.

Mishael inhaled sharply, his gold-flecked eyes wide. It was not his own familiar spirit who spoke, but rather a distinctly feminine voice.

          Who are you? Another curse?

           No, replied the voice, repeating the familiar, constant reminder, this is not a curse. I am Rayyan. I am like you.

Mishael's heart leapt. He had never spoken with another like him before! His spirit had been his only connection, his only solace, in this curse of his. Her voice was heavily accented but he could understand her. The confusion in Mishael's mind must have reached her.

Communication is one of my Gifts. It is not unlike the Guardians' Gift of Language. Her voice was kind, and after a second's pause, she continued. I am coming to you, and I will help you. You have been hidden from me, but no longer. It is part of my Communication Gift, to find others like ourselves.

           You're here? Are all the Chosen's Gifts so diverse?

Rayyan's voice seemed almost amused as he heard her say, You might wish to keep walking as you speak with me. You will attract less attention than if you continue to stand in the middle of the road. Come, I sense more questions in your mind.

With a jolt, Mishael looked around and realized he had been doing just that. Feeling his face redden, he began to walk forward, keeping his eyes cast down as he had been taught to do amongst the Guardians.

You are not lowly, Rayyan commented, still sounding amused. Walk with pride, walk with your head held high. I sense in you a great power and a greater destiny. Do not think so little of yourself, Mishael.

           How do you know my name?

           There, turn right. Down this smaller street.

Mishael felt his body drawn in this direction, and turned without registering doing so. Why was his own spirit so silent all of a sudden?

I know your name from your anima. It has told me many things about you. Why do you not call it by its proper name? Do you see the little shop there, just ahead?

           Yes.

           Go inside.

Mishael felt his heart beating too fast, too hard, but he obeyed. The voice left him little choice, he wanted to obey. As he pulled aside the heavy curtain which served as the barrier between the street and the inside, he felt Rayyan pull herself away from his mind and felt the familiarity of his spirit brush against his consciousness again.

We are here! Mishael's spirit's voice sounded excited, unusual for the calm and quiet spirit.

           "Welcome, Mishael," said a familiar voice, no longer an ethereal sound in his mind. "I am Rayyan al-Mada'in, First Archmage of Lutetia."
The voice was, as before, accented with a language not his own, but he could understand her. As Mishael approached, he saw a figure sitting on a small pile of cushions. They were worn and old, but brightly colored and embroidered. Timidly, Mishael raised his eyes to see Rayyan, and his breath caught in his throat.

           Seated cross-legged and straight-backed and perfectly at ease, the woman looked straight at him. She was covered from head to toe in a long white robe; even her hair and shoulders were covered with a beautiful scarf and only her face and the tips of her fingers were visible. Her skin was a deep terra-cotta brown and her eyes were so dark they seemed almost black. She reached for a cup of tea with both hands, and the sleeves of her robe fell back to her wrists. She sipped the steaming liquid as Mishael stared at her. Rayyan was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

           "Do not stare," she said gently, "it is unbecoming. If your thoughts drift, I ask you to avert your eyes, but neither should you fear meeting my gaze."

           Chastised, and remembering his manners, Mishael looked down at the floor, inclining his head respectfully before her. With a graceful motion, she smiled and welcomed him to sit directly opposite her.

She is very old and very wise, his spirit told him. She shared her soul with us as she spoke to you.

           I would be lying if I were to say I am not awed by her.

Rayyan hid a smile behind her teacup, as if she had heard the exchange, but said nothing for several moments. Mishael took the opportunity to look around. The room was well lit with oil lamps and candles. They seemed to be the only two here. When he asked, the spirit said there were others elsewhere in the small building, all of them Chosen, like Mishael. Finally, the youth's gaze fell upon a beautiful staff of polished crystal that lay next to Rayyan, obscured slightly by her shadow.

           Finally, finishing her tea, Rayyan set her cup down to her other side, and reached out to stroke the crystal staff. Her touch was loving and reverent.

           "Your anima has told me much about you."

           "Anima?" Mishael asked.

           "You are full of so many questions," observed Rayyan with a sparkle in her eyes. "Anima is the name of the spirit inside us. We call them animi when there are more than one. It is a word not from my own language. I it learned elsewhere. Mine are Ati and Ima, though I have learned you do not speak the name of yours."

           "I was forbidden," Mishael admitted. "And it is hard for me even now. But you have two?"

           Rayyan nodded again. "I am the only one, so far as I know."

           Mishael marveled at this. He had lived so long sharing his thoughts with another spirit in his mind and heart, he could not imagine two of them!

           "They can be a handful sometimes," laughed Rayyan. "I first heard the voices of my animi when I was six years old. That is, from what I have learned in all my travels, very young. Most Élu do not awaken their spirits until they are at least eleven, though I have seen many Élu throughout my years. Some awaken at eight or nine, others as old as fourteen or fifteen. It varies. You, dear Mishael, were ten?"

           Mishael swallowed, then nodded. "I was nine when I realized there was something different about me," he admitted, "that I was not merely an Ungifted. But I did not know what I was until I was ten. When I heard the voice."

           Rayyan smiled. "That is average. I was unable to sense you for so long. You lived among the Guardians, then?"

           Again, Mishael nodded, saying, "I was born among them."

           "Yes," Rayyan agreed. "It is surprising your mother gave you a Guardian's name when you yourself do not have their Gift. I am surprised, too, that you survived for so long at all. Well done."

           "It is because of my lineage."

           "So I have seen inside your soul," Rayyan mused. "To be descended of Elam himself. It is a great honor. An even greater one to be of his bloodline and receive his second Gift."

           A silence fell upon them for several minutes, and Mishael found himself more at peace than he had ever felt even during his studies in the great cathedral at Byzantion.

           "I would like to take you to Lutetia, if you are willing," Rayyan said finally.

           "It is where the voice inside of me has been wanting me to go," confirmed Mishael.

           Rayyan nodded. "Your anima is pulled there, like all animi are pulled there. I followed, and discovered a most wonderful treasure. So, I sent out a call to all Chosen, and there we have established our first city wholly our own."

           "I never realized such a place could exist," admitted Mishael.

           "Most of the Seven Kingdoms do not acknowledge us," Rayyan said sadly. "But it is my hope to see such a thing come to pass. A great cathedral has been promised to us by the Patriarch of Avennio, to be built on one of the islands of Lutetia."

           "Truly?" breathed Mishael.

           "It is very different there," Rayyan said, "than it is here. There is hope for peace between Avennio and the Élu. It makes me hope for peace with all the Kingdoms, one day."

           Mishael's eyes were wide and he felt as if he shared her vision for the future. The thought of peace swelled inside him, but it was brief.

           "I think it could be a beautiful world," he said finally, without conviction.

           "Then you will come with me? We can teach you how to control your Gift, and all the many things you can do. You will be with others like you, who will not hide you away or spurn you because you are different. Your uniqueness will be treasured."

           "I did not know I was unique. Do all Élu not have the same abilities?"
Rayyan laughed. Mishael liked her laugh. "Of course not! Each of us is very different. Even if two of us have the ability to manipulate water, as you do, no two of us do so in the same way. However," she paused, and fixed him with a stern look. Mishael's heart leapt, but Rayyan held up a finger to silence what he was about to say. "What you tried to do to Byzantion will not be tolerated among the Élu, Mishael. Unlike the Guardians, our Gifts can alter the very world. One of my other pupils caused a volcano to erupt as she, after transforming into a panther, disemboweled her Guardian captors who had taken her from her native land. The volcano wiped out an entire city, a powerful Guardian city in the Kingdom of Latium, with several Ungifted colonies surrounding it."

           Rayyan spoke gravely as the weight of the death and destruction fell from her words. Even still, Mishael thought there was the smallest hint of amusement in her dark eyes. He knew better than to dwell on it.

           "Most of these incidents occur accidentally in times of stress or fear, when an untrained Élu loses control. Such intentional destruction is not our way. It is our job, my job, to find children like us and save them, offer them a better life if they choose it. Had I known you were hidden there, I would have come for you. My purpose is to bring understanding to our peoples and to help us nurture our Gifts in peace."

           Mishael did not believe such a thing could be possible, but his spirit, his anima, assured him it would be. We have seen it in you, the familiar voice said. Archmage Rayyan believes you will be the one to forge unity between Elam's Descendants and Elam's Chosen.

Aloud, Rayyan continued, "I take all the blame for your hatred upon myself, because I should have been able to save you. I understand your actions even if I do not approve of them. Many Élu react strongly to the abuse and fear they feel among the Guardians. But you lived for so long among them before this. Tell me, why did you do it?"

           Mishael opened his mouth. His throat was dry and he found it difficult to speak. If she already knew what happened, why had she asked?

           "Because I wish to hear what you would say in your defense," she responded, taking Mishael by surprise. "In your own words, so that I may judge for myself your actions."

           He bowed his head and said, "I wished to avenge my mother's death. My brother had her killed so he could become Patriarch, and he hoped to kill me. It was both vengeance and self-defense," he faltered and trailed off.
Even the truth was a weak excuse. He cleared his throat, not sure how to address the lady in front of him. Again, Rayyan smiled.

           "You may address me simply as Archmage or Archmage Rayyan. The Élu come from many places and we each hold our own cultural customs, but as Élu we strive to create a new collective identity in harmony with our individuality. One of lower rank may address one of higher rank first, but may continue only after being invited to do so. In all cases, rank must be acknowledged by all parties, but informal address is to be invited by the higher ranked. This shall be your first lesson here, with me."

           "Yes, Archmage," Mishael said.

"Ah, yes, thank you," she said abruptly. It seemed to be her way, and Mishael wondered how many conversations she was having with others as she had with him. "I have brought you a gift, Mishael."

           Mishael saw her stroke her crystal staff once more, and then a curtain on the far wall lifted. Another robed figure, more fair-skinned than anyone Mishael had ever seen, strode in, carrying a long sliver of pale grey stone. He approached Rayyan and inclined his head. The tall man was such a contrast to Rayyan; thin and pale with reddish-brown hair. How far away was this man's homeland?

           "This is a special kind of stone," Rayyan commented. "In all the world, it is found only in Lutetia, and I have studied it at great length. It reacts to Élu magic, to the anima inside our soul. We are capable of transforming this into an extension of our Gift."

           Mishael held the limestone staff gingerly. It was cold and rough to the touch. He felt the spirit inside of him stir.

I see the shape it will be, the spirit said. Do you, Misha?

Mishael stared at the staff, and realized he could.

           "You do not have to transform it now. I would advise you to meditate upon it, and you will have plenty of time to do so as we sail across the seas."

           Mishael became aware of the heavy golden sun wheel he wore around his neck. He reached up and removed it, feeling it in his fingers. He knew he did not have to ask the question aloud, but he wanted to anyway. "Do you think, perhaps one day," he began, but could not finish.

           Rayyan smiled softly, but he saw the answer in her expression. She replied, "You are not the first Élu to be born among the Guardians, and you will not be the last. I'm sorry, Mishael." Mishael hung his head, then Rayyan said quickly, "But we have spent too much time here. We must leave."

           It was so sudden, Mishael did not have time to register the flurry of movement around him. The pale man had approached again.

           "Acolyte," he said, his voice deep, inclining his head in greeting.

           He reached out his hand to help Mishael to his feet. Rayyan was already on hers, small hands wrapped around the opaque white crystal staff that seemed to shine in a rainbow of colors. The man who had brought the limestone to Mishael also had a crystal staff tucked into his sash, but Mishael could not see its color or form in the dark room.

           "They are coming for you," Rayyan said, and Mishael found himself surrounded by four more robed figures. She stared down at him, her dark eyes full of warmth. "Do you choose to come with me, Mishael? We will keep you safe in Lutetia."

           Mishael gripped the limestone staff, ignoring the cuts it made in his skin. He felt the spirit's reassurances, and finally he nodded.

           "I want to learn, Archmage," he said, holding his chin high. "From this day forth, I am no longer Mishael. As my brethren have cast me away, I shall cast Mishael into the sea with them."

           A small smirk played on the corners of Rayyan's lips as Mishael realized what he had said. "It is a fitting way to move forward. So long as you do not sink Lutetia into the river if ever you grow angry again. Whomever you wish to be, you may be in Lutetia."

           Rayyan looked down at the limestone in the young man's hands. "It shall be a beautiful staff."