[Closed] Away, Away

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Lecture Room, Richards Wing, Clairvoyant Building

Nkemi had cleaned up after the demonstration she had given of her mingled clairvoyant-static spell to the interested students of Brunnhold. She had taken the ink from the map and drawn it back into the container of like substances, clearing it from the desk. She had taken the small stones from the corners of the map and tucked them one by one into her pocket, and she had rolled up the heavy parchment, and set it to the side of the low table, where the map had been when she entered the room; she did not know where it was to go, not properly, or else she would have taken it there.

“No need to clean the floor,” Andressa said, smiling.

Nkemi looked up, wide-eyed.

“The passives will straighten up the room,” Andressa said. The last of the students were still filing out of the lecture hall; they were all bright noise and warm green wool, chattering laughter and bright enthusiasm.

Nkemi hesitated, standing behind the small table. She glanced down at the plot she had sketched around the table, the neat lines of chalk still unsmudged. She looked back up at Andressa, and then smiled, politely. “I see,” Nkemi said. She did see; she had not been in Anaxas long, but she had been here long enough to see quite well. She had been here long enough, too, to feel it was no use to argue.

“Professor Jacquemond?” There was a quiet voice from the door. A short, red-headed boy stood there, shifting from foot to foot. He came inside and bowed, politely, taking out a folded piece of parchment; when he made it close enough to extend his hand, Nkemi could feel he had no field. “A note, professor.”

Andressa took the note, unfolding it; her brows raised. “The dean calls,” she said, reluctant, looking up at Nkemi. “I’m sorry, Nkemi. I had hoped to give you a tour tonight, but I’ve been waiting on this meeting for two weeks. I’ll meet you for lunc tomorrow though, as promised.”

“It is quite all right,” Nkemi bowed. “I am very grateful for all your hospitality,” she said, smiling at Andressa. “You have been a gracious host; I could not ask for even one grain of sand more from the turning glass of your time.”

Andressa grinned. “No one knows compliments quite like the Mugrobi,” she said, smiling at Nkemi. “It is a true pleasure, my dear, and I look forward to talking more tomorrow. I’m not so easy to get rid of.” She folded up the note and glanced back at the boy. “Tell Dean Papillionard I’ll be there soon.” She said, crisply.

The boy bowed again and was gone, as quickly and silently as he had come. Even he, Nkemi noticed, had not trod on the edge of the plot, even though he had needed to lean forward a little to reach Andressa without doing so.

Andressa glanced around. All students had gone, by now – all but one, the boy she had called Vickes, who was standing not too far from them. Nkemi smiled at him; she was not sure whether he was waiting for her or his professor. He had a very solemn face, she thought, but then so did most of the Hoxians she had met. She had never seen tattoos like this before, not on any of the Hoxians she had known in Thul Ka; Nkemi knew that she would have remembered.

“Mr. Vks,” Andressa said with a grin. “Would you be so good as to offer our visitor a brief tour of campus? Subprefect Nkemi will have to return to her duties in Vienda too soon; I should not like her to waste her night.” She smiled at him, waiting; there was impatience in the set of her shoulders, in a brief, aborted shift of movement, in the way her gaze was drawn half towards the door, and settled back on the student.

The moment she had his agreement, Andressa bowed to them both and was gone.

“Thank you,” Nkemi said, cheerfully, smiling at the student. “A tour isn’t necessary, but I would be very grateful.” She went to the small closet where she had seen a broom earlier, and a dustpan, and brought them out. “I am Nkemi, please! What is your name?” Nkemi asked. She set the dustpan down, and began sweeping, smooth, long strokes that gathered the chalk up in neat piles, working her way slowly and deliberately around the plot.

[Ezre Vks]

Richard's Wing Lecture Room

Late Afternoon on the 34th of Dentis, 2719

Ezre was still very full of questions. He'd taken more notes than usual, some of them hastily scribbled when questions were asked and answers given, some of them with his own thoughts scratched beneath those same answers for further pursuit later. Subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese's bright smile had filled the room with warm light, like a candle in the murky, intellectual darkness that Brunnhold's status-seeking academia had allowed itself to drift into over the centuries. It was a fresh perspective the Hoxian had appreciated, and class had gone by quickly. Too quickly in spite of his purposeful exhaustion, and once Professor Jacquemond dismissed her Clairvoyant students, Ezre realized he was not quite ready to leave.

Maybe he could ask just one—or two—possibly three—more questions?

Tucking away his things, the Hexxos Guide took his time while other students filed from the room at their own pace. Some of them stopped to thank the Subprefect. Some of them stopped to ask about the final exam. All of them were eventually waved off by the Professor, especially once the young passive arrived with a note just as the last airy touch of other Clairvoyant fields trailed away with the Hoxian's classmates, their signatures fading in the golden glow that filtered through the windows.

Tugging at the buttons of his too-high, too-hot woolen uniform collar after settling his satchel over his shoulder, the dark-haired student made his way toward the pair in the center of the room, stopping just short of the Mugrobi woman's carefully drawn prodigium, studying its lines in chalk while the two women talked, feeling the weight of the Subprefect's sincerity and chewing the inside of his cheek at the Anaxi professor's lazy dismissal of work easily done.

He startled at his name, however, eyes flicking up from the floor, delicate eyebrow arching at the unexpected request, "Ora—" Ezre caught his noise of surprise, expression that flickered briefly over his features disappearing as quickly as it'd appeared like some curious small mountain hingle caught unawares. He paused, took a slow breath, and answered with the hint of a smile in his tone of voice even if it didn't appear on his face, noting the skilled scryer's impatience in her body language. He looked to Nkemi, nodding in a shallow bow, slow and expressive, before he looked back to the woman waiting for his answer, "—I would be most honored, Professor Jacquemond."

And with that, Andressa quickly excused herself from their company without an apology so much as the flash of teeth and click of her heeled shoes.

Standing this close to the Subprefect, the Hoxian noted he was slightly taller, especially once he straightened and met the sparkle of her cheerful gaze with a softening of the edges of his features noticeably even if he didn't smile, not yet. There was a caprision of her sigiled field by his own in a friendly greeting, a polite acknowledgment of the breezy sensation of belikeness, "I am happy to give you an abbreviated appreciation of campus from the perspective of a foreigner instead of the expected standard Brunnholdian—ah, what is the Estuan?—slog, Subprefect pezre Nkese. Er. Nkemi."

He attempted the formality of her name with all the carefulness of a cooling lava flow, the consonants in their proper places but their emphasis harder, sharper, and more drown-out than any Mugrobi would ever pronounce them with. He breathed a sound that might have been a chuckle at the end of it all, watching her turn away toward the closet once they both knew the Professor was long gone.

Of course.

"I am Ezre Vks. Simply Ezre will be sufficient as I am not—oh, excuse me. Let me help you." The Hoxian slid the bag from his shoulder without a second thought, moving with well-practiced fluidity for the dustpan. He didn't ask, tattooed hands unashamed to do the work that was needed, especially since putting an end to a galdor's magical work was always a respectable form of assistance. Knowing very little of Mugrobi culture outside of hearsay and meeting foreign students themselves, the temple-raised Guide simply did what came naturally as he helped gather her little piles of chalk dust into the rusty metal of the pan,

"Mister is a technical inaccuracy, but one I have agreed to submit to while living in the narrow, binary focus of Anaxi society as a willing transfer student. If you prefer to refer to me by my surname, Vks-xî is the most correct, Nkemi." He gave a rather bold correction while they worked together, more willing to speak up than usual since he'd been put on the spot and vaguely aware that the desert kingdom was not entirely a closed-minded one in comparison. He hoped that with his rather upfront honesty, he was not making a poor introduction.

"I am quite fascinated by your work."

There was a smile then—a brief flash of a genuine expression—before he was making his way to the bin with all of the chalk dust, utterly unconcerned for the smudges on the dark green of his too-confining, too-scratchy uniform trousers. He emptied the bin and wiped his hands, reaching for the broom with inked fingers and all the intention of returning both to the small closet for the Subprefect.

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Lecture Room, Richards Wing, Clairvoyant Building

Vickes had a very smooth face – what Nkemi knew they called rhakor, although she could not seem to say it in a way that did not lead to the faint twitching of generally expressionless Hoxian faces. But she had learned from the handful of Hoxians she had encountered that the trick was to listen to the voice, and she heard a smile in Vickes’s voice when he agreed. The expression on his face was nearly as good as a smile, by Hoxian standards anyway.

Nkemi grinned at his offer. “I look forward to the sharing of your perspective on the campus,” she said. “Although perhaps I won’t appreciate all the subtle differences.” Her field mingled with his in an easy, polite caprise; the soft clairvoyant particles and the warm static particles mixed freely and easily in the air around her. By now the last vestiges of their etheric state were nearly gone, leaving behind an indectal field, if not a ramscott.

Ezrah Vickes. Nkemi was not entirely confident on her pronunciation of the last name. Vickes was how Andressa had pronounced it, Nkemi was nearly sure. Ezrah himself seemed to say something more like Vickeches, but with all the syllables smushed together in a way that Nkemi was confident she could not reproduce.

“Thank you,” Nkemi grinned again at Ezrah as he knelt to help her, carefully sweeping the chalk into the metal dustbin. She had not expected Ezrah to offer his assistance, and she would not have minded doing the cleaning herself; it was her spell, and she had drawn the chalk lines. But neither was it important to her, as it was to some, that her hands be the only one to touch the plot; she did not find it so sacrosanct, once the cleaning process had begun and the chalk was now irrevocably smudged.

When Ezrah began again, Nkemi stopped her sweeping for a brief moment, looking down at him and listening intently. “Vickeches-shi,” Nkemi repeated, carefully. She grinned, sheepishly, and went back to sweeping. “I heard a story once that the sounds of the world used to live in the Steppes,” Nkemi said; her eyes sparkled, and there was a playful tone to her voice. “One day there was a great earthquake and the ground split apart, dropping them all to the bottom of a cliff. Only the harder sounds were able to climb up it; the softer ones were trapped beneath. This is the origin of Mugrobi and Deftung.”

Nkemi paused, brushing the broom neatly through a line, tracing the shape of it with the straight bristles. “That is to say – would Ezrah-shi be an acceptable compromise?” She grinned at the Hoxian again, brightly, irrepressible.

“Perhaps you have heard of the onjira community of Thul Ka?” Nkemi asked curiously, once the matter of names was decided. “They are those who do not feel that male or female is right for them – in Mugroba we might say they are not ada’na or ada’xa. I have met many during my time in Windward Market.” Nkemi paused and peeked down at Ezrah again. “I am still very new to Anaxas, and there is still much I must learn, but it seems to me that perhaps there are many binaries, here.”

Nkemi swept up the last of the chalk dust. Ezrah took it to the bin, dumping it away, and came back as if to take the broom. Nkemi yielded it without complaint, smiling at him, and checked that she had her ink container – properly sealed – and her stones, touching her fingers to them to make sure.

“Thank you,” Nkemi said, still cheerful. “Your questions were, I think, of a very practical nature.” She studied Ezrah curiously. “I do not mind talking of it further,” Nkemi offered. “I have spent a long time studying and casting it, but I feel that both doing so and discussing it deepen my understanding and enjoyment.”

He had asked, Nkemi remembered, about distance – about the need for a willing participant – about whether ink was the best medium for static expressions. They were good, thoughtful questions, but she thought she was right in interpreting them as deeply practical. Nkemi had struggled, in the early days of her project, with defining the limits of it. She remembered talking to Ruedka, her mentor in the tseruh project, about all the ways she thought the spell could be cast. Start with one, Ruedka had told her, grinning. Find a stream first, she had advised, and then you may work back to the river and its waterways.

It was harder, Nkemi thought regretfully, to have time for such experimentation and learning while working. She had, she had come to understand over the better part of the last year, let her focus on the spell lapse since the end of her tseruh; she had, she knew now, neglected it. She did not wish to do so, anymore.

[Ezre Vks]

Richard's Wing Lecture Room

Late Afternoon on the 34th of Dentis, 2719

"Ido not know if I would call the differences in the Kingdom of Anaxas from either of our homelands ever actually subtle." The tattooed student offered with all the steadfast stoicism of some austere prophet, though there was an undertone of very subdued, sarcastic humor that creased its way into the edges of his dark eyes before the Hoxian looked away, looked down to take in the carefully wrought lines in chalk. He watched them get wiped away with all the same purposeful intention as they'd been drawn, the burden of their erasure not taken lightly by the other Clairvoyant, perhaps moreso because of his level of comfort with a prodigium's less temporary sibling—a ward.

Ezre didn't bother to over-correct the Mugrobi Subprefect's pronunciation, aware that a tongue not used to the harsh landscape of Deftung took time to navigate its rocky peaks, but his attention did drift upward at Nkemi's story, her entertaining anecdote perhaps meant as casual conversation to smooth over linguistic difficulties as they stood between the softer, sand-turned language of her people and his own. He made a noise—a gasp or a giggle, it was difficult to tell in his deadpan delivery of the sound—but the enthusiasm in his nod was markedly noticeable,

"I have read the original manuscript of that story in one of the well-kept libraries of my home, Kzecka. Did you know that it goes on to say that all the vowels no one else wanted washed down to be made smooth by the Turga, drifting aimlessly until the Giorans found them to sing in the darkness of their mountain homes, lighting their way? There are verses for other languages also, such as how Sho Ze and Sho Doa were made separate from each other by the hand of Vespe herself in order to keep the Shothan's vast wisdom from growing too great that it overshadowed the other Kingdoms."

It was decidedly impossible not to smile at the sharing of such mythological memory, the Hexxos Guide put at far more ease by this stranger and the comfort of her words, accompanied as they were by a bright warmth rivaled only by the summer solstice. Were all Mugrobi full of so much sun? Her way of filling in the cracks and valleys of conversation with golden light was familiar, comfortable now after seasons spent in a particular Hessean's company, that what rhakor he reserved for general interaction among the majority of his Anaxi peers felt like less of a burden he needed to bear in this moment, curiously enough, though it was a way of being that he did not easily set aside.

"Ezrah-shi is an acceptable proximity so long as you can tolerate Nkchem(i) until I can better make the softer sounds Mugrobi favor. Thank you." It was a fair enough trade in the Hoxian's opinion, considering the Subprefect didn't balk at his correction, at his honesty, nor even at his request like so many Anaxi had. Her careful testing of the Deftung pronoun reminded him of Tom Cooke's equally careful efforts, which in turn reminded him of how strangely hesitant he'd been to insist on such differentiation of his personhood with the one person it should have mattered the most with—he blinked, swallowing further comments, and slowly glanced back down to the steady closure of the prodigium through its disappearance, collecting the remnants of its existence in fine, white dust, falling quiet for a few moments as he sifted through his own thoughts.

"I have heard of the onjira, zjai—yes—and I appreciate the persistence of the community it seems they have developed. I am curious, if only because my choices are both a sign of my religious devotion as well as a decision I committed to of my own volition. Mugroba seems a much more fluid culture, though even under Hulali's generous guidance, there are still sometimes stones in the stream." Ezre nodded once again in continued empathetic recognition of the very confining, very snugly-tailored culture of Anaxas in comparison to both his own and Nkemi's, though what was different between the two foreigners in the classroom was still significant in its own way, from the freedom of passives to the weather. It wasn't necessary, however, to point out the specks of sand in the eye of a stranger when one was aware of the rocks in their own.

"I look forward to living among them should I find myself accepted into post-graduate studies by Thul'Amat. I do not think I will want to live on campus again after Brunnhold, despite the benefits of convenience."

Once the last evidences of the Subprefect's magical demonstration were cleaned from the floor and the cleaning items usually untouched by galdorkind on Brunnhold's prestigious campus returned to their place, the tattooed Hoxian paused only to loosen the pale green sash of his uniform and tuck it away in his satchel, already too hot in the wool confines of the high-collared jacket. He tugged a few brass buttons free, revealing the line that divided his lower lip and traveled downward over his laryngeal prominence disappeared into the rest of his clothes, dark ink reappearing at his hands from beneath his sleeves,

"I will admit my questions were as personal as they were practical. I have a vested interest in learning to reach strange places, you could say." Ezre did not feel the need to veil his reasons from the Mugrobi officer of the law now that class was over and no one else was there to hear his more private admission, but at the same time, he only gave just enough information to test the depths of conversation possible, not wanting to burden the Subprefect with his needs when she most likely spent so much of her time serving others already. The flicker of what could only be described as a shy smile danced over his delicate features before he turned away, gesturing toward the door with his inked fingers as if to make sure his expression didn't become some kind of obvious distraction,

"Should we begin our tour with a comparison of the differences between Thul'Amat's Clairvoyant facilities versus Brunnhold's?"

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Lecture Room, Richards Wing, Clairvoyant Building

A small noise came from Ezrah. It was either amusement or dismay. He nodded, then, and Nkemi saw the enthusiasm there, just visible at the edges of his gaze.

Ezrah told her of the rest of the legend then. Nkemi's eyes widened, and she grinned. She knew little of Hox, she felt, but she knew enough to imagine the student before her reading an old text as mountains of snow piled up all around the outside of some old, beautiful library. She was sure he would not have smiled as he read, not as he was grinning now, but she thought he would have smiled inside.

Nkemi fixed the words in her mind. "I shall bring the rest of the tale back to the one who told it to me," Nkemi said with a smile. She had never thought to ask as a girl where her aunt and mother had learned the tales they told her every night, the ones which had bloomed beautiful inside her mind and danced behind her eyelids as she went to sleep.

"It is most acceptable," Nkemi agreed, cheerfully. She did not mind how the Hoxian's harsh tongue caught on the letters of her name one by one, as if he were balancing across stones in a river. Her words were the water which rushed around the stones, brushing their edges and diverting its course accordingly.

The effort was what mattered most, at least to one small Mugrobi far from home. She did not expect correct pronunciation or understanding from those here; she did not even expect that they would try to understand. She was grateful, then, that Ezrah did, and even more grateful that he felt the same.

Rocks in the stream, Ezrah said. Nkemi nodded. Mugroba was not perfect, naturally. Perhaps it was only by comparison to Anaxas that it seemed so.

"You are fortunate," Nkemi said, "that Slowwater is not so far from Thul'Amat. It is a place of bright cloths and agile hands, but of shadows too," it was a perfect's smile she gave him now. "One cannot gauge the depths of the river from the speed of its currents alone."

Nkemi did not stare, but she noticed the line of ink which ran from the Hoxian's chin down his neck, and she wondered. She herself wrapped up, pulling on the heavy coat she had found in Vienda and wrapping a scarf several times around her neck, this one darker than the bright wool wrapped around her head.

"Strange places?" Nkemi asked curiously, nudging at the door of conversation between them, encouraging Ezrah to turn the knob he had set his hand upon. He had looked away after he spoke, and some shy smile had flickered over his face. Nkemi remembered the weight of secret desires at such an age, of burning questions.

"I hope you will have the chance to make the comparison with your own eyes," Nkemi said with a grin. "How big are the facilities here? At Thul'Amat there is a complex solely for clairvoyant conversation, and several libraries. One boasts to contain a copy of almost every work written by our professors; for many centuries it has been tradition to produce an extra copy for this purpose."

There was a warmth in Nkemi's voice; she had passed many pleasant houses in these libraries. She let Ezrah lead her from the room and into the hallway, and waited for him to take the lead.

[Ezre Vks]

Richard's Wing Lecture Room

Late Afternoon on the 34th of Dentis, 2719

"Iam grateful for this knowledge, for I admit I am quite apprehensive about the Mugrobi heat for any time longer than a brief switching of airship flights between Hox and Anaxas. That Slowwater is in proximity to the sprawling campus is most encouraging." He noted her warning with no small amount of equal interest, not possessing the mind of a law enforcement officer. Ezre didn't want to pry, one eyebrow creeping slowly upward in undisguised curiosity, muscles of his jaw moving while he held in questions, carefully weighing their necessity. He knew less about rivers as a geological feature, but he understood her metaphor, repeating an often-used cultural idiom about how to properly view one's rhakor, though he felt it also applied equally to the understanding that not everything was ever as it seemed from the outside looking in, "Zjai, just because the mountain's silhouette looks calm does not mean there cannot be magma churning beneath its stoic exterior."

He watched as she tugged on a coat and bundled up in a scarf while he attempted to divest himself of layers in opposite, now that class was over and he didn't have to be confined to Brunnhold's uniform. The Hoxian was looking forward to the sensation of the Dentis chill once they visited some of the highlights of the Clairvoyant Wing of campus.

The Hexxos Guide felt the gentle prying and didn't begrudge the interest, choosing not to deny her echoing of his words as a question, "Strange, distant, both. I have a—uh—I have a more-than-friend whose family member is missing. By Bash, what I mean to say is—" He sighed, suddenly so very self-conscious, holding the door open to the hall for Nkemi to go through first with all the expected manners of any Anaxi student, steadying himself there in the threshold with a straightening of his spine and a slow inhale, "—my girlfriend's father is an archaeologist. He might be lost, supposedly in the dangerous wilds of Western Anaxas. So, that was admittedly the root of my focused questions about medium, distance, and other necessities, though there are wider applications to your demonstration that I can already see possible in furthering my studies beyond the personal. My interests in the supernatural, while controversial depending on your spiritual beliefs, are also intimately woven into my Clairvoyant pursuits."

There. He exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders.

Ezre spoke clearly and succinctly, his delivery near-expressionless and decidedly deadpan, though there was a warm enough twinkle in the dark pools of his eyes and in the undertones of his otherwise quiet voice. Turning from the cluster of classrooms and a second lecture hall, the Hoxian tilted his head to listen to the Subprefect's description of Thul'Amat's clearly superior Clairvoyant college,

"There is a small private library of Magister and Master works here, zjai, but Brunnhold seems to enjoy boasting of its singular behemoth of a knowledge collective—the Library itself—instead of enjoying the option of many libraries with their own unique contents." Coming from a culture that neither placed a high value on monogamy nor even legal commitment in the form of marriage contracts, the Hoxian felt as though he was once again pointing out just how much the Anaxi loved their focus on binary existences, even when it came to literature and education, "Keeping records of such knowledge is important. That is a very thoughtful tradition, Nkemi. Is all of your Clairvoyant education from Thul'Amat?"

Ezre led the way through the Richard's Wing, pointing out the practice rooms for various sorts of scrying methods—some of them nothing more than dark, comfortable rooms with matching counterparts on the other side of the Clairvoyant Building itself. The department was not large, perhaps even underfunded, when compared to the Quantitative or Living Conversation departments. Static and Physical Conversations both had multiple buildings and plenty of space between those disciplines and the others, mostly for safety. They passed by the small, humble library of collected works by prestigious Clairvoyants of Brunnhold, and he made sure to point out various works he'd read personally, giving anecdotes and critiques about a few of the titles, decidedly opinionated,

"I was raised in a city full of libraries and temples, so you must excuse me for judging this potentially valuable resource for Clairvoyant students as lacking. There is a decent collection in the main library and here, but it is not enough, in my opinion." The Hexxos Guide sounded almost coy, the sound of a smile thick in his accented voice, "I will not bore you with a conventional tour of what most Anaxi would consider important—there are some beautiful statues of the Headmasters and Chairs, some lovely historical art, and a very impressive number of important buildings that you can visit any time you find yourself back on campus. But there are also some quaint gardens, the amazing Church of the Moon and its Crypts beneath it, and, well, I am sure you would find the aqueduct curious, considering your homeland of Mugroba and its known engineering brilliance."

He didn't think that Nkemi really wanted to spend her time peering into classrooms or taking in the scents of the cafeteria. He didn't think she wanted to wander all the places where blue-clad passive servants would remind her of where Mugrobi currents diverged from Anaxi streams. She might have enjoyed the vast knowledge and how meticulously it was organized, she might have been at least remotely curious about Brunnhold history, but considering she was also an educated professional and not a prospective student, Ezre thought it better to offer her more interesting sights than ones made mundane by their overuse.

Leading them toward the large, carefully carved and gilded double doors that led outside, he didn't even bother to button back up the collar of his coat, once again moving to hold the door open and inhaling deeply the cold, sharp autumn air outside. He ignored the glances of other students—so many of them never made it past the tattoos anyway—and instead focused on the unexpected company of a kind, cheerful guest. The Mugrobi was like sunshine poured into galdor shape, the brightness of her inner self shining through her dark-skinned exterior, making her eyes and teeth especially expressive when she smiled. Which was often. So often! But not in a way that was at all uncomfortable.

Ezre was much less exciting by comparison, but he made effort to express himself more through the various shifts of his field even if his face remained quite stoic.

"Watch out for ice in the shade."

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Richards Wing, Clairvoyant Building

Nkemi’s grin widened a bit at the Hoxian version of the proverb. She nodded in agreement, although she had never actually seen the calm silhouette of a mountain with magma churning beneath. She had learned of such things in classes and read of them in books; she had seen drawings of mountains, carefully done to give a sense of their impossible scale. And magma, the flowing liquid heat which burned in the center of them – which could erupt, spraying fire and rock into the air, with little enough warning.

It was Nkemi’s turn to raise an eyebrow at more-than-friend, as she went through the door Ezrah had held open. She giggled when he corrected himself; there was nothing malicious or cruel about it, only amused, although she sombered, nodding lightly, when Ezrah said he was allegedly lost in the wilds of Western Anaxas. “I see,” Nkemi said.

He might be lost, Ezrah had said. Nkemi understood the words not spoken; it was not only the location which was alleged, but that lost remained the correct word to describe him. She felt a flutter of sorrow for the young woman who was precious to the student; Nkemi knew something of fathers lost, and the something too of the weight of uncertainty.

“The supernatural?” Nkemi asked curiously. “Do you mean as in ib’vuqem?” There had been a brief passion for the study of the dead in clairvoyant conservation around 2000; it had fallen out of favor nearly as quickly, mentioned only these days as an amusing footnote in the history of clairvoyant conversation. As a daughter of Serkaih, Nkemi knew it; there were many pieces which she had gathered, too young to understand; later, she had found the frames for the puzzles, and occupied herself placing them together, one by one.

“I know some professors who lecture in clairvoyance and history,” Nkemi said. She grinned, friendly and helpful; she probed a little deeper. “One wrote a book on the period while I was in school; I would recommend it, if you are interested. I believe there are some loaning programs between Brunnhold and Thul’Amat which may be of use.”

“That is correct,” Nkemi said, cheerfully. “This spell which you saw today was my tseruh project, the culmination of my post-graduate work.” Nkemi understood that post-graduate work was possible at any of the six universities, but most common at Thul’Amat. Nkemi’s project had grown from a research paper she had written in her final year of study; she had never envisioned herself completing a tseruh, if only because of the cost. It had been her mentor Ruedka who had helped her, who had encouraged Nkemi to apply for the scholarship which had supported her ambitions.

Nkemi followed the Hoxian through the Rijards wing. She admired the scrying practice rooms, and too others with prodigiums bound in stone into the floor. It was most of all a surprise to her how small it was; but, then, Nkemi reminded herself, Brunnhold itself was much smaller than Thul’Amat, and clairvoyant conversation was not its specialty.

“I would add to your assessment on Gorovesenor,” Nkemi said, gesturing to the gold letters of Grovesnor down the spine of one of the books Ezrah had pointed out. Most of what he had been excited to show her was more focused on warding; Nkemi had studied wards, rigorously, but she herself was a scryer. “His understanding of cognomancy is – as you say – lacking, but he was surprisingly insightful for his time in the matter of the division between the vestibule and the latibule in an unwitting recipient.”

They did not linger long in the library, though; instead, Ezrah led them through the large doors to the world outside. The cold wind rushed through her, and Nkemi shivered; she adjusted her coat, doing up the buttons, and tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. Her eyes went wide at Ezrah’s warning, and Nkemi nodded, peering intently at the shadows before them. She had learned already in Vienda how slippery ice was underfoot.

“I think such ice must be a trick played by Hulali on Bash,” Nkemi said, firmly. She had a rigorous understanding of the static principles of freezing but there was no conflict between the principles of physics and the whims of the gods. She grinned at Ezrah. “Bash lays rock beneath us, to make a sturdy foundation; Hulali runs His waters above it, to represent the ebb and flow of life. In winter, in these lands, Hulali seeks to remind us that even the firmest foundations can be made treacherous by what passes above it.”

Neatly, the prefect went around a small dark patch of shadow, keeping close to Ezrah. Over their conversation, the mingling of their fields had deepened, easily and naturally and friendly. Nkemi could feel, increasingly, the warmth in his as a mirror of her smile and hear it in his voice; it was hard to remember, sometimes, how still and solemn her guide’s face was.

“I would be very glad to see the Church of the Moon and its Crypts, and the aqueduct as well,” Nkemi promised.

“Is it the history of ib’vuqem which you wish to study, Ezrah-shi?” Nkemi asked Ezrah, bringing the conversation back to its earlier point. There was no judgment on her face, but it was a genuine question; she did not ask it as if she were certain of the answer. “There is no better place, I think, than Thul’Amat,” Nkemi grinned, and did not qualify the statement with a field of study. The wind rushed over her, and she shivered, tugging the scarf on her head down as well, although not so far as to cover her ears; regretfully, Nkemi had learned already that she would need to choose between warm conversation and cold ears.

[Ezre Vks]

Brunnhold Campus

Late Afternoon on the 34th of Dentis, 2719

"Ido not know that word: eh-bvvruh-kchem?" He butchered the word with a delicate slowness, attempting the sounds but confident in his utter failure. Softer, he added, "Does it mean restless spirits? Hungry ghosts? Then, zjai—yes. My interests are admittedly controversial to not only to Clairvoyant academia but often also those who claim to be spiritually oriented."

Ezre didn't hesitate with the response, didn't flinch away from speaking the truth or hide behind some veil of double-meaning, not when the Subprefect next to him didn't even blink in surprise at his words. Mugroba was a deeply more spiritual Kingdom than Anaxas, than Hesse, than Bastia, and the Hoxian felt at ease with those who could see the world as clearly as their belike fields mingled through the open door.

"I will never turn down recommended reading." Nkemi's grin was so bright and encouraging, filling the otherwise reserved young Guide with a warm curiosity. He had plenty to say on the subject of the supernatural, but he held himself in careful apprehension, not wanting to broach a subject that his guest neither had interest in nor knowledge of so as to not sour the experience he was asked to give her of Brunnhold's campus at the request of his professor. There were layers of respect and personal permission he wanted to sift through patiently, no matter how emboldening the Mugrobi's sunshine-filled personality may have been, "I have used the inter-library loan system for at least one research project, though I think I have been waiting well over a year for a particular work from Gior. I do not expect to ever see it."

Ezre was vaguely aware of the word tseruh, aware that the educational system of Thul'Amat was different in structure from Brunnhold and both were in turn different from Frecksat,

"Your spellwork is quite clever—has your legal system in Mugroba accepted its use and allowed you to further your research while a prefect, Nkemi?" He made conversation while leading them through the somewhat disappointing Clairvoyant wing library, nodding and listening to her responses while finding a few moments to interject his opinions on books as they passed them, "I did quote Grovezznor's work on awareness and boundaries when scrying the unaware for an ethics intensive last summer, but I must admit that I find Anaxi to be rather too conservative in their opinions."

The sudden rush of cold when the pair stepped outside felt refreshing to Ezre, filling his lungs with that familiar sting. He was tired, and the Dentis chill was just as stimulating as a warm cup of spiced amber tea. Dark eyes drifted toward his companion, watching her fluff up like some brightly-crested desert bird as she attempted to bury herself further into her coat while he reached for another two, no three, buttons of his uniform, welcoming the caress of the wind, wanting to feel more of it.

Nkemi spoke of the gods as though she knew them, her humorous observations presented with that same grin made brighter by dark, sun-kissed skin and her cheerful personality. He did not express himself with such dynamic obviousness, not here in public view of the entire campus, but instead in the subtle ways his rhakor allowed, in ways that anyone who took their time peering past the calm face he wore so well would surely be able to see his interest and enthusiasm was just as great as her own.

Still, almost irresistibly chagrined by his own awareness, he couldn't help but chance a smile again at her commentary on ice. It was brief, but it overflowed into a chuckle, "The snow and ice here in Anaxas are but a tease, to be honest, for Bash's strength is truly tested by the weight of Hulali's bountiful waters further north in my homeland of Hox where a blizzard may coat the ground in snow taller than yourself in just two day's time. Sometimes less."

The tattooed student regathered himself, features once again becoming a smooth cliff face when another burst of wind washed over them, tugging at the dark hair braided and tied back against the top of his head and clawing through clothing greedily for their body heat. The Subprefect made no objection to the Crypts, no remarks about how corpses would be interred there or how strange such a visit may seem. She seemed enthused for the honest beauty that was carefully constructed into the Church of the Moon, and she made no demands to be taken to some more prestigious, more academic part of campus instead.

"I wish to further my studies of the anomalies of the natural world, the supernatural, Nkemi, be it more history or more proof of the existence of things beyond academic acceptance. As Hexxos, or in Estuan, a Carrier of the Dead, I have already been raised in the history of spirits and ghosts as well as in the inevitability of death with its intimate connection to life. Perhaps I should have visited Thul'Amat first, but I cannot deny my experiences here at Brunnhold have proven themselves an interesting foundation—"

The unfortunate Mugrobi woman was desperate to defend herself from the wind and Ezre made some consonant-filled sound of empathy through his teeth, hardly cold. Tilting his head toward a carefully cleared, salted, and intricately cobbled sidewalk that led through the heart of Campus toward the Church of the Moon, he shifted his satchel and slipped free of his green wool uniform coat in a few steps. Breathing a slow inhale at the comfortable cold that gnawed through the thinner, paler green of the Brunnhold standard shirt, he held out his coat with both tattooed hands in offering of an additional layer of protection,

"—please, I do not need it. This is still bjaras weather in Kzecka, where I am from." More than willing to assist with helping her into the second coat, inked fingers made sure to keep the high collar up as an added barrier for the Mugrobi woman. He spoke quietly again once he'd stepped from her proximity, tucking stray strands of his dark hair back in place, "From your lack of shyness about the subject matter, I can assume that Mugrobi are more aware or accepting of things such as those eh-bvvruh-kchem?"

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Heading towards the Church of the Moon

Nkemi raised her eyebrows when Ezrah asked her about restless spirits and hungry ghosts. “No,” she said. “I shall think of – how to translate. It is related, I think.” She had been happy to make recommendations for a book or two at least for the student who had so thoroughly explored what was offered at Brunnhold, at least; there was no need to wait for this learning until Ezrah came himself to Thul’Amat, although she could not possibly recommend every book he might find there.

“Thank you,” Nkemi said with a pleased smile. She held for half a heartbeat at Ezrah’s question but answered without a faltering of her smile. “Yes,” Nkemi said. “The spell has been accepted for use by the magistrate court of the arcane.” That, too, had been a difficult casting, although the questions had been harder still. “For prefect work, the clairvoyant asking must be one of those which is also approved for use,” Nkemi said, with a pleased grin. Asking for the broader approval had been Ruedka’s idea; it had meant extra paperwork and extra spellwork both, but it had been simpler than receiving separate approvals for every version of the spell. “The static portion is the more controversial and closely fixed, however.”

“But,” Nkemi admitted, smiling at Ezrah, “I have not devoted myself to the pursuit of it as much as I should have,” she bowed her head, lightly. “I hope to improve myself in this regard. The maja’wa who chases too many fish flashing in the sun may find himself going hungry.”

Outside, Nkemi stared wide-eyed at Ezrah as he explained the snow of Hox. “Taller than – ” Nkemi glanced at the scattering of snow on the ground, and then slowly lifted her chin, gaze fixing on some imaginary point just above her head. She shivered at the very thought of it, but she was grinning too, bright-eyed, more than a little pleased by Ezrah’s smile and the little chuckle which had accompanied it. It was not quite that she wished to break his rhakor; Nkemi understood that this was how Hoxians comported themselves, and she did not wish to be disrespectful. All the same, his smiles were all the more satisfying for their scarceness; this could not be denied.

Ezrah launched into his intended course of studying. “Hejos,” Nkemi repeated the name of the sect, eyes slightly wide. She had never heard of the Carrier of the Dead. She listened, carefully, to the way he spoke of it: in the history of spirits and ghosts, and the inevitability of death. She could not quite know what to make of it. She had not made up her mind when he offered her the pale green wool of the Brunnhold uniform, so different from the Seventen one which she had tried on gingerly in Vienda, and differently too from the uniforms of Thul’Amat.

“You are sure?” Nkemi asked, looking longingly at the second coat. “Thank you,” she accepted the offer with a bright, grateful smile.

“It is hard to make a comparison,” Nkemi admitted. “I do not know what Anaxi think of such matters. If I am to guess – no, I do not think such matters are more widely accepted at Thul’Amat than Brunnhold. Ib’vuqem,” Nkemi grinned faintly at the word, burbling gently over the consonants, “would translate to Estuan, I think, as the understanding of the dead. For some years in the early 2000s, there were many academics who sought to contact the dead. There are some, even, who said they succeeded, and some of their accounts may be found in Thul’Amat until now.”

“Thank you,” Nkemi said again, as Ezrah released the coat. She buttoned it up over hers; it just barely fit, the two coats bulging out from her small frame, bulky but warm. She sighed happily, tugging the collar out over her scarf, happy to have found warmth not only in the words exchanged between them, but in this unexpected gift as well.

They went on, Nkemi bundled up but still moving easily enough. “Other accounts may be found in Serkaih,” she explained, smiling at Ezrah. “Perhaps you know it? My hometown, Dkanat, is not far from our valley of ghosts. I think – in this matter – perhaps my attitude does not reflect those of many of my fellow Mugrobi. Ib’vuqem is taught in Thul’Amat as…” she looked thoughtful, stopping for a moment, and turned to look at Ezrah, wanting him to understand, “as an amusing footnote,” Nkemi said, almost gently, “in the history of thought of clairvoyance.”

[Ezre Vks]

Brunnhold Campus

Late Afternoon on the 34th of Dentis, 2719

Ezre understood the challenge that arose from dividing one's interests, from the discovery that one could not possibly pursue every mountain hingle of curosity into each of their dens in one lifetime. Perhaps even two or three or more wasn't always enough, either, considered quietly the child of a raen. As refreshing as the chilled outdoors was to the Hoxian, so, too, was Subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese's level of comfort with the unusual depths their conversation seemed to probe. He may have enjoyed her surprise at his description of winter in his homeland, of his casual level of comfort with mountains thick with snow, but he knew that she could walk in the desert heat of Mugroba and not feel like she was surely going to wither away and die, that she could see a sandstorm on the horizon and trust in the sturdiness of her goggles like he trusted in the capacity of his lungs high above the rest of the world.

"An order separate from the Mhorven Basheva, which are perhaps the better-known religious group in Hox. Like the Everine are here in Anaxas, I suppose, even if there may be others who follow more than just Alioe out of the Circle. We are much smaller, the Hexxos. Perhaps we are also seen as, well, just as foolish for some of the truths we keep as the academia of Brunnhold—and Thul'Amat—have made the paranormal appear in the present. Except, of course, when there are bodies to be buried." The young Guide didn't feel the need to delve too far into the tenuous social position the Hexxos occupied in his homeland, the religious importance of their role in the rituals for those who had passed and the tending of their corpses, but the hesitance when it came to true acceptance both by the nature of their work as well as by the rumors of ghosts and strange spirits that the Hexxos continued to keep alive in the world.

Ezre was indeed insistent with his coat, dark eyes expressing the warmth he felt inside in the giving of such a gift, no matter how temporary. He stood still for an extra moment, however, there with inked fingers awkwardly in the air, eyes wide,

"Contact the dead—as in reaching into the Afterlife? Or here, in the material world where they do not belong?" He huffed a sound, surprised and curious, aware of how he'd probed this life for displaced spirits (and succeeded).

Nkemi fluffed herself in all of her warmth, still so much like a bright, tropical bird, now especially with the green of his Brunnhold uniform coat over everything else. It was not a displeasing metaphor, and she wore it well. It was not the Hoxian's place to smile about it, however, but he nodded with her continued explanation and remembered his duty as tour guide by returning to their walk across campus toward the undeniable presence of the Church of the Moon.

Ezre was perhaps no longer thinking of what unusual or at least oft-ignored but beautiful places to show her on the Anaxi university campus and now very entangled in the conversation that he found himself in with the Mugrobi woman. It wasn't as though he'd never brought up similar subjects with strangers before; if anything, the Hexxos Guide was hardly shy about what he saw as truths everyone should know so much as careful with the secrets he'd been raised to keep. There were layers of knowledge and understanding just like the Subprefect was now layered against the cold, and one could only peel back so many before there was no longer any semblance of privacy between what was socially acceptable and what was not, between what everyone needed to see and what only a select few were capable of truly accepting.

"Serkaih, zjai I know of it." He didn't stumble over that city name, not in the way he'd perhaps struggled with the pronunciation of newer, less-familiar Mugrobi words. This one, he knew indeed. There was no small hint of camaraderie in the warmed tones of his voice, "You are not from Thul'Ka, then, but somewhere small and possibly obscure—"

The young Guide stopped when she did, arching one delicate brow at her emphatic but cautionary words,

"—I am too used to being the only one who reads those amusing footnotes in well-aged scholarly works, Nkemi, if only because I may as well be a footnote myself now that I am so far from Kzecka, which does not sound so different from your home of Kcchant. Duh-kcha-nat." He'd smiled already, more than once, but they'd been more in humor than in seriousness. The expression that graced his features was one of simple honesty: an acceptance of his calling in defiance of so many layers of convention, "Kzecka is considered in walking distance of Xerxes, our sacred place of burial, but the walk is neither a short nor a safe one. More of a pilgrimage, really."

Ezre exhaled a slow breath in a cloud, cheeks red from the cold but still quite comfortable in the balmy temperature that was just above freezing. He didn't bother to furtively glance around, to suspiciously glance for unwitting strangers who might overhear what he felt were truths everyone should know,

"This understanding of the dead, as you call it, cannot be contained by merely Clairvoyant explanation, so in some ways a footnote is all it deserves in magical textbooks. There is far more to the spiritual condition than academia and science are always willing to pursue, though I have touched and seen and can quantify theories with all the same methodology."

He was so bold as to flash a grin—boyish and rebellious, dark and grim all at the same time—before he turned and began to walk again, sliding tattooed hands into trouser pockets that were to high, much like their green-wooled waist, watching more of his breath float away while he returned his dark-eyed gaze toward the distinctly Anaxi architecture of the Church of the Moon after a casually slow observation of the open courtyard-like area they walked through, still coated in snow and sparkling in the sun. The permanent ozone scent that clung to the Field of Practical Application carried on the wind along with the sounds of other voices—a trio of second or third-form students giggling, a gaggle of first-form children tossing snow at each other, and a professor in his dark robes cutting quickly toward a lecture in the direction of the Static Wing of campus.

"I did not intend for conversation to take such a detour, but—"

Maybe, he'd wondered, maybe it was because Scryers often pushed the boundaries of what could be done with various forms of communication, with distance, with the edges of what one could see within the mind that so many Clairvoyants felt more open to the suggestion of the supernatural. Maybe, he'd considered, maybe it was because there was so much honesty about how interpretation was subjective in the Clairvoyant community that they were naturally suspicious. Or maybe it was simply because Ezre knew where, and what, he came from, that made him more susceptible to seeking out others who didn't entirely dismiss him for his views.

"—your knowledge of such things suggests that you are not necessarily opposed to accepting the possibilities."