Three Drops of Raoy Omnibus Edition

Three Drops of Raoy

Omnibus Edition

Alexandra A. Cheshire

Published by Howling Wolf Books at Smashwords

World Divided Copyright 2016 Alexandra A. Cheshire

Quelling the South Copyright 2016 Alexandra A. Cheshire

Lunar and Solar Mirrored Copyright 2016 Alexandra A. Cheshire

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters, events and places in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people or places past or present is strictly coincidental.

Table of Contents

World Divided

Quelling the South

Lunar and Solar Mirrored

About Alexandra A. Cheshire

Other Works by Alexandra A. Cheshire

World Divided

For all those who have aided me on my journey thus far

One

They're back again today. Or at least most of them. They're gathered in a clump down the hall from where I'm standing around, waiting to be let into today's languages lecture. Even in the bland, school issued white tunics, loose grey pants, and soft black shoes we're all required to wear, there's no mistaking them. Almost all of them have long hair, which, although discouraged, isn't against the rules. But several of them dye their hair, either all of it or single locks, and wear all kinds of beads, feathers, and ornamental pins in it. Those are definitely against the rules. We're supposed to keep our hair clean, either short or tied back, and free of distracting and unnecessary ornaments. We're also expected to keep our skin clean and free of all ornamentation. Pierced ears are barely tolerated, so long as the earrings are very small. The colourful and whimsical juice stain designs they wear on any exposed skin are strictly forbidden. Which would be why they keep getting sent home for days at a time.

The maximum time the school is allowed to send them home for is three days. After that they have to be allowed to return. Education is too important to be completely denied. Still, there are whispers the educator's council would like the power to send them away permanently. Seems like no matter how many days they miss, they always return with hair full of colour and ornaments and juice stain designs on their skin.

I envy them. Not so much the way they get to miss school for three days at a time. It seems to me like a slow way to get an education. But for what the ornaments and designs mean. And especially for the way they don't seem to care what anyone thinks of what they look like or do. They seem almost proud of the way they don't fit in here.

I have to keep my blonde hair short and clean. I have to keep my skin perfectly clean. I have to keep my school clothes neat. I can't miss any lectures or labs and all my assignments have to be turned in on time. If I were ever sent home for any length of time for any reason, I would pay for it dearly in extra chores and studying. There's no flexibility in the rules governing my life. And no point attempting to argue with my mother, the enforcer of said rules.

The door slides open and I join the other students filing into the languages lecture.

As I take my usual seat near the middle, I spot one of the girls from the group I'd seen in the hall, a dark eyed brunette with feathers in her hair and dark designs on her skin, moving towards a front corner. My eyes follow her as she sits and produces the school issued handheld electronic pad known as a notes recorder. Then the lecturer takes his place in front of us and I have to hurry to get out my own recorder and start it up. I try to turn my attention to what is said, but my eyes keep drifting back to the girl at the front. She never looks away from her notes so I hope she hasn't noticed me.

After languages comes social science, which means leaving one lecture for another. I don't see the girl from languages again, but, as I take my usual seat for social science, I spot two more from the same group, another girl and a young man. As with the other girl, they're seated near the front but off to one side. And again, my attention keeps going back to them throughout the lecture. Except this time the girl catches me. She just goes back to recording her lecture notes, but I can't help flushing in embarrassment. I don't mean to be rude. After that, I force my attention to stay on the lecturer until the session is over.

At the end of the lecture, I do my best to blend in with the other students filing out of the room. Since this was the last session of the day, I join the everyone else streaming out of the sleek grey box of a school building. Many head for the waiting line of hover transports, but I set off in a different direction. My mother and I live close enough to the school for me to walk back and forth.

My mother isn't home when I arrive at our ground floor apartment in a building of the same style as the school, but she never is. It's the rare day when she gets home in time to say good night before I go to bed. Seems like the only time I see her is first thing in the morning, for the few minutes between the time I get up and the time she leaves for work.

The message light on the communications panel in the wall opposite the sliding door is blinking. I cross the common room of our apartment to see what it is. As soon as I touch the playback command, the screen fills with text. The message is from my mother, listing off the chores she needs me to do and telling me my supper is in the stasis unit. There's nothing I didn't already know, so I delete the message and start into my usual after school chores. Supper turns out to be yet another of my mother's casseroles. Supposedly they're loaded with good nutritious wholesome foods. Maybe they are. Honestly, they taste like something most people would flush. I dispose of the casserole and quickly fix my own supper. I'm starting to think I'm a better cook even now than my mother ever was.

Once everything is cleaned up, I spend a little bit of time reviewing my lecture notes from today before going to bed.

I wake up right before my alarm and shut it off. Getting up, I dress in clean school clothes, run a comb through my hair, and go out to get some breakfast. My mother is out in the kitchen corner of the common room, preparing a lunch to take to work.

Good morning, Cami.

Good morning, Mother. I go about my morning routine. She does the same.

On her way out the door, she calls, Have a good day, Cami. Then she's gone.

I finish cleaning up from breakfast, make sure I have my lab day kit, and leave for school.

My first lab of the day is life skills. Inside the laboratory, I sit at my usual table. However, there's no sign of my partner. She's never missed a lab so I can't help wondering what happened.

The lab supervisor gives us our instructions for the session and tells everyone to start. Then he comes over to me.

Cami, we've had word Lana's family was recalled to Evantech headquarters. My understanding is they won't be returning.

I nod.

He takes a deep breath, I hate to do this to you, but the only one available to be your partner right now is Sidra. He indicates the girl I had seen in my languages lecture yesterday. She's standing near the door, looking uncertain.

I nod again.

The lab supervisor turns to beckon her over. She looks increasingly uncertain as she approaches.

Sidra, this is Cami, He makes a quick introduction, Cami, Sidra.

I nod politely. She returns the gesture, although still looking uncertain.

You should get to work. He leaves us to do so.

Sidra sets her lab kit on the table and I can't help noticing it looks brand new.

Cami... She sounds as uncertain as she looks.

I groan, turning to face her, Only instructors and my mother call me that. It's properly Qamra.

Sidra's uncertainty changes to surprise, That's...

I shrug it off, I don't know how I ended up with the name, just that I did. Anyway, let's get this started.

Sidra nods quickly and we get to work on the lab assignment of the day. Neither of us speaks more than is necessary for the work we're doing. Our final lab reports are filed in silence just before the session ends.

My next lab is mathematics and my usual partner is already seated at our table when I claim my stool. The rest of the day is like that and I only glimpse someone who might be one of Sidra's friends later in the day. Then the school day is over and I walk home as usual.

Again, I wake just before my alarm and shut it off. But today isn't a school day. Instead there's a creativity workshop my mother wants me to attend. She's off to work as usual. I just go through my morning routine and head over to the school since it's where the workshops are held. As I approach the building, I can see lots of others also headed for the various workshops offered on the days we don't have lectures or labs.

Qamra!

I frown as I turn, wondering who would be calling me by my given name. Almost immediately I spot Sidra standing just off the grounds with several others like her. She's beckoning me over. Curious, I go to join them.

As I approach, I'm well aware of being studied. I guess it isn't a surprise. My given name is very much at odds with my appearance. Hence my more common sounding nickname.

Sidra takes a deep breath as I get close enough to speak normally. Qamra, this is Tariq. He wanted to meet you.

My eyes go to the young man beside her. He looks almost old enough to be finished school. He has blond hair streaked green and blue and bright green eyes. His gaze is critical, if a little unnerving, as he continues to study me.

Most people wouldn't work with one of us.

I shrug, She did her share of the work and I did mine. Beat having to do it all myself.

My words clearly surprise him, Most others don't think like that.

My mother always told me origin doesn't matter so long as the work is good.

Tariq frowns as he continues to study me, She named you?

I shrug again, I don't know. Neither of us remember the first few years of my life.

His frown deepens, At all?

Nothing before coming to live here. Well, except our names and that my father is dead.

There's no other family?

I shrug, Mother doesn't remember if there was or not, I take a deep breath and glance at the building, I need to get to my workshop.

Tariq nods, Go ahead.

I head for the school building and manage to slip into the room where the workshop is being held just before it starts.

At the end of the day, I leave the room to find Tariq in the hall outside. I can't help frowning, especially when he falls into step with me as I walk away.

I'm sorry about this morning, He looks apologetic, I only wanted to meet you.

It's okay, I shrug lightly, I'm just kinda used to it.

He frowns, You get that a lot?

Less now, I admit, But it used to be all the time... back when I first started attending here.

His frown deepens, Do you have any idea why you even live here?

We live here... my mother and me... because she was able to get work here. And obviously she's good enough at her job to keep it, I shake my head, But that's pretty much the end of it.

Tariq looks surprised, You don't like it here?

Another year or two and they'll shunt me into some level of service work.

He frowns, Service work?

Why not? Perfect attendance, perfect work habits, average evaluation results, and no noteworthy achievements.

His frown deepens, I've never heard of anyone managing perfect attendance.

I've never had a reason to miss. I never get sick or anything.

Everyone gets sick sometimes.

I shake my head, At least I don't remember ever being sick.

Tariq raises an eyebrow, After we saw you this morning... He takes a deep breath, I think you might actually be like us. And some of the others agree.

Even if I am? I turn my head and look up so my eyes meet his, What good does it do me?

What do you really have to lose? Tariq studies me expectantly, You don't seem to think you have much of a future here.

I look away from him, my mind going over a long list of possibilities. My mother would kill me if I start hanging out with Tariq and his friends. On the other hand, the best I have to look forward to as things are is a life long career in some kind of service. And so long as I'm home before she is every day, I doubt she'd ever know.

Qamra?

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it before looking at him again, I'd like to get to know you better.

He nods, chuckling softly, And your mother?

She can't find out, I make a face, She's already super strict with the rules. But she also works late every night.

I was just thinking we could hang out nearby anyway.

Tariq and I leave the school building to find Sidra waiting on the edge of the grounds. She beckons us over and we go. I have no reason to rush home and I'm curious about what she wants.

She glances over Tariq with an expression which suggests she's less than impressed, but once we're close enough to speak normally, she addresses me.

If there were a way to recover your memory, would you want to?

It'd be nice to know what happened, I swallow at the thought, Would it take long?

Probably not so long you wouldn't be home before your mother. Tariq doesn't give Sidra a chance to respond. But when I glance at her, she nods.

You'd have to come with me. Is all she does say.

I just nod and the three of us start walking away from the school.

I rarely venture farther from home than the school or the nearest consumables vendor. I've lived almost my entire life within a very small area. But now Sidra and Tariq lead me well away from anything I'm familiar with.

The cold, clean, sleek apartment blocks and other buildings give way to less heavily fabricated structures. I'm fairly sure these are all residences, but they look nothing like anything I'm familiar with. Many appear to have been constructed by hand, but somehow they look much more comfortable, much more appealing than the apartment I call home.

Sidra leads me to one of the larger buildings, but pauses just outside.

Tariq studies me briefly, Tomorrow... hopefully?

I can't help a somewhat shy smile as I nod. Then he leaves and Sidra ushers me inside.

Like the outside, everything I can see appears to have been constructed by hand. It looks very cosy, all warm colours and snug decor, and smells almost as good. This first room is filled with cabinets and a few comfortable seats. It isn't quite like the common room of the apartment, but I guess it's used for something similiar.

Papa! Sidra drops the bag from her shoulder to a bench just inside the door, I brought a friend home. She indicates for me to stay close as she crosses the first room to a doorway. The room on the other side has appliances and counter space similiar to a kitchen, but with a large table and stools and more cabinents.

Hello, Sidra, The bright eyed, white haired man who turns to us looks elderly enough to be her grandfather, This is the girl you told me about?

She nods, This's Qamra, To me, she adds, This's my papa, Dasan Elder.

He bows his head to me, Welcome to our home.

I nod, hoping the gesture is polite enough.

He turns back to Sidra, Get the sand tray, if you would.

She nods and leaves the room.

If you would sit. Dasan directs me to a stool at the table which takes up the center of the room. I seat myself and he sits opposite. Silence falls between us until Sidra returns carrying a large tray full of sand. She sets it in the middle of the table before going to get an ornately painted pitcher. Then she sits on a third stool. Dasan uses one hand to smooth the sand in the tray. With the other hand, he empties the contents of the pitcher onto the sand. To me, it looks like water, but as soon as the last drop falls, the wet sand begins to form shapes.

I gather you know very little about us. He looks at me.

Only what I've heard other people say.

He nods to himself, Then let us begin with a lesson in history. He spreads his hands over the sand, fingers splayed, before plunging them to the bottom of the watery sand. Instantly the random shapes which have been forming collapse back into the tray.

As I continue to watch, fascinated, the sand forms a grassy plain. People spring up out of the grasses and I can see the history I've been taught in lectures come to life in wet sand. By the time it reaches present day and the sand drops back into the tray, now dry and inert, I've lost track of everything except the story.

Qamra?

I blink, shaking my head. Then I look from Dasan to Sidra and back. That was just...

Dasan chuckles, It's a lot to take in at once, I know. If you need some time, Sidra can take you home.

I shake my head again, I already knew most of the history.

He nods to himself, Then you know of the polar opposite sides of the world. The stagnant ritual users and the ever changing scientists. But fewer care to know of those us of who choose the middle. Those of us who still believe in the power of ritual and yet seek to change and grow. We're banished by one side, barely tolerated by the other.

I nod.

Your name suggests an origin bound in ritual, His eyes glance over me, Yet you appear to belong to science. You said you have no memory of your earliest years?

I nod again.

And know of only your mother for family?

I nod a third time.

He nods to himself, Do you know why we persist in sending our youth to school when they lose three days for every one attended?

You value the education?

That is one reason, He smiles, But also to keep the mighty scientists off balance... a reminder of forces they wish to forget exist.

Okay...

Science has never succeeded in explaining the power behind the rituals. For all their years of study, this force continues to elude them. So they wish to forget it's existance. To focus on their science and technology. We constantly remind them they can't know everything.

I slowly nod to myself.

Dasan studies me for a time, Is your appearance of your desire or another's?

My mother, I make a sour face, She's super strict about everything... what I look like, what I do...

So she will be upset?

I nod, then sigh, I'm not good enough... not inventive enough... to continue school for more than another year or two. It's already been suggested I be sent for training for service work.

Dasan sighs tiredly, his shoulders slumping. Then he takes a deep breath and straightens back up. The over emphasis on achievement... One would think it encourages potential. And perhaps for some it does. But just as much is wasted, He hesitates, Perhaps misdirected is more accurate. Either way... He slowly shakes his head. After a moment, he takes another deep breath, straightening again, We follow the old rituals through all stages and events of life. There is both power and value in them. At the same time, we understand change is good and must come. As time does not stand still, neither should we.

I nod. So far this makes as much or more sense than anything else I know.

I would do what we call a divination, Dasan pushes the empty pitcher towards Sidra, To see what, if any, rituals you have undergone.

Okay. I can't help swallowing.

Sidra takes the pitcher out of the room. When she returns, she has a different one, which she sets with the tray of sand before reclaiming her stool. Dasan takes the pitcher and pours the contents on the sand. Again, it appears to be water.

Your hands, if you would.

I stretch out my hands towards him. He catches my wrists and turns my palms to face down. Then he plunges my hands into the wet sand. Immediately the contents of the tray explode out, showering all three of us with wet sand. Dasan releases my hands and I pull them from the now empty tray. All three of us spend some time wiping wet sand from our skin. Then I become aware of Dasan studying me.

What...? I swallow hard, What happened?

It would seem, He takes a deep breath, clearly attempting to regain his composure, Your missing memory is no accident. Without knowing more, I would guess a blind was placed on your past.

I frown, A blind on my past?

He nods, It's a ritual based power, although not a commonly used one. It hides specific incidents in history from all knowledge.

So someone used a ritual on my mother and me? At his frown, I explain, My mother doesn't remember either.

I would say so. He nods.

Sidra frowns thoughtfully, Doesn't every ritual have an undoing?

True, Dasan nods again, But attempting to undo a ritual without knowing how or why it was done can be dangerous. He turns to study me for a time, I would meet your mother, if possible.

She works really late, I sigh, Usually past my bedtime.

Dasan frowns, Every day?

I nod, I only really see her in the mornings, before she goes to work.

His frown deepens, If you don't mind, I will take you home. It will be plenty late by the time we get there.

I guess.

Dasan slips from his stool, Sidra, if you would clean up. Try to gather as much sand in the tray as you can.

I will. She sets to work.

I do my best to brush the now dry sand from my skin, hair, and clothes. After Dasan has done the same, he indicates for me to accompany him. We leave the building and walk back to the school. It's nearly full dark by the time we reach it. From there, I lead the way to the apartment I share with my mother.

When I let us in, the apartment is dark and there's a blinking light on the communications panel. I go over to check it and find the usual text from my mother. Then I go to the stasis unit to dispose of the casserole she had left for my supper.

Dasan watches me, You waste good food?

I shake my head, Maybe it was good before my mother got into it, but her casseroles are nasty... prepared in huge batches and then frozen and thawed and served over days.

He frowns, What do you eat then?

I cook for myself.

And your mother isn't offended?

I don't think she knows. I shrug it off and find myself a snack since my stomach is taking the opportunity to remind me I hadn't eaten at my usual time. While I do so and clean up, Dasan takes a seat in a chair and closes his eyes.

He opens them as I sit down with my notes recorder to do some review.

If you are tired, go to bed as usual. I'm sure your mother will see me out.

I nod, I'm sure. I just hope she'll hear him out before kicking him out.

It doesn't take long before my eyes no longer want to focus on my lecture notes. I shut down the recorder and go prepare for bed. About the time I slip under the blanket, I hear my mother come in. I can't quite hear exactly what is said between her and Dasan, but I'm too tired from the longer than usual day to stay awake.

When I get up in the morning, my mother is going through her usual morning routine.

Good morning, Cami, She greets me the way she always does, You didn't do your chores yesterday.

I'm sorry.

Make sure you get everything done today.

I will. I start preparing breakfast for myself. Or at least until I can feel her eyes on me. Turning, I can't help a frown at her expression, What?

Her gaze is critical as she studies me. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it, No more visits to Dasan Elder. Leave matters lie, Cami.

I swallow, but nod, Okay.

My mother returns to her routine and heads off to work with her usual, Have a good day, Cami.

I finish preparing for school and leave the apartment.

Today is all lectures and I don't see Sidra or Tariq or any of their friends. I guess they've all been sent home for another three days. Which means the school day passes as usual. But when I leave to walk home, I spot Sidra and Tariq just off the grounds.

Qamra. Sidra spots me at the same time.

I go over to them.

Can you visit again? Sidra studies me.

I shake my head, My mother's pretty upset.

Sidra nods to herself, Papa thinks undoing the blind on your past should be relatively uncomplicated. Should you ever wish him to do so, come see us.

I appreciate the offer. I smile.

Can you hang out? Tariq speaks up, Maybe get a treat from somewhere nearby?

I'd like that.

I'll see you next time I make it to a life skills lab. Sidra waits for me to nod before walking away.

I accompany Tariq to a consumables vendor where he purchases blended iced fruit drinks for us. We sit at a table off to one side.

A blind on your past? Tariq studies me with a frown.

So Dasan said, I shrug, Much as I would like to know, upsetting my mother further would have some nasty consequences for me.

And this?

I need to get home in time to get my chores done, I make a face, What she doesn't know won't get me into trouble.

He nods.

We continue to talk until our drinks are gone. By then I have to get home and we go separate ways.

Still, I arrive in time to have all my chores done, eat something, and review some lecture notes before bed. As usual, I don't see my mother before I go to sleep.

The more I see of Tariq, both with and without Sidra and others, the more I suspect he isn't entirely welcome among them. It's never stated, but Sidra especially seems wary of him. Still, for as many hours as I spend talking to him between the end of school each day and going home, I never hear him say much of anything about his own situation. Instead, we discuss school subjects and how well rituals and science do or don't mix.

Two years pass faster than any I recall and suddenly I'm up against my progression panal interview. I'm really not looking forward to this. These are the people who make the final decision whether to let me continue my education or send me off to train for some menial job. I'm fearing the second since my evaluation reports haven't improved any. Worse, I still don't have any noteworthy achievements to my credit.

The morning of my interview, my mother helps me dress appropriately and, for once, escorts me to the school building. Inside, I report to the main office and am directed to the room where the progression panel is waiting. I find myself facing five stern faced adults. All of them are studying me and it's all I can do to keep from shivering.

Cami, is it? The woman in the center speaks.

I just nod.

If you were allowed to continue your education, what field would you specialize in? The man on the far left asks.

Social science.

Specifically? He presses.

Memory loss and recovery.

All five of them pick up handheld readers similar to a notes recorder from the table in front of them. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room while they read. Finally, all five look up at me again.

How familiar are you with the tenets of Phor's Creed? The woman on the far right sets down her reader.

I can't help frowning at the vaguely familiar name, I've heard of it in passing.

The words earn me frowns and concerned looks.

Phor's Creed is required to be taught to all children before their entrance into formal schooling, The woman in the center looks the most concerned, It is the basis for everything we teach and do. That your mother failed to teach it to you is... She seems to be struggling for a strong enough word to convey her concern, Disturbing... at the very least. I don't know how this lack of basic knowledge slipped by your instructors, but we cannot proceed with a verdict on your future under these circumstances.

Meaning? I swallow hard.

Her eyes pass over me, from the top of my head to the soles of my shoes and back, We have to reassign you to a school in Zeckfeld. Your mother may or may not accompany you, dependent on the results of an evaluation of her fitness as a parent. If she is deemed unfit, an appropriate guardian will be assigned until your education is sufficient to see you enter society as a functioning adult.

I nod as I swallow again.

Do you know where your mother would be right now?

At work, as far as I know.

The woman in the center nods, You may go for now. If you would report back to the main office here first thing tomorrow morning.

I nod again before leaving the room.

For the first time in almost two years, I leave the school building and don't find Tariq waiting for me. I pause on the edge of the grounds, uncertain what to do. Going home early doesn't appeal in any way, but I don't have any credit, which makes shopping out of the question, and I can't think of anywhere else I could go.

Qamra?

At the familiar male voice, I turn to see Dasan Elder nearby. He is studying me with obvious concern.

Are you well?

I shrug, I had my interview with the progression panel today.

And? Dasan frowns.

I'm being sent to a school in Zeckfeld, I take a deep breath, And they want an evaluation of my mother.

The news surprises the elderly man, Why?

Something about my mother not teaching me Phor's Creed? I shrug.

This prompts a look of concern from him, Even we teach our children Phor's Creed before we send them to school.

I shrug again, I don't know it at all. I'd only even heard the name in passing.

Dasan's frown deepens, Are you supposed to be somewhere?

I shake my head, My only instructions are to report to the main school office tomorrow morning.

Which you had best do, He takes a deep breath, Come visit. I know Sidra would love to see you.

I nod and accompany him to his home. Inside, we find Sidra seated on the floor in the first room, surrounded by skeins of coloured thread. She looks up when we enter and grins broadly on seeing me.

Qamra! Sidra stands, heedless of the threads which scatter around her.

Hello.

This way. Dasan ushers both of us into the next room where a pitcher and two basins are set out on the table. Sidra and I take the stools he directs us to. He remains standing this time, his eyes on me.

The blind on your history prevents anyone moving ahead with any further rituals on your behalf. I'm hoping the undoing will be uncomplicated.

Sidra told me as much. And if it isn't? I swallow, Couldn't it be dangerous?

It could, He nods, looking solemn, All rituals entail some degree of risk. The question is whether you think the risk is worth the potential benefits.

Try it. I don't allow myself to think about any of the possibilities.

Take the pitcher, Dasan steps back, And pour it in here. He indicates the basin closest to him.

I do as instructed, noting that, once again, the pitcher appears to contain water.

Now rest one palm on the surface and the other in the bottom of the other basin.

I do as he directs. There's a shock as my palm touches the surface of the liquid. As soon as my other palm touches the bottom of the basin, the liquid begins creeping up over my hand. From there, it moves to my arm and under the blouse my mother had me wear today. I can feel it gradually moving over my whole body. The liquid is the same temperature as my skin, but where it touches I can feel a tingling. Then it slowly moves to my other arm and down into the second basin. As the basin fills, my hand remains on the surface of the liquid. When all of it has transferred, my palm is gently thrown back at me.

So far so good, Dasan smiles, Now, close your eyes.

My hands rest on the table as my eyes close.

Now think back. What do you remember?

The whole moon, My voice is almost inaudible, Many whole moons over a forest. And a small house and a really old woman. I think, I delve deeper into my newly recovered memories, My mother and I lived with her.

Good. Open your eyes.

I do, then blink.

I would like to try a divination, one to see which rituals affect your life, Dasan is studying me, But then you ought to get home.

Okay.

He and Sidra clear away the pitcher and basins. She leaves the room and returns with the tray of sand. Once it's on the table, she goes to get the second pitcher I remember from my first visit.

Pour the contents of the pitcher into the sand. He instructs.

I do as instructed. As soon as the last drop of liquid is in the tray, the sand begins to swirl almost hypnotically.

Hands, palms down, over the sands, Dasan continues, watching as I do so, Close your eyes and bring your palms just to touch the sand.

I close my eyes and slowly lower my hands. As soon as my skin makes contact with the wet sand, I feel a tingling. I hold them as still as possible. As I hold them there, I can feel the wet sand creep over and around first my fingers, then my whole hand. It doesn't go farther than my wrists, but I can feel it continually shifting. Then, abrupty, it retreats into the tray and my hands are gently pushed away.

Open your eyes. Dasan sounds even more concerned than he had.

When I do, I can see both he and Sidra look very worried.

What...? I swallow hard.

You are a true child of the moon, Dasan sounds awed as well as concerned, Had your mother not panicked... had she continued with the proper rituals... Slowly he shakes his head, What is done cannot be undone. But it does explain much.

Meaning? I can't begin to understand what's going on, Which rituals...

Your rituals were done up until sixth year, Dasan draws a deep breath, slowly releasing it, You said you're being sent to Zeckfeld?

I nod.

Report to the school in the morning, as you were told, His eyes meet mine, Trust all will work out as it ought.

I swallow hard, but nod again.

You're welcome here any time, His expression softens, For now, you should go.

This time it's still daylight when I reach the apartment so I'm not expecting my mother to be home. But she is, sitting in a chair, looking tired.

Mother? I can't help a frown as I study her.

You went back, didn't you? My mother's voice is as tired as she looks.

Yes. I don't think it's worth denying.

What did you do?

The ritual blocking our memories was undone, I set to work on the first of my chores, And then a divination to see what rituals affect my life.

My mother nods to herself. Were you shown the history in the sands?

Yes.

She nods again and slumps back in her chair. After a moment, she begins speaking so softly I can only just hear the words.

None can know what she is. Keep her close. Hide her in plain sight. Let none take her away from you.

I pause mid task, frowning, What?

A warning, My mother finally looks at me, Given when you were born.

I swallow, What does it mean? What am I?

She shakes her head, No more rituals, Qamra. No more visits to anyone. You go to school, then come straight home. No dyes, no ornaments... nothing which might draw attention to you.

What? I scowl, I'm not even attending the school here anymore.

My words give her pause and she frowns, What do you mean?

I had my interview today, remember? When she nods, I continue, They're sending me some place called Zeckfeld.

She slumps back in her seat, her expression one of defeat, but before either of us can speak, there's a pounding on the door. My mother indicates for me to stay where I am while she hauls herself to her feet and goes to answer it.

I can't hear whoever is outside, but I do pick up my mother's tone of resignation. Then she turns to me, I have to go out. Do you have a friend you could spend tonight with?

I do, I can't help either my wary tone or my frown, What's...?

Just find a friend to stay with tonight. Her face is utterly serious.

I just nod as she leaves the apartment. The door slides closed with a finality which makes me shiver.

Rather than stick around to see if anyone comes for me, I leave the apartment and walk back towards Dasan Elder's home. He'd said I'm welcome any time and it's only for tonight.

Qamra?

I blink and look around until I spot a concerned looking Tariq. I pause until he's beside me.

You okay?

I shrug, I told you I had my interview today, didn't I?

He nods, I had mine today too. What'd they tell you?

They're sending me to Zeckfeld, I start walking again, But after, I visited Dasan and he removed the blind on my memory...

Tariq rests a hand on my shoulder, And...?

I don't understand what he said. Well, except he thinks I should go to wherever this place is.

Zeckfeld is another school, Tariq's expression is wry, It's supposed to be a bit different. And, actually, they like to send those like me and Sidra there too. I doubt she'd go.

She's training with Dasan, isn't she?

Tariq nods, He's leader of our group. She'll likely be his successor.

What about you? I turn my head to study him, They want you to go?

That's what they told me today, He grimaces, I hadn't decided, but if you'd like a familiar face there...

I would, I nod, I guess there's some question of my mother's fitness as a parent... something about her not teaching me Phor's Creed...

Tariq's eyebrows rise, You don't know Phor's Creed?

I groan, shaking his hand off my shoulder, But the last thing my mother said to me was for me to find a friend to spend tonight with. Dasan said I'm welcome...

Be your best plan, Tariq hesitates, then sighs, I guess you can tell I'm not really liked here.

I just nod.

It's kinda like your memory block... Something I live with and don't know why, His eyes study me, You're different from anyone I've known in my life. Maybe this new school will be too.

I nod, I have to report to the school office tomorrow. Will you go with me?

Sounds good. He smiles.

We pause at the walk leading up to Dasan's home. After a moment, Tariq presses a quick kiss to my hair.

I'll see you in the morning.

See you. I watch him walk away for a moment before heading for Dasan's front door.

Before I get close enough to knock, Sidra has it open and is studying me with concern.

Something wrong, Qamra?

I wait until I'm close enough to speak quietly, Would it be a problem for me to spend the night? My mother didn't want me staying at the apartment for some reason.

Sidra's frown deepens, but she holds the door open for me, "Shouldn't be a problem. Papa is out, but I'm