Mark of the Diviner

Three days spent deep in the damp recesses of the rainy jungle was enough to weaken anyone’s spirit. By the fourth day, the sopping young woman still found herself still fiercely wiping away the everlasting trickling rainwater from her forehead. Her dark matted hair, plastered against her face and neck, could most certainly not be cut off for the sake of comfort. When it was dry she was adamantly proud of it.

Though she had run out of food on day one, the large bitter fronds of the majestic, cascading Vitria trees tasted just fine – invigorating even. She was not shivering – her teeth simply chattered now and then when the rain was particularly chilly. And though she had not succeeded in finding a single place to lie down in the dense and sodden jungle – she felt just fine. The young woman continued to plow on through the thick hanging fronds, and though they continually slapped her in the face she looked ahead, unblinking.

The path in front of her was poorly marked, but she had calculated and she was sure she would find herself in a small mountain town very soon.

And then they would see that she was indeed still alive and that she would learn exactly what she had come to learn. There was nothing anyone could do about it. Kesselyra – such a heavy name for such a delicate wisp of a girl – bore her name with pleasure. In the archaic dialect of her blood line it meant ‘Dew of Fire’ and her blood line was the finest in the world.

As the hidden sun began to sink and the red gravel path wound owards through the jungle, Kesselyra noted with grim satisfaction that the tress she passed were becoming shorter and more sparsely scattered. At times she even spotted clearings in the jungle where single delicate tropical blooms ventured to lift themselves above the dark undergrowth. Slapping away a frond or two, Kesselyra fought her way up an incline and when she reached the summit she stopped and looked down with surprise upon the city at her feet. A neat landscape of long cabins were scattered along the shore of a far-stretching, fathomless green lake of glass. Lake Iolien.

It could be none other. Kesselyra smiled ruefully to herself as she noted her mistake. She had been trudging in the opposite direction from the mountain village she had expected to find.

It hardly mattered now.


* * * * *

“But … but Madam K-Kess…”

“Kesselyra,” she said firmly.

The young woman, who stood between the dripping girl and the open doors of the Iolien Great House continued to stare in dismay.

“But Madam – you must be a lady of Iolien to enter the Great House. I-I’m sure one of the families in the village would be more than happy to…”

“Aquiea!” A shocked voice interrupted them.

Kesselyra’s steady gaze traveled from young, fumbling Aquiea’s face to the tall stately matron who had appeared behind her in the doorway.

Aquiea step aside immediately. “My apologies Madam. Our younger ladies haven’t ever seen a holy Diviner in the flesh before. She didn’t recognize you.”

“Ah.” Kesselyra smiled pleasantly enough and held out her arm for Aquiea to gaze upon in silent wonder – and embarrassment. The trailing symbol stained her pale marble skin with a luminous indigo from elbow to shoulder.

“Come and dry off,” interjected the Matron, unperturbed. “We’ll find you a warm gown and some food. Madam…?”

“Kesselyra.”

“And I am Matron of this Great House. You may address me so, same as the girls. I don’t mind at all.” She beamed down at wet Kesselyra and ushered her into the dim halls, pulling Aquiea aside.

“Matron! The markings… !” Aquiea bubbled over, unable to forget her first sight of the beautiful indigo intricacies which bloomed upon those born in the Earth’s most hidden layer.

“Hush!” Matron whispered in agitation. “Mind your manners! And are you quite out of your mind? Turning away a Diviner?”

“I didn’t know!” Protested the girl.

“Well you do now and mind you don’t make that mistake twice. What if she’s in the middle of a divining? You know they have no control. They could just roam anywhere and not know it. It would be sheer cruelty to leave her to fend for herself in that state. But oh my, isn’t she a young ‘un? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Matron!” Aquiea was indignant. “She’s positively older than me and you know I’ve just turned twenty.”

Matron shrugged. “So? All you girls under forty look the same anyways.”

* * * * *

When darkness settled over Lake Iolien, the Great House glowed in the tropical night, with brilliant torchlight in every hall and room.

By the time Kesselyra was settled comfortably in the Great house, she found herself surrounded by a dozen ladies in the main hall. She knew enough of Iolien tradition to know that these ladies were overseers of this town. They made sure everyone’s needs were satisfied and they enforced the Iolien laws.

Yet Kesselyra, who had turned up her nose at many authorities in her life, found it impossible to see the leaders in the eager faces all around her. The same whisper echoed through the ranks of ladies - A real Diviner! How exciting! Questions flew from every direction.

“So what are you looking for?”

“…Where is your Protector? I thought you all traveled with Protectors?”

“Were you really born in the caverns?”

“…Can we see your arm? Is it true that it’s the poison in the ink that makes it glow like that?”

Kesselyra cut in - her young voice strong above the delicate feminine ones. “I am forbidden to tell you what I seek. My Protector is at home with her husband. There was no need to summon her for this short trip. Of course I was born in the caverns or I would not be a Diviner.” She glanced quickly at her arm. “And I’m afraid I cannot show you my arm again tonight.”

“But – “

“My Ladies I’m sorry, but I’ve had a long hike and I think I must say Goodnight…” She trailed off into a yawn. “Thank you for letting me stay. It won’t be for long, I promise.”

The Ladies of Iolien made a valiant effort to hide their disappointment as she left them.

Alone at last in her dark room, Kesselyra sat in the quiet pool of moonlight streaming in the long windows. Folding back the sleeve of her gown she frowned and examined the intricate blue-violet symbols. How could she have drawn it so carelessly? Pulling her traveling pack towards her, she fished out a vial of rich indigo ink, and completed the design with a few strokes and curves. She held up her marble white arm to the soft light of the Iolien night and smiled with satisfaction.

Now that she had drawn a true Diviner’s markings, they would writhe to life. No outsider would ever see the same symbol twice. The details would shift and change from one glimpse to the next. And every Diviner in the world would sense the awakening of the symbols on her arm and in her blood.

Now all she had to do was wait for them to come.

* * * *

For Kesselyra, the waiting was the most difficult part of the whole journey. She had never been one to wait for something, when she could go and get it herself. This time though, she would have to be patient.

She spent the morning wandering the Great House curiously. She was surprised at how comfortable it was to wear a clean, dry gown, and to be able to run her fingers through her heavy dark hair, from head to waist, without catching a snag. She still insisted her four day trek through the rain-sodden jungles had been easy, but admitted it was nice to be dry.

The Great House, it seemed, spent the morning deep in studies and matters of state. Only Matron, sitting calmly in the main hall with a cup of tea, had time to talk.

“Kesselyra – now that’s a mouthful. You must have the bluest bloods in your veins, my girl.”

“My family is the House of Sirixian.”

“Oh my, one of the oldest families to serve the High King! Blue indeed.”

Kesselyra grinned proudly. “I still intend to earn my blood and name. All the Sirixians do.”

If Matron noticed the slight clench of her hands and the determined set of her jaw, she gave no indication. “Ah, well Mistress Diviner I think you’ve already earned yourself a better name than most of us ordinary people could ever have.”

“Now that doesn’t count. I can’t help where I was born, can I?” returned Kesselyra unconcernedly.

Matron’s eyes twinkled. “No, but you are free to do what you like about it.”

“Yes, well I’m still in the middle of that.”

They chatted awhile longer before Matron finally suggested that she go out for a walk. After all it was the first dry day in weeks. The town would be awash with blooms and people.

Kesselyra hoped that walking would wear off some of the impatience she felt. It was one thing to have a plan – but quite another to wait for it to work. Ever since she had been thrown out from the Diviners’ Stronghold and left to wander alone, she had been treading the grey line between what she believed was right and wrong. It was wrong to trick people into looking for her, and it was wrong to lie to the sturdy Matron of Iolien. But had she any choice? Her own people should not have wronged her in the first place. She had done nothing to deserve it.

The young lady of Sirixian lifted her chin and stared confidently ahead as she trudged through the damp streets.

Ahead of her she saw the shores of Lake Iolien. Wide terraces of some smooth red wood had been built along the water’s edge. They were still darkened and soft from the rain, and were empty except for a small gathering of people on the lowest terrace, in the warmth of the bright morning sun.

Eager to see the deep green waters of the serene lake up close, Kesselyra hopped from one terrace down to the next until she reached the lowest. It was still a good six feet above the water, and she stared down at the smooth forest-green depths below in fascination. The roaring gray seas below her faraway Stronghold had never looked anything like this.

“Careful Miss. The jizil fish are back.”

Kesselyra looked up sharply. She had forgotten that there were people nearby. It looked to be a family. She saw a grandfather, a mother with an infant, daughters and young men. It was the mother that had spoken to her. Kesselyra frowned. “Jizil fish?”

The older woman stared at her. Then her eyes fell upon Kesselyra’s foreign gown and understanding filled her expression. “They’re a vicious kind of fish, Miss. They eat human flesh. I just thought I’d warn you to be careful over there by the edge.”

“Man-eating fish!” Kesselyra was more fascinated than ever and strained to see through the smooth dark depths of the placid lake. “Thank you for telling me.”

The woman shrugged amusedly. She ushered all her family around her, and led them away up the redwood terraces. It seemed their outing was done for today. Only her four sons remained behind. The tallest clapped another on the shoulder.

“And now we work!” he remarked cheerfully.

His brothers groaned together.

“Oh come now. There’s fish to be caught and no one is going to catch them for us. Let’s go, you lazy girls.”

Kesselyra was again fascinated. She got to her feet. “Would you mind if I tag along?”

All four men turned on her in astonishment. They all looked expectantly at the eldest brother. The fisherman toyed with his raven-black ponytail, and it seemed as if he was unused to being caught without an answer.

Impatiently, Kesselyra stepped forward and held out her hand. “My name is Kesselyra. You can be assured I won’t be in the way. I simply want to see how you fish. I’ve never tried it before.”

The young man shrugged and shook her proffered hand. “You can call me Hurinn. Are you sure though? ... I mean…” He flushed deep red.

“Am I sure I want to board a strange boat with four strange men?” She winked and grinned. “I’m ok, don’t worry. I want to see your lake and your fish - and your fishing. I’ve never been to Iolien.”

The younger brothers stared at her with a mix of dazed wonder and bashfulness. In the end, Kesselyra got her way, and they set out in a questionable-looking craft. The expedition proved interesting enough to keep her mind occupied for the morning. By the time they returned to shore, Kesselyra had cast three nets, caught several fish of her own and had heard Hurinn’s entire life story. With some effort she even managed to draw out the shyer younger brothers. She learnt that two of them were actually training to join the elite warrior forces of Iolien. The youngest brother had just turned eighteen. He was the shyest of them all, and was often made fun of for his thick soft crop of blue-black hair. ‘Girl’s hair’ they called it. He had not uttered a word throughout the entire morning, but as Kesselyra left the young fishermen on the dock, she touched his arm.

He looked up, startled.

“Thanks for humouring a tourist, Piery,” she whispered with a wink. He had endured many quips and jests at the hands of his brothers all morning. It was hardly her problem, but she thought she could spare a few kind words at least.

Piery smiled brilliantly. When he realized he was smiling he bit his lip and cast his eyes to the ground again.

Meanwhile Kesselyra had already left in pursuit of further entertainment.

* * * *

By the end of the day Kesselyra had wandered through most of Iolien and made herself an acquaintance here and there. The trades fascinated her and many people were good-humoured enough to let her tag along.

Night came, and she trudged back to the Great House. She was tired, and though she would rather die than admit it – she was a little bit afraid. For a moment, she wished the past few days had never happened. If only she had been a little more careful, she would never have been thrown out of the Stronghold. She had devoted ten years of her life to her training there.

The moment passed and she shook her head. She was a Sirixian and more importantly – she was Kesselyra. She would put everything to rights. She had only to wait.

Another day passed, and another night – and then two, and then three. The Ladies of Iolien no longer noticed her comings and goings. Their lives were busy and she had proven too secretive to be interesting. Matron, on the other hand, spent many evenings sharing tea with her and offering her some steady piece of advice on one thing or the next.

By the fourth day, Kesselyra began to worry. Surely it couldn’t take this long for the Diviners to sense her awakening symbols and find her? Should she simply wait another day? Or should she be formulating a new plan? The indecision was unbearable.

She wandered down to the lakeshore, deep in thought. The terraces stretched out emptily to the water’s edge, as people slept through the early hours of the hazy jungle morning.

A sudden clash of steel nearby jerked her out of her thoughts. Kesselyra’s trained instinct sent her hand to her side and her limbs tensed in a fighter’s stance. Every sense in her body sprang to life, but when she saw where the sound came from, she relaxed and laughed at herself.

It was only the young fishermen brothers. They were gathered again on the lower terrace, where she had first seen them. The two young warrior brothers were deeply immersed in a duel. She could tell they were only training, for Hurinn stood nearby watching them in boredom. A few feet away Piery sat at the water’s edge, with his back to his brothers, busily drawing away on a pad of paper with a stubby piece of charcoal.

Kesselyra ran lightly down the terraces.

Hurinn turned to her, surprised. “You’re back!”

“I am,” she replied cheerfully. “What are they doing?”

“Just killing time until the old man is done repairing our boat.” He sighed. “These two never tire of their games. They fancy themselves warriors. An honest man’s living is not good enough for them.”

“There, there Hurinn.” Kesselyra grinned. “Not every man is a born fisherman.”

Hurinn stood taller with pride. “I suppose this is true.”

Kesselyra impatiently watched the two parry and clash their way back and forth. She hoped the hem of her gown hid her tapping foot. All at once she felt an aching sense of loss sweep through her. The scene before her brought back vivid memories of where she should have been right now, and what she had been born to do – and that she might never hold a sword in honour again.

The two brothers dropped their swords and stood back breathing heavily. They nodded politely at Kesselyra, trying not to look too pleased at having been caught at such a manly sport.

She reached for the sword of the nearest brother and ran her finger along the edge with a frown.

“Tulidion steel.” She hefted the sword from hand to hand. “Inexpensive and durable. At least for a few years. Is it new?”

The brothers looked at each other in bewilderment. “Yes… 6 months at most…”

“Perfect!”


Kesselyra tossed the sword to the one brother who still held his. He caught it with his free hand.

“Are you familiar with the two-blade forms?” She asked eagerly.

The young man beamed. “It’s my specialty!”

“Would you mind if we had just one match?”

“You? ...”

“One match?” she pressed.

He shrugged. Mentally he reminded himself not too strike too hard. “Sure. If you like I can give you some suggestions on your form afterwards.”

Hurinn and Piery turned to watch, stunned and dumbfounded.

“If you like,” Kesselyra agreed pleasantly. She pulled off her over-dress and cast it aside, then kicked off her shoes. She stood barefoot in a long thin black under-dress that clung to her legs, and drew two curved swords from the dark woven belt about her waist.

No one had suspected such magnificent weapons lay below the heavy folds of her thickly embroidered gown. They stared in awe at the brilliant blue metal of her swords, and even more intently at the glowing indigo symbols that curled around her strong white arm and shoulder. Piery caught his breath and gasped audibly.

“Shall we, friend?” she suggested quietly.

Her opponent tightened his grip on both swords and bowed.

As they began, Kesselyra knew he would not be prepared for her normal force of attack and tried her best to fight generously. Not only was her technique foreign to him, but she had to give him time to get used to aiming his blade at a woman.

But as the duel wore on, Kesselyra found her blood rising quickly. The earthy scent of the damp jungle filled her head. The fire of her quickening heart and the cool sheen that rose to her skin were blissfully familiar. Every strained muscle, every leap, every thrust and every resonant clang of metal on metal sent her that much higher. This was the existence she knew best. She began to forget whom she fought. Her lips parted slightly, her breath came faster and her eyes flashed with fervor of battle. Faster and faster she spun and struck, her blades a blur, her long marble limbs graceful and fluid as the sheer black dress whipped about and clung to her like a skin, and her long hair rippled around her. She was alive, and it was in these moments she knew herself best.

She hardly noticed that the young warrior’s face grew pale and his eyes grew wide. He was partly in awe of the beautiful deadly dance he watched and partly afraid for his life. Kesselyra was disappointed beyond measure when she caught him off guard and sent his blades clattering and spinning across the wooden planks beneath them.

She lowered her swords and stepped back, feet apart, hair in wild disarray. She breathed heavily and the blaze still lingered in her dark eyes. The fight was over and her appetite barely sated.

“Miss Kesselyra…” He was still on one knee, where he had fallen before her, shaken and wide-eyed.

“Thank you for obliging me,” she forced herself to say, disappointedly. She saw no use in asking him to fight again.

No one spoke. They were all stunned beyond words. All except Hurinn. He had watched the fight with interest, but now that it was over he looked around in boredom and his eyes settled on Piery. The boy had turned his back on them again and was furiously drawing. The scratch of his stubby charcoal on paper was the only sound in the still lakeside air. Hurinn idly watched its progress across the blank sheet. Suddenly a smirk crept across his face.

“What’s this Piery! Ho!” He scooped up his brother’s sketchpad as the boy sprang to his feet and tried desperately to snatch it back.

Hurinn hooted and waved the sketchpad in the air. “I think our little brother lusts after the pretty stranger.”

Kesselyra’s head snapped up. The two warrior brothers laughed heartily and reached for the pad, but she pushed them roughly aside and stalked up to Hurinn. The young lady thrust both swords back in her belt and punched Hurinn square in the face.

“Shut up and be a man for once, instead of a gossipy little snipe,” she told him heartlessly.

She grabbed the pad from him as he staggered backwards and landed on his rump with a resounding thud. He stared up at her spluttering and struggling to voice his offended feelings, but she coldly ignored him. She stepped over him and held out the pad to Piery.

“Take it. It’s none of my business.”

Piery refused to meet her eye as he reached for the pad. “There’s no lust in it at all,” he muttered.

“It’s none of my business,” she repeated firmly. “Why you boys must always put these things in writing, is beyond me. I’m already in enough trouble because of…. Wait a minute!”

She snatched the pad back and scrutinized the drawing. He was right. There was nothing lustful about it. It was simply a very artistic drawing of herself in mid-air, with a charcoal blur of hair and skirts around a slender figure bent in a crouch with blades raised high. The arm, however, had been drawn with stunning attention to detail. Her eyes widened.

“You drew my symbols!” She was puzzled. “That’s impossible. Unless you were a Diviner yourself you would not be able to see the same symbols twice on my arm, if you looked away even for a second.” Yet every detail of her arm in his drawing was correct. She herself had painstakingly memorized these very symbols, though it was forbidden.

It made no sense. How could he see her symbols so clearly?

“Kesselyra of Sirixian!” A cold voice cut through the morning air, from somewhere above.

Kesselyra looked up sharply, handed the pad back to Piery, and quickly forgot him. The voice was as familiar as her own. “Finally! What took you so long?”

Along the upper terrace, stood three tall women in green traveling clothes, their bare arms resplendent with the Diviner’s markings. They knew her well - as well as she knew them, and they looked down on her with displeasure. “You were expecting us, were you?”

“Isn’t that why you came?” Kesselyra noted with surprise, that almost half the town had also gathered behind the three Diviners. Iolien had not seen such excitement in many years.

“No it is not why we came. We came at the suggestion of the Matron of Iolien.”

“Matron!” Kesselyra was bewildered. Sure enough there was Matron pushing forward through the crowd and past the Diviners.

“I mean no ill will Kesselyra,” she said steadily, confidently meeting her gaze. “I would merely like to see the truth played out here. I know you are not a Diviner.”

“Thank you Matron, I’m glad of it... I did like you.”

Matron smiled reassuringly. The three women behind her saw none of it.

Diviner Miriele strode down the terrace, past Matron, and came to face Kesselyra. She was a tall thin woman with grey-streaked black hair to her chin. Her eyes were clear and blue as they bore through the girl in front of her. Then they lowered to the symbols on her arm. She snorted loudly in contempt.

“I see what has happened here. You thought to lure us away from the protected grounds of our Stronghold by wearing our sacred symbols, knowing we’d sense it and track you down. But you drew the symbols wrong. If the Matron hadn’t summoned us we never would’ve come.” Miriele faced the younger woman angrily. “It’s vengeance you want then, is it?”

Kesselyra crossed her arms and took a deep breath. The waiting was over. After this she might either live or die but at least she could act. “Did you all bring Protectors?”

Iolien held its breath in excitement. A renegade student was to battle her Diviners on their own green shores.

“You know very well that you are more than a match for three Protectors.” Miriele continued to glare at her. “I had thought better of you, Sirixian. First you break the rules and force us to banish you, but now you try to revenge yourself on us for a just punishment? It appears ten years is not enough to know a girl’s character.”

“My punishment was anything but just!” Kesselyra struggled to keep emotion from spilling into her voice. “You didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself!”

“You were given a chance to obey the rules,” corrected Miriele icily.


“The second you decide I’ve ‘broken the rules’, you are permitted to kill me if I do not leave the grounds immediately.”

“Those are the rules. You have always been aware of this. Why did you break them?”

Kesselyra’s hands flew to her swords, but she managed to grab hold of her temper. She took another deep breath. “I broke no rules. You were misinformed. Yet I left anyways, and I am alive. I survived you, and I survived the jungle. For that at least, I deserve to be heard on neutral ground. You cannot kill me here.”

Miriele regarded her former student impassively. “How do you propose we are misinformed? We intercepted a letter from your young man. There was certainly enough affectionate drivel in that letter to prove that you broke one of our most important rules and involved yourself with a man from outside the Stronghold, while still in training.”

“I did no such thing!”

“...And three months from completion? Why? Is it so hard to stay your hormones for three months?”

“Diviner Miriele, you will be silent for one moment.” Her refined Sirixian manners were icy, though her proud Sirixian blood boiled at the cheapness of the predicament. “You have had your say. Twice now, actually. I think it’s time you heard mine.”

“Your say! You expect me to believe you went through all the trouble of luring us out here, simply to have your say?”

“You were misinformed,” continued Kesselyra firmly. “I only met the author of that letter once – he visited the Stronghold too see his sister, one of the girls in the kitchen.”

“I remember the boy,” said Miriele stiffly.

“Though it is none of your business, I will tell you that he fancied himself infatuated with me and didn’t seem to mind my insulting and ignoring him. He followed me whenever he could find me. I had to draw steel once or twice to fend off his hands. I believe I was reprimanded for breaking that rule too. Steel in non-combat rooms? Now since you do read my mail, perhaps you should at least have the decency to ask me about it when you read something that you think makes my life and career forfeit.”

Miriele stared at her

Kesselyra’s could hardly see straight for rage and frustration. She realized they could believe her or not as they chose. All she had told were bare facts without a single embellishment in her favour or against it. She had never been good at politics or words beyond what was honest conversation. Anything beyond was beneath a Sirixian. She burned at the indignity. “I repeat. It is absolutely none of your business, but those are the facts.”

Miriele continued to stare. Kesselyra’s blazing dark eyes held her teacher’s.

Oh this was not to be born.

“Diviner Miriele. Do you accept my truths or do you not?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you want.”

“I beg your pardon?” demanded Kesselyra stiffly.

“If it’s vengeance you want for this supposed “injustice”, then vengeance in what shape?”

The blue-blooded Dew of Fire coldly lifted her nose and regarded her teacher with calm majesty. “Vengeance is for the common. I want the rest of my training – I want the last secret of the Protectorate and I want a Patron Diviner to serve when I am done.”

Iolien stood back, baffled. The two Diviners looked sideways at each other but Miriele stayed locked in a duel with her student’s fiery gaze.

“Large demands for a cast-out, Miss. And we would all just treat you as if nothing has happened?”

“That depends on you, doesn’t it. If I can, I think you have the easier end of it.”

“And who would recruit you after this?”

The two Diviners behind her began to make noises of remonstrance but Miriele silenced them imperiously with a vicious gesture of her long thin hand.

“You will.”

“Indeed!”

“Because if you believe me, and believe that you have done me wrong – then recruiting me would be the only way you can make things right in this world.”

The locked gazes of teacher and student dissolved into something akin to a silent anguished appeal between mother and daughter. Ten years of tutelage and companionship was almost tangible in the air that crackled between the two women. It could not be extinguished. Kesselyra saw that she guessed right and that just as she concealed her own deep wounds, Miriele concealed her own feelings of bitter disappointment in the girl she loved as her own. Despite Sirixian pride, for one raw moment, all of Iolien saw the intensity of the hurt between Kesselyra and Miriele. For a moment – then it was gone. No one dared speak, not even the two Diviners.

At last Miriele held out her hand. “And I will.”

Kesselyra gasped and let out a childish sound quite foreign to her. The pride of her long blood line, and the dignity of her years cast aside as she grasped the hand.

“You are foolish for not taking vengeance. It would’ve been so much easier for everyone and particularly for you. But you are ostensibly Sirixian and most clearly,” Miriele turned away and her hard voice betrayed her with a tremor, “you are the same Kesselyra of the past ten years.”