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In the next few days, I read those seven hundred pages thrice. I revisit the library, searching the history section, but nothing makes any sense. Yes, all volumes share some obvious facts--dates, names, places--but the conclusions? All books written by humans paint shamans as treacherous sorcerers guilty of every misfortune, and all books written by aurabloods blame everything on us plainbloods--the brutal barbarians. And who owns the truth, then?

My ancestors couldn't be killers. I'm not a killer.

But how can I prove it? If only I could talk to someone who lived long enough, who witnessed it all with their own eyes, not just wrote words on paper repeated by someone else...But only shamans can live for centuries. The oldest person in Cabracan is Empress Ixchel, and I wouldn't trust a word coming out of the mouth of a king's traitor. Loretto doesn't seem favored by the head of the empress's councilor, so maybe fae knows some shamans who don't share the empress's ideas and therefore could tell a different story. Yet I don't know anything about Loretto faerself so as to ask such a favor.

Leaving the cafeteria after breakfast the next day and pondering on this yet again, I realize I actually do have a friend on the shaman grounds. Well, not a friend, exactly. But my sister Ariane's boyfriend studies alchemical biology, and works in the alchemy labs in Tik'al a couple of days a week, he'll do.

Heading toward the alchemy labs in one of the buildings at the far end of Tik'al, I walk through the maze of the alleys of the shaman city, passing orchards and temples and layered staircases amidst them. It is hard not to get lost even when you know the place more or less as all corners here look similar, and when I round yet another smallish temple, I suddenly find myself in front of a fountain. Or at least I call it a fountain, though it's not exactly it because there is no water.

As far as I know, there are three aura fountains in Tik'al, one of which I unsuccessfully robbed before getting caught by Gen and Ian. I tried to avoid these fountains so far, but I obviously failed. The structure looks beautiful and scary at the same time: a strange substance, too airy for liquid yet too heavy for smoke, ink-black as though night stripped of starlight, it flows and billows and soars through a set of stone arches and bridges in the middles of a square. Like thick, breathing clouds, maybe.

Or palpable death.

Today is sunny and sultry, but around the aura fountain, it is seductively cool and fresh. A girl sits in the aura shadow, by one of the arches. Yaling, I realize as I peer from the staircase I've stopped at. She bites her lips as she reads, pensive, holding a book in one hand, while running the fingers of the other one through the flowing aura current. Her fingertips touch the cloud, yet she doesn't even notice for it doesn't hurt her. Yet my very mind seems to whimper at the thought of the aching burn between my fingers aura left when my stolen bottle shattered, at the image of what would happen if I myself happen to be in Yaling's place...It'll be like stepping into a raging fire for me. I'll flare up like a match. Tremor runs through my limbs.

Even if I wanted to be a part of this place, even if I wanted to understand shamans, I never will. And they will never understand what it feels like, to be powerless. How similar we all look yet how different we all are. What a savage joker, this world that made us this way.

Gloomier now than before, I walk past the fountain without looking back.

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The labs, like everything else, are in an old stone building with columns and high ceilings, which was a real temple once but lost its gods apparently. I don't know where Faris is--and is he here today?--so I just walk along the halls, looking. Thankfully, nobody stops me.

There are scholars and shamans everywhere, conducting experiments, changing the properties of natural elements: turning water into ice with one glace, bottling fire and ice in one vessel, writing something in their levitating notebooks...Nothing unusual.

At last, I spot a familiar face--yet not Faris but Ariane first. Surprised, I walk into the small lab, where just the two of them sit at a glass table, surrounded by countless vials and books. Ariane is with her back to me, giggling at something Faris has said, her dress is bright as the sun outside, and her long box braids are pulled in one thick braid. She looks stunning and hard to miss, while Faris is lanky, with short dark hair and glasses, which make him look...like a geek, especially with his white coat. These two never look like a match.

Yet they feel so carefree in each other's company, it always marvels me.

The collar of Ariane's dress is unbuttoned, which is atypical for her. Her dark skin has a light patch on her neck that she normally covers to avoid people's stares, but she's not covering her neck in front of Faris now. She acts natural, like her best self. I'm not sure I've ever felt my best self even by myself.

"Elisey?" Faris is the first to notice me, and his surprise mirrors mine. "What are you doing here? How did you...Who let in?"

"Hello to you, too." I enter the room, shrugging. "Nobody just stopped me."

Ariane's reaction, though, is unpredictable. Upon hearing my voice, she stares at me for a long second as if seeing a ghost, then takes off her own glasses, hops off her stool, and squeezes me in a suffocating hug. For a beat, I can't breathe. "I thought you might be dead," she whispers, finally letting go of me. Then she slaps my shoulder. "Idiot! What you, Kofi, and Cale are up to again? Our moms are worried as hell."

In mute reply, I raise my right hand, showing her my mentee bracelet. Ariane draws her eyebrows together. "What the-- Kofi told Ma you got arrested for a street fight and are detained in Tik'al for community service for a month, not a-- You're not a magician, Eli!"

"Shut up!" I glance toward the hall, but nobody's there to hear her words, fortunately. "Let's pretend I am. Maybe I have a secret talent?"

"Wait. Were you...?" she trails off.

Was I again stealing aura for our insane plan of creating a weapon against shamans, starting a rebellion, and overthrowing our monarch? I nod, unsure if I can be this straightforward when Faris is listening. Was I caught, and cuffed, and ended up pretending to be a shaman student to avoid execution? I nod. "I get it why Kofi and Cale lied to our moms, but why didn't they tell you the truth?"

Ariane crosses her arms over her chest, dropping on her stool. "Our brothers ain't telling me shit lately. Since I started studying here, in the labs, they think I sympathize with shamans."

"Aren't you?"

Ariane and Faris exchange glances, and... laugh. But I can't tell whether their laugh means yes of course or hell no, and that's confusing. It must be some private joke of theirs I accidentally discovered. It doesn't help me, though, because I myself don't know who I sympathize with after reading a bunch of books claiming my ancestor were conquerors, not liberators.

"I actually need your word of advice. Do you know anything about Loretto Tayen?" I begin, pulling a free stool from another table and settling down between Ariane and Faris. "Friends, relatives? Hobbies? Lovers? Anything that can tell me what kind of person Loretto is? If I can trust faer?"

Now Faris is the one to look confused. "Are you saying Loretto Tayen is your mentor?" he asks, eyes flicking to my bracelet. Dismayed, I dip my head. Faris sounds just as bitter as Valto and Jaya did when I told them about it. "So Tayen's student the whole Tik'al is talking about is you?"

"Not that I asked for it, Faris. But I just don't understand why. What's so special about Loretto to make people dish on me?"

Ariane clicks her tongue, pushing her notebook away. "Of course they dish on you, Eli. To the shamans here, you're nobody, an aurablood by miracle with no achievements, who suddenly gets one of the most talented shamans for a mentor. Other teachers are crusty and demanding, while yours clearly haven't made you work for a minute so far since no one has figured out what a big liar you are. And as a bonus, Tayen has a sexy ass."

"Ouch." Faris's long face grows even longer. "I'm still your only datefriend, right?"

"Just an observation."

Faris shakes his head. "Come on, Tayen ain't perfect. Have you two noticed faer eyebrows aren't symmetrical? One is slightly more pointed than the other, and fae keeps raising it when sees something out of order. And one of faer teeth, the left cuspid, is out of its place, protruding a bit, like a fang? And that shaman always obsessively carries something in faer hands, dusty books mostly. As though believes those books can protect from something."

"That's a lot of observing on your part, too," I say. But I've never noticed any of that, to be honest. Not the teeth, not the ass, only the unbearable temper. "And what about family and hobbies?"

"Tayen doesn't have anyone," Faris says. "And no hobbies except for carrying those books from the library to faer apartments and back."

"No one close? That's suspicious, don't you think?"

"Nope. Plenty of shamans got orphaned during the Civil War, Elisey. I wouldn't have trusted anyone to be my friends or lovers, either, if I felt like the world had abandoned and betrayed me by taking everyone I'd once loved from me."

"Wait." I fidget on my stool, suddenly uncomfortable. Wait. A disturbing thought forms at the back of my mind, but I can't fully grasp it yet. "During the Civil War? You mean Empress Ixchel's coup? But it was over two centuries ago, and Loretto--"

"Looks your age?" Faris chuckles. "Some shamans live more than a lifetime, remember?"

I do remember. If a shaman is powerful enough--like Empress Ixchel, for one--aura in their veins makes them age slower than humans, some even stop aging at all, they say, but...Magic is also a difficult skill to master, you can't be powerful enough so as to stop aging when you're just eighteen, as Loretto's face is, can you? Unless you had a good teacher yourself. "You're telling me that my mentor is ancient?" Older than my long-dead great-grandpa whose brother's watch I carry would've been by now?

Faris toys with a pen in his hand, nonchalant. "I wouldn't say ancient. Tayen is actually quite open-minded and of modern views. And I don't know...I guess when you look young, you feel young, no matter what the actual number is, right? A grumbling old crone is the last thing that comes to your mind when you think of"--he stops rolling his pen between his fingers, giving Ariane a mockingly sour look from behind his glasses--"Faer ass."

Ariane makes a face, sticking out her tongue in reply. "And I've heard that before coming to Cabracan, Tayen lived in St. Daktalion city," she adds, "where fae was taught by a shamanic goddess who lives there, too."

"A goddess?" The rumors about shaman gods who have allegedly awoken and are returning regularly appear in Cabracan, but nothing ever comes out of them. Aurabloods use those rumors to make it look like the gods are coming to bless the empress and frighten people who try to question her rule, while plainblood spread the same rumors, expecting the gods, on the contrary, to end the fraud empress's rule and free them. Anyway, it's just another excuse to blame one another and eventually do nothing but wait for a miracle. Because where were the gods during all our wars then, right? And...my mentor being a goddess's apprentice now? Even to my ear, that is fishy. "You can't really believe that, Sis."

"Just another gossip, Eli. But how else do you explain Tayen's outstanding skills otherwise, huh? Fae is the third most powerful shaman in the entire Cabracan. Only Empress Ixchel and her head councilor Tikhon are ahead." Ariane sighs. "Honestly, I myself would have given up a day of my life to talk to such a wisely old, experienced soul as Loretto Tayen. Too bad your mentor is not particularly a party person. Impossible to catch for a chit-chat."

The third most powerful? I stop fidgeting, my mouth going dry. The empress, they say, could turn a dozen of soldiers to dust with a snap of her fingers during the war, what can Loretto do if wishes, then? Does fae even need a knife to shred me to ribbons? And that's not even the worst part as I thought. The empress's council must see Loretto's power as a threat too, otherwise why would the head councilor try to demean faer in my presence by asking to help me clean the workshop?

Shamans are supposed to like their goddess's protégé, but whatever Loretto says might be interpreted as the goddess's wisdom, and if that wisdom suggests giving the crown to Loretto, for example...Boom. I swallow, but my tongue is still dry and wary. The old rumors suddenly get a much more dangerous sort of meaning, because you might not believe in intangible, hypothetical gods you've never seen, but Loretto is as real as the sun in the skies.

Maybe I could use this information to my advantage somehow, because that's what my people want--to dethrone Empress Ixchel, but trading one shaman ruler for another--for some god's trainee--is not a trade at all. And if fae gets the crown, what does stop Loretto from finishing what the empress started instead of revoking it?

What does then stop Loretto from killing every last human in Cabracan?

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Disappointed, I shuffle back to the Postulant House. I might be in more danger beside Loretto than I thought, and yet I don't have any idea of what to expect from a person who has no friends or relatives-or weak spots. Because a goddess for a patron is definitely not a weak spot!

As I reach for the handle, I realize the door to my room is unlocked, though I perfectly remember locking it. A weird sound comes from inside, as though dice are being rolled over and over. Someone's in. Loretto had dice on faer table when I visited faer chambers. Is my mentor finally here to teach me? Or is it the councilor who came to announce my real punishment for starting a fight with Valto at the workshop? This option is no better.

Worry filling my chest, I slowly push the door open.

Not Loretto.

Not the councilor.

"What the--" Lounging on my bed, with his dirty boots on, Valto has tucked my pillow behind his back and now is playing some dice game on his smartphone. When did he even get the phone? Nobody uses those in Cabracan, all communication is faster with magic and aura rings, and playing games a on small screen is boring. We use gemglasses for that: put the glasses on, and it's like watching a dream where you control the plot, with smells and everything. But using aura rings and gemglasses are forbidden during studying. And so are the phones. "Who let you in? Get out, Valto!"

Valto doesn't hurry to rise to his feet. Instead, he regards me with his grumpy face and turns back to his game. "If you want to keep the place to yourself, spell the door, plainblood. Locks are useless to shamans." He thinks for a second. "I always played in this room before you arrived. Can't not listen when Jaya's girlfriend comes over. Her room is next to mine, and I hear practically every breath. In such moments, I think Yaling is blessed not to hear the bullshit of the world around, you know?"

"And what does Jaya's girlfriend have to do with me? Are you here to invite me to be your partner in a volume contest?"

Finally putting the phone away, Valto sits upright. His hair is just as greasy as before and he keeps annoying me by fixing it over and over just as before. "What's your problem, hm? You've been gone the whole day, go and get lost for another hour."

"It's my room!"

He doesn't answer, only stares at me. At first, I want to quip about his vocabulary being too short, to ask if he's spent all his words on me already, but then I feel a strange touch of hot air on my neck. There's a mirror hanging on the wall in the corner, and glancing sideways at my reflection, I notice a spark on the collar of my jacket. As Valto keeps staring, the spark grows brighter, forming a fire lick. Threatening to set my jacket aflame.

In panic, I yank my jacket off, throwing it on the bed, at Valto. Losing concentration, Valto blinks, and the fire lick vanishes. But before he can begin again, I grab a lamp from the desk, my anger kindling just like that flame. "I said get the fuck out!" I raise the lamp over my head, a promise to use it if have to.

"Chill out! Okay, I'm leaving." Standing up, Valto starts toward the door, and of course, he doesn't forget to shove me aside on his way. "Psycho."

"You are!" I slam the door shut behind him. Loretto says nothing works better than indifference, but how I can stay indifferent if Valto has just tried to set me on fire?! That's what true shamans are--vile, arrogant, and drunk on power. If I'm a barbarian and a psycho in their eyes, so be it. It means I've a soul they can't see. No way could my ancestors be conquerors, it's just another shaman lie to control our minds.

Tossing the lamp back to the desk, I drop to the bed and open one of the books I've borrowed from the library, just to distract myself from the anger that still sears my throat.

I can't concentrate now, though. The dirt Valto's boots left on my blanket is vexing, the thought that shamans can walk in my room anytime they want, even if I lock my door, is troublesome, and as my eyes land on the black ribbon Loretto sent me with Gen when took my cookies-is agitating.

Taught by a goddess, really? Orphaned during the war? Now the joke about my cookies being the only homemade food Loretto can get seems cruel.

But I'm not going to say I'm sorry, no. And why should I? Loretto is a shaman, too, just like Valto. Who deems me unworthy. And yet...if I do want to say sorry, how do I say it to a two-hundred-year-old person? My mind can't even grasp what can possibly go on in the thoughts of such a person. I always talked to Loretto as an equal, a human to a shaman, yes, but an equal. I believed Loretto might see a potential rival in me...hah! I must look like a naughty kindergartener in faer eyes.

I put the book aside, disheartened. I should've figured I'm no rival to Loretto sooner: the perceptive tone, the confidence in every move, and nothing but astute sarcasm to my every attempt to nettle faer...No eighteen-year-old can be that unshakable. Well, I can't at least. And that's why Loretto always wears faer robes laced, I realize now, with those weirdly old-fashioned gray pants underneath. That's how shamans traditionally dressed years ago, and that must be how Loretto got used to feeling comfortable. Not weird, then.

And if my mentor is actually almost as experienced as the empress, the shaman I dreaded facing one on one for my whole life...Old as the trees in Tik'al, sharp-witted like razors. Can there be a more cunning foe? No, I can't let Loretto become my foe, I'll lose that fight.

Quitting my attempts to read half an hour later, I put my jacket back on, shake the ashes off my collar, and walk out of the Postulant House, into a narrow, long alley illuminated by the orange glow of the setting sun.

I don't know what I'm going to do exactly--look for Loretto to talk? Run away? But anything is better than thinking, I guess.

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