Blood and Silver

Ottaviano Trelawney, 1859

Ulrich Grindelwald is mad.

It was a far easier fact to discard when it was just word in the receiving halls - "Oh, Grindelwald, the old boy? Nice potential, but slightly dotty, that one!" - word during committees - "Merlin, has he no sense? We can't do that, he's round the bend!- word in taverns, lost in the net of a voluptuous night - "He doesn't know what he's asking, he's off in the head!"...

Whispers, cries, shouts...those, one could fend off with remarkable ease. It was hardly as if they had a life of their own. Hardly as if they would always be there. But some things - some things just never faded... And I regretted having this particular piece of intelligence demonstrated and vehemently confirmed. I regretted ever laying eyes upon him. I still do. Blimey, I still do.

~~~~~~~~

The voice was warm and it was tranquil. Cling to the voice.

"What do you see...?"

Why did it ask? Cold. It was cold everywhere. And all around was mist...gray. Not the black of the dead, or the white of the pure. Why did the white taint the black? Why was there gray everywhere?

"I see nothing. "

But I did. And I heard the whisper. Bitter, bitter whisper. Whisper that came from the mists. From the demon in the shadows.

The nothingness within...

"Sssshh....distance yourself from the mists." Again the voice. Listen to the voice. Heed not the whisper. Listen to the voice... "Do not succumb to them. Redirect your thoughts. There is more beyond. Do you see it?"

I didn't. I saw nothing. I was nothing. Nothing but the mists, for I too was the mist, and all around there was gray. Only gray. Gray, gray, gray, velvety, everywhere...and then...striping. Crimson serpent.

"Only...only the mist...and...and...fire!" Serpents writhing, seeking their pray. Where was it? Gold and crimson, watching...waiting... "Fire...don't- don't go into the fire!"

Lord of the blazes...awaken...

No...no more of the whisper! No more of the gray! No more of the serpents! Couldn't stand it. Must let go - cold, why was everything so cold, and the whisper, fire...

"Mustn't...mustn't...command thee...fire!" Serpents. Serpents nearing.

And then the dark.

~~~~~~~~

"...there is blood within you, awaken! Ottaviano, awaken."

They called my name. Sentience had returned quite abruptly. It normally did. It took a bit more for recognition to settle in. Where was I, again? I'd most likely known before, but I didn't now. A few glances to each side - ah, yes. The auditory.

I tried to smile. Couldn't. Was still damnably cold. Even shivered a few times. They took pity on me soon after - wrapped me in something. I would have most likely taken to patting the texture, but my hands felt numb, as did the rest of my body. Couldn't move. Too cold.

"Ottaviano, this isn't the first time you induce the Sight."

No. No, it wasn't. I tried to raise my eyes, tried to vanquish the grey. It reigned over my senses; I could only see in a blur. Even so, Scaliger's features were easily discernible. The man's moustache was a treat for every eager jester's eye and hardly one to be mistakable. Scaliger, my mentor.

The I must have been in the auditory room. It came to me mere seconds after that I'd already reasoned that. Per Dio...All I could think off was the cold.

I made an effort to look around. The auditory was a grand hall indeed - mayhap the greatest of the edifice, but then again, the Order of Diviners had always taken pride in its opulent constructions. The little water pool in the center was hardly serene. Little drops of scarlet had been scattered onto the waves; rose petals we kept in small bowls in each corner of the room. Light greeted me with the rich quality it could offer through the many windows high above, in the ceiling, or on the walls. The tapestry smiled in the form of thousands of roses. I didn't know how they'd enchanted it to linger so, hundreds of years ago. The Order of Diviners was old, with rules of the Old and the last's traditions. It took few disciples, and fewer members. The training lengthened far more than I normally cared to attend to. More than I had the patience to. Five years.

Scaliger's voice brought me back to the present. And to the cold.

"And this is also not the first time that I tell you that you are too young to attempt full Sight." Same old lecture, same old chant. Somehow, my expression must have spoken of something of the sort, since he renounced the rest of it. "And that I will no longer provide assistance to you."

This, however, was a novelty. And a worrisome one, at that. I wasn't a fool. I knew I couldn't handle the Sight without help, as futile as it would initially seem. The trance wasn't something to be toyed with. There were two brands of Sight formally acknowledged and these were memento and Tempora. The former dealt with the Sight caused by outside stimuli - this was violent, almost maddening, and its mere apparition was great reason for startle. Visions of no control were normally associated with a great peril in the times to come. For the latter, as one could easily imagine, the Seer embarked on a preparation of the psyche for many hours or, at times, even days, through a diet of potions and meditations that encouraged the coming of the Sight. Since it was hardly a natural phenomenon and since the Seer requested the favors of the Graces to reach fortune and prepared himself accordingly, this had received the title of induced Sight.

One needed a guide, in the initial steps. Even the ruddy questions were vital, and they needed to be asked. The answers needed recording and comprehension. Most of all, however, the presence of a fully trained Seer was crucial should anything go invariably wrong. It sometimes did. One would be engulfed by the cold, by the loss of emotion. Like being suspended in the air, flying with no true stimulus. Being there but not quite so. Or, as we put it, losing oneself in the mists, in the realm of the Sight, Abrasax.

The mists, we were told during the seminars we attended under the careful watch of the Order of the Divine Arts, were an entirely different plane, between the corpusculo and sensoria. Between body and spirit. Merely a border, so to put it, from which one with the talent would "take a peek" into the ways of Fortune and Chaos.

And the demon that murmured the outcome. It was demon to me, at least, though most of those in their fourth year of training - only then were we truly permitted to facedly call on the Sight - named it the wind, while others said it was an angel. Some even claimed the "messages" were conveyed through the shadows of their deceased loved ones. Some said they were delivered by the specter of their very future selves.

I couldn't say more on the account, though it was as it ought be for me - a demon. There was nothing warm in the whispers, like in the normal definition of an angel. Nothing affectionate in it, though the uttering was paradoxically intimate, so not a loved one. And I privately thought that, whatever the chances, I would grow into a man who would never hesitate in showing his face, and that I would step away from the mists and into full inner visions. So not a specter.

And the religious part of me demanded some sort of satisfaction. Again, the theory of the black and white. I was believed a radical, for entrusting in that brand of reasoning, but no matter. If it was not an angel, and therefore of the white, then it must have been black, and, implicitly, a demon. Somehow, it was only fitting.

"What did I say?" My inquiry seemed to earn the great accomplishment of startling Scaliger. Apparently, the ominous silence had better suited his tastes. I circled my arms over the cape. Satin. Now I could feel it.

"The mists," he answered, calmly. He'd neared the northern wall and now leaned against it. He aimed to sport an air of calm, in order to stimulate my own, but his tension was far too evident for him to achieve such. Seers weren't precisely known for their poise. The latter had been much reason for our exile, in the old days. The absence of a well-planted composure, even as a consequence of circumstances we could not control, was not to be tolerated. So, indeed, we were viewed as rather the eccentrics, with our peculiar tastes and ardent whims.

But his answer provoked a certain fury. "Nothing else?" This couldn't be. I was better than that. I could see beyond the mists... there had to have been more.

He nodded. "There was more. Fire."

Fire...I closed my eyes, and I took the image of the nice rose tapestries with me in the darkness. Reconstructing the Sight was an unbelievably demanding process. Somehow, the memory dismissed the information on account of the pain. So much emotion generated to the outside - so great the void kept to the inside... Sometimes, it was better to simply forget. The organism chose not to remember, as if a barrier separated the two periods of sentience, and there was no passing.

But I wanted to know more. I had to...had to...what had happened? What had I seen? What had I- the wall was there. I had to rely on Scaliger, and my desperate glance most likely conveyed as much, for he offered me an apologetic smile:

"I can't help you with that, Ottaviano."

Can't you truly, I wanted to voice, but I didn't.

"No one can," he noted patiently, as if he possessed the rare gift of Legilimency. Somehow, it would not have surprised me - though with the new edict of the British Wizardry Regulation, Legilimency was an Art no longer to be embraced. It didn't sit well with the authorities that one wizard or witch be given the possibility of intruding in matters of the highest security with just the snap of a finger - or, rather, thought- in the mind of one less gifted in defense in this area. Which hardly meant Fabrice Scaliger would encounter any troubles in practicing his chosen field silently. After all, his status was far above all claims or doubts. Or at least, it gave that impression.

Privately, I wondered just how much of his students' minds Scaliger would prefer to inspect. And how much of this knowledge he would be willing to mention...

Warmth descended onto my shoulders as his fingers spread tightly on each side.

"But I meant what I said, Ottaviano." Gray challenged gray in one contemplative stare. It was he who spoke again, in the end. "I will no longer take any part in this. You are one of my best - no, the best student I have ever had, the best I have trained."

I nodded. This was hardly news, but his admittance did touch a cord.

Mentors were only those elder Seers who could no longer as actively participate in the gatherings of the Diviners, since their visions were hardly as clear as they had once been. It was custom amidst the Order that one of the last take a group of at most three students for instruction - commonly, the mentor grew as little but an adoptive father. Truthfully, I knew not how this could have ever differed. Eighteen year old, or newly-come of age, all startled, all fearing their gift and told to cling to it. How could they not choose to regard the one who provided them with knowledge, with some sort of safety, of control, as anything but a close tie? Closer still, perhaps, than even blood.

I had grown close to Scaliger. This couldn't be denied - and his words grew within me a certain sense of elation.

"But," he more sighed the words than uttered them "there is a time and place for everything. And this isn't your time for the Sight." He shook his head. "This isn't it."

The satin curved delicately onto my skin, and I hungered for its softness, once more. I closed my eyes, but opened them rapidly, in less than an instant. Color was warmth. Darkness was cold. And I felt so dead within it.

"I understand why you say all that you do. I can see your reasoning. But..." My eyes turned to the roses. So beautiful...why was beauty so fragile? Why could beauty be so easily broken, scattered? I thought we Seers were beautiful too, in our own wicked way, but this was hardly how we were ever viewed by an outsider's eye. Scavengers, wraiths, all horribly depraved and ever such bad influences. There wasn't a plague or war to have not been, at one point or the other, said to have been brought on by Seers. Wherever we went, disaster inevitably pursued. Or so was the saying.

Scaliger snapped back towards me: "You would call on the Sight without a mentor?"

"If the circumstances impose it..." I shrugged. There was hardly any point in feigning otherwise. If it was true, and he was no stranger to Legilimency, then my decision would be as intimate intelligence to him as it was to me. And even if not, he knew what motivated me. He knew how I felt.

"You would," he decreed softly, with maybe just a touch of disappointment that died in the unforgiving petals of painted roses.

"I would. With or without you." He measured me as if he'd seen me then and there for the first time. And the coldness in his eyes did not fade, did not waver. I didn't tremble under it - or mayhap I did?- but I could feel it, and my imploring tone said as much: "But I'm being fair, master. I'm giving notice."

"Then allow me to be as fair as you in this matter. Allow me to give notice," he whispered, bitterly. I knew "Induce the Sight once again before your fourth year, and I will conceal you no longer. You will not have my protection for another minute. And mark my words, Ottaviano- they will throw you out of the Order. You have a magnificent gift and I love you with all my heart." An elegant finger traced delicately over his wand. Rather bewildered, I vaguely noticed I'd not seen him draw it out. "But I will not have your death upon me. I will not lose you to the mists, and you are a selfish fool to think I ever would."

I didn't answer, didn't even utter a word as he paced off silently. I couldn't. Everything was still too ruddy cold.

~~~~~~~~

Lust was intolerable, in its essence. It constantly reminded one of the weaknesses of the spirit, first, then disgraced the being by a materialization in the trivial realm of carnality. I ached for satisfaction, of some sort, any sort. Craved for a certainty to be assured that I was still alive - the cold, the mist, everything, they drew one in almost to a point of tragedy.

Physical endowments were something of a well-adored talent of Seers. We required these attributes for when these precise ardencies neared us; normally, we then sought the desired union and were done with it. There was no point in pretense; it was certainly an animal impulse, and emotions were not as much involved, as was the prospect of a release from the spiritual ties. We wanted to feel the flesh, the warmth, the passion. Wanted to feel the now and then, the moment. After all, it was well-known that a Seer's life was short lived.

I was experiencing this very yearning just after Scaliger made his little escape, and I was quite pleased by it. We'd learnt in our theory classes that any sort of Sight was then accompanied by this unfortunate sense, so it meant my little undergoing had been very much a success. I made to smile, then my lips tied shortly on a thin layer. Spitting down, I could see little rose petals, and this amused me fairly.

Scarlet, like the color of passion.

Of course, I told myself, this was worst still for Seers of Second Sight, who could not meditate and Induce their Sight, but depended solely on the few times in which the Sight sought them - the memento. The subsequent physical demands after that were, to my knowledge, startling, at the very least.

But I had to keep my composure, here and now. Scaliger's words had offended and saddened me at the same time, and I didn't care to linger, risking some sort of outburst, given my current emotional vulnerability. I didn't want to say anything I might later regret, just as I didn't want nor need any more of the Diviners. I was sickened by it, by everything, and I couldn't stand the thought of never being able to Induce for two years now, when I was perfectly able to do so already, and everything around reminded me of that, and-

I had to get out. Had to go.

And I knew just where. I could always pay dear Father a visit - he resided in wizarding London, which wasn't far in the least. One could fly there casually. I could do it. It would mean leaving, for a moment. Just a bit. I had to do it.

Had to try to keep back. Had to forget everything.

Including the anger, the lust, and all the bickering emotion.

And the cold...

~~~~~~~~

Wizard London echoed its Muggle equivalent in being a sheer and utter chaos. Barely avoiding a few puddles, I managed to bring myself towards the edifice of choice, again wondering at how the devil the Trelawney heirs expected their name be attributed to fair taste, when the outlook of their very homes was the image of obscurity.

Eyeing the manor for yet a second time, I was forced to give it what little credit it deserved, and that it was at least undeniably clean. I couldn't understand the English affinity for strings of weed that hung bravely on the wallings - this was a tendency I had not seen as all that widely spread in Venice, and for that, if nothing else, I was greatly indebted to the Italians.

After taking the time to collect my poise and see to the suitability of the attire - the robes had wrinkled greatly, as per habit- I knocked a few times and was not all that surprised at it being answered immediately.

"Yes?" said a woman in her mid thirties, bearing a look of unmistakable revulsion on her face. I knew her to be the caretaker of the Trelawney estate, Iris Merrick, she who governed over the house elves and saw to it that everything was in order for any guest who might consider dropping by. This was again something I couldn't entirely understand. In Italy, house elves were free and were placed on equal foot with the wizardry ilk. Here, they were slaves. I couldn't think of them as such, though one too many people did, and doing otherwise was to point to a belittling social standing. And I couldn't do that. But I didn't think of them as my inferiors either...

Iris Merrick's irritated glance met mine, for a moment. I sneered inwardly. With such a "warm" welcome, no wonder the place was quite abandoned.

"Good day to you, " she added.

"And you."

"Do come in, I'll send for some Earl Grey..." She opened the door widely, and I began to think of a few excuses as to how I could escape her company. If Father wasn't in, this was invariably what awaited me. And I had had my share of encounters with Merrick so to know her presence to be greatly undesirable.

"No, please, don't bother, I-"

"Is that Ottaviano I hear?"

With a nice orchestra of several sighs on Merrick's behalf, we both turned to face the doorway, as a few more random notes and octaves reached us in a melodious tonality. I acknowledged the female quite instantly - Morianna Trelawney, my cousin on my father's side, and one of the most eccentric and at the same time rottenly spoiled maidens of the wizardry world. In a fury of burgundy velvet, she who had spawned the inquiry dashed through the corridors.

"No, milady-" there was little but despair in fair Iris Merrick's denial, but it was far too late, since the girl had already made her way to the doorway. "we ought to-"

Morianna - for it was indeed she- gave the other her best impression of a look of sheer menace. Naturally, the result was most likely far beneath her expectations, since Merrick didn't see fit to as much as blink, let alone throw herself at her young mistress' feet and beg leniency.

"Oh, don't you lie to me, you silly old hag - you'll remember, I'm a Seer! I can see through your mind! Off you go now, off"

Iris Merrick shot her a tired glance. "I...By your leave, Master, Mistress" she said, with a brief nod to both. She was out in the moments to follow. I would normally have felt quite pained by Morianna's demeanor, and would have sought to reprimand the last accordingly - but I'd learned my share on aristocratic girls, and the first lesson was invariably how you could never change them as much as they could you.

I merely shrugged and decided to pick on something that she couldn't counter.

"A Seer cannot read thoughts. That's a Legilimens," I noted calmly. I kept back any further comments on how she was hardly acceptable for the title of Seer either. She'd not absolved Hogwarts, naturally, as aristocracy was not in the habit of sending their heiresses to study amongst the populace; therefore, she'd been educated at home. She'd provided me with delightful tales of the little London adventures, after we'd been acquainted, when I'd been embraced by the family as an eleven year-old, and when I required a rapport of most the Trelawney affairs. Morianna seemed to find being an illegitimate spawn as the ultimate thrill, and she rather admired my status than resented it. Either that, or she was extremely well bred in pretense, which was something not all that improbable, since I could see Celia Horton Trelawney as quite a fine educator in the field.

Young Morianna didn't bear that keen a resemblance to her, in spite of all this. She was remarkably light and, at times, infuriatingly passionate about even the smallest of things. Her newest fit had been becoming a Seer, and this caprice had only been given reason to increase once she'd proven a particular talent towards it. Not sufficient as to actually earn her a place between the ranks of the students of the Order of Diviners, but still well above average.

I'd feared that my acceptance to it, under these circumstances, would culminate in the distancing of our liaisons, but she'd only received me with a courteous smile, just after word of my joining had come about, and it was her enthusiasm that overrode Sebastian Trelawney's in hearing his son would take such curious paths. She had asked for small favors, however, and one of them, I was currently reminded, had been to make her a replica of the onyx and silver ring that we were handed as soon as we swore allegiance to the Order.

Even now, the darken glistens brought to mind the ancient myths and theories of the power of the stone when born by a Seer, as it flickered playfully upon her hand. She smiled as both our eyes fell upon it

"Oh, yes, well, she'd know whether I took Legilimency training or not, and she's so terribly thick in what Seers are concerned, so don't you spoil my fun, Ottaviano Trelawney!"

I felt forced to once again admire her talent for putting a thousand and one clauses in one smooth sentence. True, true, so very true - I'd found that Iris Merrick differed greatly from other maids or caretakers of keeps, and I had no doubt as to that she would, indeed, recognize the pattern, should one oblige in lessons of Legilimency. She'd attended Hogwarts and even taken a mastery in Charms, so she wasn't dense, like most of those to normally accept the position she valiantly occupied in the Trelawney household, for a most discouraging pay.

She never complained, however, though she did take to quite a nasty behavior towards "silly geese" such as cousin Morianna, who commonly tested her patience and good sense. It was to my understanding that the elder woman was of quite intriguing upbringing, and that, for some reason beyond my knowledge, her brother - a Healer, lest I was mistaken- had exiled her from the family. This abrupt decision had, naturally, attracted the grand question of how exactly she would make her living, from then on. The response to that seemed to have been quick assignment to Trelawney Manor, where she officially held the part of caretaker to the household. I rather thought she had other attributions as well, myself, and I was quite willing to wager a most voluptuous sum in that they concerned her and Father's sleeping arrangements...

Wrapping all fingers in a clutch surprisingly forceful for someone as presumably delicate as she, dear cousin dragged me through the corridors.

"Heh. She is giving you trouble, I take it?"

Morianna greeted me with a look that was probably meant to convey her exasperation at the caretaker's conduct.

"Indeed. You cannot imagine how ghastly she is to me! And she's even more horrid when uncle is here - by the way, Uncle Sebastian isn't in now-, and-" the words died on her lips, as her great blue eyes widened further, and she looked at me as if she had never seen me before:

"Heavens, darling! What have you done to your hair?" I smiled, rather surprised that she'd taken note of the little change. I normally took to merely tying the loose curls back or braiding them, on occasion; but Italy - and Venice was hardly an exception- prided in extraordinarily hot summers, and I'd had plenty of that during my visit at Mother's, at the beginning of the summer. So, in tone to both the fashions and necessities, I'd undergone a most painful shortening of the raven locks up to level of the chin. Not having passed by ever since - few could truly formulate any accusations on the respect, as the Trelawneys most often showed me as much affection as I did to them- I was somewhat expecting a reaction.

Most had nodded and said the new style was simply efficient, while a few of my more intimate acquaintances had formulated puns on my presumed ancestry to the Greek deity of the Seers, Apollo. I've not been able to escape the title of "bringer of the Light", or "Oracle" ever since, but, of course, trust Morianna to find every little detail greatly fascinating.

"You disapprove?" I inquired, solely to grant her the pleasure of voicing her enthusiasm in reply:

"Of course not! You look so very handsome!" Twirling slightly in her place, she merrily swung over onto a sofa, spreading her long limbs in a feline position that vaguely brought to mind a young indolent Venus. She beckoned me to sit and I idly took her up on her invitation.

"So, my precious darling, " she purred, as soon as I had sat, admiring the manner in which light played on the black stone of the ring, and making terribly certain that I witnessed her passion for the jewel, "what brings you to me?"

"Is a cousin not allowed to pass by, for mere convenience, in the very house of his father, these days?"

"Not when that one cousin happens to greatly dread this place, no." She smiled sweetly. "Come on, out with it. I'm dying for some news!"

"It's...nothing." I shrugged. "The Order was simply overwhelming, this eve." Lying was a habit which I normally was not accustomed to undertake. First and foremost, because it was deceit that had got my mother pregnant and then cruelly denigrated, so I wouldn't have it as a main means of resolving any affairs. Secondly, and I was currently reminded as Morianna burst in a fit of laughter, because I was rather awful at it.

"Oh, indeed, have you tired of venerating Scaliger? Somehow, that sounds unbelievable!"

Our little missives had, somehow, exchanged purposes. After my acceptance at the Order, I had been the one with the tales, and she the one to gasp in sheer amazement - Scaliger had merely been another personality well to her liking. This fact had been purely underlined by the fact that we shared yet another acquaintance in the person of another student under the famed mentor's care, Audiette de Saint-Remy. She was a pretty little wench of a middle-class lineage who'd never quite known success in any field, be it social or financial. She had quite the reputation amidst our ranks, mostly due to the said Seer cravings - somehow, she'd managed to get her claws on one of the finest pureblood Seers in the Order, Philip of Canterbury, chess player extraordinaire. I didn't mind, myself; Audiette's ambition would deal cards for her well enough, and this wasn't precisely a matter of my direct interest. If anything, knowledge of her dubious personality granted me the advantage of not growing into one of her illicit impulses, rather than diverting me from her.

"Yes. Well, expect the unexpected. "

Her lips tucked in a pout. " So you're not going to tell me?"

"Suffice to say I am here-"

"-and for whatever the reasons, this is always an enchanting incidence." Gathering her veils and the folds of her dress, she quickly raised. "Agreed."

"Do allow me to offer you a perspective of entertainment, then." I made no effort to hide my wonder, or, rather, my amusement. Morianna was fairly gifted where mesmerizing was concerned, and I was quite curious as to what intentions she had towards me. In a moment, I found myself following her as she paced back and forth through the room, toying with the ring.

"There's a receiving, tomorrow eve. " No surprise here - London was packed with two things, and these were, paradoxically, Squibs and balls. "And I'd much need an escort."

Ah. I allowed myself a subtle grimace. How very proper. Celia Trelawney wouldn't permit her daughter direct exposure to the leeches of London and to the receiving which the last wished to attend, so of course her beautiful maiden was forced to rely on the most precarious solutions... her cousin's company and supposed protection. It would please her mother, who would conveniently forget of the Italian predilection for corruption, and find me a most constructive influence, as well as Morianna, who knew she would be given full reign at the ball itself; I couldn't bring myself to refuse her anything, after all.

Still, this wasn't an alternative I was all that willing to contemplate. I didn't fancy outings - they demanded far too many contacts with people and their tastes, and everyone pretended they understood and adored each other, when this could hardly have been further from the truth. Also, one barely had time to think to the fullest, in another's company, and I loathed depending on instincts and impulses, being deprived of the possibility to think things through - gah, I just abhorred it, and that was that.

"Oh." I couldn't quite utter anything else. "Listen, Morianna..." Swirling, she caught hold of my arm, then kneeled nearside the sofa I still occupied nonchalantly.

"Please, darling, cher, my beloved cousin, the only one who understands me!"

"Morianna-"

"Please!" Clutching tighter still, she brought her delicate cheek to brush the lace of my sleeve, as if she were a little abandoned kitten, begging for comfort. "Please!"

I chuckled. "Is this how you mean to entertain me? I don't like receivings, Morianna. You know as much."

She innocently batted her lashes. "Oh, Ottaviano, I know I'm such a villain for asking this-" she eyed me imploringly.

"-and still you ask."

My openly neutral response did not seem to startle her in the least, though I was attempting my best at being firm. I didn't want to get dragged into anything of the sort, and I silently wondered just how it was the subject had come up any a how. It was on account of people like Morianna that balls had been invented, and she was far from endearing to me, as she stood there, vestige of the very social abilities I had never fully mastered.

"I do. Ottaviano, you simply have to - do you believe in predestination?"

"I'm not a Dominican, if that's what you're inquiring." I didn't see how I could be, any a how. While more widely spread in the 1500s, this one religious current had swept Italy and France with hardly an enduring effect.

"No, no, but think about it. You came over just when I was looking for an escort. You never come over, and if that wasn't a sign, I don't know just what is!"

Typical. Soon, she'd be telling me my subconscious had willed me to come there, that night, solely so as to accompany her. "Morianna, I don't think it wise. Besides, it's not all that much to my fancy, so-"

"But there'll be lots of Ravenclaws there!" she threw, rather outraged by my reluctance, and rising speedily from my side, she resumed to pacing about yet again. "And-and-and..."

She turned to me. "The sight of the season shall be there!"

"Who?"

"Ulrich Grindelwald, of all things..."

A small gasp there - I couldn't help it. Everyone with half a sense was acquainted with the tale of Lord Grindelwald, lover of the Arts of Change and hurricane through the Ministry's credos and principles. His new theories on re-inducing the magic in Squibs or enforcing the talents of those of weaker blood were fascinating in theory, but I, for one, highly doubted he would prevail in anything of the sort. I was all heart with the Squibs, of course. Poor bastards, they deserved a chance themselves. But what Grindelwald proposed, and the way in which he refused any compromise with the ministry and kept to his rules and his standing was horrid. He wouldn't renounce a procedure, wouldn't agree to any other sorts of experiments, wouldn't even accept a delay. It was his game or no one else's - and, sadly, this was something the wizardry world had learned speedily enough, with the new Squib and poor-blood associations ravaging wizardry London and protesting widely.

Still...

...to actually meet the brain behind this set of actions...to see the very mind...surely Morianna knew the sort of appeal this brand of suggestion held upon me.

A thin smile crept on her lips yet again.

"Won't you come?"

"I...I don't feel like it, Morianna. Outings, you know what they mean to someone like me." And I didn't mean it as a Seer. There was still the matter of my legitimacy, and of the recognition still in due for me. Who's his mother? Why did she flee to Italy? When was he conceived? These sort of questions invariably pursued me in all official affairs, and, understandably, I didn't take to them in the least.

"But with Ulrich there-"

Her enthusiasm rang somehow peculiar. "Ulrich?"

I immediately knew something was quite wrong as she flushed crimson, beginning to noisily play with her fingers. "I've been...I've been writing to him."

This was shocking news indeed. Morianna...writing...to another man? But-but- did Celia know?

"Don't look at me like that, Ottaviano," she snapped. "They were very much innocent missives, all of them...I just wanted to ask about the fame and fortune, and all that, you know, something I will never have?" There was a hint of exasperation in her words, and I knew better than to press her on the affair.

"Has he ever replied?"

"Well...no," she murmured, somewhat puzzled. "But he sent me a card on Beltane...It wasn't signed, but I know it was from him, it had to be from him!"

"Surely a girl of your looks and talents-" she curtsied, taking to the compliments immensely, "has other admirers as well."

"But they all signed their cards!" she shook her head stubbornly. "No, it was from Ulrich! It had to be him!" She stopped in the middle of the room. "And I have to see him."

To my understanding, Grindelwald's whereabouts were never the same for more than two days in a row, which spoke highly of the time he managed to spend in London. So I wasn't all that surprised in hearing she'd not found any other way of contacting him up to now, but...still. Morianna and her fantasies were something I didn't care to add to my current list of burdens. Scaliger and his fits of conscience, as well as a prohibition against Inducing the Sight were engulfing issues themselves.

I didn't want to be dragged into this. In fact, I told myself, I wouldn't be dragged into this.

And then she said the magic words.

"Please, Ottaviano...please?" I rose to my feet as well, and she took this opportunity to wrap herself around me, again. "Please? Pretty Morianna please?"

Pretty. Morianna. Please.

Per Dio, I'd heard them all. But she had such nice eyes, and such a childish smile, and it was like denying a babe...I started walking off. Must resist the temptation. Agreeing would be far too easy, but the consequences would prove unbearable, I knew as much, and I didn't like it.

I had some will, after all, and it was high time I put it in use.

"Please...?"

Those eyes again. Hell have me. I nodded.

Laughing greatly, she tucked her arms upon mine, then with a curious amount of force for such an apparently defenseless maid, she had me follow a little pattern, waltzing with me through the corridor.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, " she kept whispering, and I could swear that, at one point, a little tear of joy glinted at the corner of her eyes. And I told myself, as regret on this decision began to corner me already, that this was how it had to be, that family loyalty, if nothing else, had to be given its credit. This was what my mother had tried to institute, and this was the reason for which she currently resided, bitter and alone, in one corner of Venice, instead of here, with me. In the end, and this was something I had appreciated throughout time, it all came down to principles.

"Tomorrow eve, and then no more," I said, nearing the door under Iris Merrick's malicious looks. Apparently, it didn't do to content Morianna in anything, under her watch, which was, I thought, precisely why I made a face of being pleased by the ordeal myself. Iris Merrick was the common enemy, there.

"Of course," smiled Morianna and then, as I opened the door, inquired hastily: " but, pray tell, will you please duel him if he refu-"

I made a purpose out of running off and out of that house in an instant, as Morianna muttered something along the lines of further pleas and accusations.

Didn't mind, though - one allowance for the Trelawney line was bad enough!

Still bearing a smile, I focused on returning to the Order in one piece, and even that very much functional.

~~~~~~~~

"Word has it Scaliger's had it hard on you, mate," murmured Aemilius Rosier, quite an intriguing amity of mine, at breakfast, next morn. In a few respects, at least, the Order of the Diviners had taken very much after the pattern Hogwarts had provided - accommodation was accounted for throughout the entire year. We were still permitted to come and go as we pleased, since we were of age, after all, but even these outings were limited to a certain number each week. Separate dormitories were placed at the disposition of each student willing to "donate" to the trusted funds of the Order- and by doing so, in addition to spiritual blessing, one also got to indulge in a bit of privacy.

I had been rather thankful for this little allowance, in the first months of my first year, when the rumors had first formed, and recognition had settled it painfully.

I could still recall the whispers, the little hushed relations between my name and other equally adamant appellatives.

Bastard...I'd hexed the oblivion out of the one to have originally uttered the word, and I was no man of fierce nature. I had hexed him and cried. I hated it, hated the name, hated what it represented, and hated the English for being so stubbornly dire about it. It wasn't my fault. Not my fault.

It was normally expected of sons - especially of those whose creation had taken place beyond the bows of marriage- to sport a strenuously appreciative attitude to their sires. To present a certain affinity towards serving them and their tastes on their knees, while all the time nodding obligingly, like some awfully thick dogs that dedicate their entire lives to serving one master for having been once thrown a bone. Well, everyone's pardon, but I couldn't do it.

Black sheep of the family, unfaithful son, whatever my status, I would not bow my head. I was not to be held accountable for events before my very coming to existence, and would not answer to a man who had only found fit to acknowledge me when his lineage deemed it was high time a Trelawney heir was produced. Undergoing the painfully lenient process of taking on Father's appellative had been an ominous enough hit to whatever roots of my pride, but I couldn't argue with Mother on that respect, not when she had waged a private inner war her entire youth on whether she ought to publicly claim me a Trelawney, after she'd fallen with child, and when my recognition as such had been all she had always desired. I couldn't disappoint her so.

Father's wife at the time might have had no reluctance or impediment to banishing a barely-of-age lady of lower rank than herself to her homeland of Italy, after her husband's betrayal and the conception of a child. And the mighty Lord Trelawney might have found it proper and quaint to convince Mother that I was to be admitted into his family with no further delay, once his legitimate consort met an early end, and he was left with no hopes of a successor. But from there to demand any sort of affection on my behalf was crossing one too many borders of both good taste and upbringing. I'd valiantly pointed a good spirit whilst aged eleven - that same year, I had been acknowledged, and Sebastian Trelawney had cautiously mentioned how all sons of his would learn the English tongue and the English rules, and attend the English school.

So I had soon enough fallen in the ranks of Hogwarts' Ravenclaw, a mere lad of different country, and missing his mother terribly, and with scarcely a few words of English but a nice range of Italian invectives. I would always return to Mother in the summers and attempt to avoid any thoughts on my English blood and my English heritage. Quite futile, all in all, as by the time any fears on my origin being disputed at Hogwarts managed to fade, I was to leave the last. I had joined the Order of Diviners rapidly enough, and here the torment had again commenced. Although, having been granted a name for seven years then, they could still not grasp how a once illegitimate son could seek their company. No matter the circumstances. It was, and I had heard this curious phrasing times enough as to deem it little but a litany, "simply not the done thing."

Those students mentored by Scaliger aside me were far more "tolerant", to put it mildly. They didn't show their contempt on each occasion, and neither did they shun my presence. Of them all, Aemilius was the one with whom I'd got best familiar, and I did suspect this had a great deal to do with our both having experimented non-English environments. Granted, Italy and France weren't all that similar, but it still made muttering in our own tongues slightly more comprehensible to each other than to the innocent little English...and taking note of Aemilius...

My eyes silently met his over the teapot. We commonly served our meals together, and, with the events of the other night demanding some sort of solemnity, I couldn't have pointed to anything being wrong by as much as breaking this habit. It was rather evident, however, that he'd hardly needed any suggestions whatsoever, and that he was well informed on the affair. Just how, I couldn't possibly imagine, but he knew, and that was that.

"There seems to be word on everything, these days," I noted, attempting to maintain at least a façade of tranquility and testing my tea through a nice sip. Gah. As poisonous as always. Why was it the British insisted in offering it to guests, when it seldom tasted accordingly, by the Italian fashion? Or at least the Chinese one, were the last more to their fancy. Per Dio, no! They had to do it all wonderfully British.

"Come on, Ottaviano. Everyone knows you Induce." He took a few biscuits, carefully dipping them in a thin layer of honey. "I'm rather surprised the tale hasn't reached the Council just yet. Don't think they'd be all that pleased."

I shrugged, absent-mindedly. No, it wasn't true. I did not flaunt my accomplishments. I had initially - and still did so, seldom- discussed the performances with the fourth years, particularly on the issue of the...of the whispers. Somehow I managed to mask a shiver through a more determined clutch of my tea cup in yet another sip. But the matter he brought up was fairly interesting - and succeeded in reminding me just how great a gamble risking the loss of Scaliger's protection truly was.

They will throw you out of the Order.

Would they truly? I ardently wished I could be confident on a negative reply. Nevertheless, I wasn't.

"The Council? Not be enticed to the core by the sparkles of their little jewel?" Both Aemilius and I turned to our right sweeping forth from which was the mignon figure of the steamy brunette, Audiette de Saint-Remy. The peaceful smile on her face spoke clearly of just how much she had overheard, and that no truly vital pieces of information had reached her knowledge. Even if everything was as Aemilius assessed it, a bit of subtlety couldn't hurt, so her ignorance - either true or pretended- pleased me. Behind her rushed another gent of the Order, fourth year himself. Philip of Canterbury - Muggle-born, to Aemilius' often stated fascination.

"Can't imagine that!" chirped a quite delighted Audiette, setting her tray on the table and seating herself in my vicinity. Philip greeted us with a curt nod, and took his place near Aemilius, preoccupying himself with the much demanding activity of gazing at the empty plate in front of him. Impulse insisted I urge him to go to the buffet and fetch himself a bite, but one glimpse told me swiftly enough what his precise trouble was. His eyes were little but sparkling, and the little blood vines near his temples and on his wrists were wondrously pronounced.

Hadden. The late meditation. He was close. I delighted in watching the progress of others' Inducing of the Sight, mayhap simply because I could never follow my own. I knew all the stages in theory, of course, but their materialization was another thing entirely.

There were four levels, one could tell, and in the old legends there had also been compounded a parallel between their passing and that of the seasons. There was the early meditation, Akarra. Lightheadedness, almost like being inebriated, and so wonderfully lost, but not quite as much as in the second one, Yarrai. The latter was said to function as something close to a sensorial anesthetic - a one Sella Weiss was said to have been healed of first-degree burns under it and not felt a thing. Then there was Hadden, ever so different to the first, a state in which one was constantly alert and painfully aware of nearly everything in the surroundings. One couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, could barely say word. All one could think of was the tumult of sensations, and its excruciating effect on the sore and sensitive organism.

And then there was Abrasax. The state of Vision, plane of the mists.

And of the cold...

"You all right, Philip, old boy?" This was Aemilius, yet again. Canterbury's representative failed to provide an answer, merely nodding repeatedly.

"He's been like this the entire morning." Concern dripped fully from Audiette's words, but there wasn't a thing we could do for him, under the circumstances.

Aemilius carefully buttered a few pieces of toast. "How long does it normally take?"

It took me a few moments to realize I was the one to whom the question had been directed.

"It all depends on the organism."

The vagueness of the reply brought Audiette a smile. "Oh, honestly, Aemilius, don't you ever go over the theory?"

He shrugged. "It's not bound to be of too much help, when you're truly webbed in it, now is it?"

"Then why do you think they instruct us on the ordeal? For the sake of pretty eyes?"

"Mayhap for eyes, but his," said Aemilius, lowering steadily over the table towards Philip, and catching the peak of his chin by his thumb, raising it upwards. His face exposed, one could get a better look at the eyes - and this was hardly an endearing. Little bluish veins hung near the orb, and with Philip's eyes having been a watery azure as well, this held a distinct resemblance to a pile of nestled serpents, writhing heavily above. Sickening.

"Are certainly not pretty," Aemilius finished, looking somewhat appalled himself. Letting go to Philip, the last indulged in a letting his head little but hang on his chest. His temples pounded formidably, and he'd gritted his teeth. Yes, these were great pains indeed - hearing, seeing, sensing everything, it was maddening. One kept feeling as if constantly persecuted. Emotion, movement, all around, no peace. No peace whatsoever.

"Scaliger came off rather distressed, the past eve, " commented Audiette, matter-of-factly, most likely hoping that, in changing the subject, she'd also put an end to Aemilius' disturbing explorations. Ought have been a Healer, Aemilius - God knew he could take on any sort of revolting view, and actually yearn to see it a second time.

"Rumor," noted Aemilius, his omniscient smile reminding me vaguely as to why I so very much loathed the latter word, "has it that he had sufficient reason, any a how."

"Indeed." The topic wearied me. I still very much wished to know just how it was everyone had been more or less informed of the little ordeal. "Shouldn't he have a mentor nearside him?"

We all returned to Philip.

"He's under master Tybalt. But they called for him." Audiette took a sip of her tea, apparently more pleased by its taste than myself. "At the Ministry."

"So he's all alone." If any dread shadowed Aemilius, his words did not show it. He did seem to exhibit a wondrous sense of calm, and this quite confirmed my theory on how a medical vocation would have much suited him. To my understanding, this was hardly viewed as disappointing, even by the uncongenial aristocracy, of which his rank made him very much part. It wasn't to my comprehension whether the Rosiers were particularly fond of Seers, or whether they too humored the upper class by a strictly dismayed attitude towards anything that did not hint towards the sacred social or financial standing. But an untrained Seer was a veritable danger to himself as to everyone aside him - and it was rather well known how a Seer's life was short lived, even without the prolonged crises of Sight- so the training for they of powerful talent in the Sight was quite compulsory.

"Yes." Our female companion delicately picked at a creamy cake. "Why do you think they wanted Tybalt?"

Aemilius burst out in laughter. "Oh, please, everyone knows, dearest."

"Do enlighten us." I didn't know, and I pointed to as much. He weighed both my plea and Audiette's cake with considerable attention.

"Sweets for the sweet," he remarked, simply. And while, under normal conditions, this might have been deemed as some sort of compliment, it was fairly evident as to where he hinted.

"Oh, no! Go fetch your own, you silly brute, they're over there, at the buffet!"

He seemed quite unmoved by her direction. "Yes, but the buffet's so far away..."

Confronted to this sort of logic, Audiette offered an exasperated sigh, and carefully pushed her plate towards him. "Now speak, you villain."

Nodding appreciatively towards the cake - and a nice chocolate layer, did the object of his affections have...- Aemilius kindly poured upon us the entirety of his wisdom, not forgetting to make perfect use of an all-knowing tone.

"Grindelwald." A supposedly tense pause followed.

"Oh, so I gave my cake for a ruddy word?"

"Silence, there's more!"

"There had better be." She threateningly clasped both hands onto her chest.

"The ministry hasn't taken all that well to his new petition. You see, he...he wants to make use of a few Seers. For his studies."

I frowned, mildly. "But wasn't he principally centered on Alchemy?"

"He is, to the Order of Change's great horror." Understandable. Then again, one would have normally believed any eccentric poor-blood with half a mind and a lovely Gringotts account would have invariably come to their liking. Considering how Alchemy was responsible for three out of five Damnables, curses of the Old, I couldn't see as to how anything or anyone could come to either surprise or alarm it.

"But those new affairs in which he's meddled carry a great wager. He's promised a great deal to the Squibs and those of weak magic. He needs Seers for the new studies, and he needs trained ones, at that."

"And the Order of Diviners doesn't like it," tested Audiette.

"Of course not. Our branch holds as many old tales that had best remain so as every other. Besides, there aren't many Seers around, and they're not to be wasted. Understand, " Aemilius placed a hand onto his chest, as if to better underline the direct connection this had upon us "we are not to be wasted."

"But doesn't the Ministry support Tybalt? Won't they hear him out then decide acco-"

A long shriek broke the girl's last words, then Philip made his sole contribution to the conversation: "Head hurts."

Even that was enough to redirect our attention upon him. As if to enforce his words, he suddenly clenched his hands on each side of his temples, further gritting his teeth and rocking back and forth upon his chair.

"Head hurts..." he kept hissing in between what seemed little convulsions, and Aemilius felt forced to suggest his taking to the auditory.

"No," Audiette shook her head. We were all on our feet, by now, save for Philip who had lost even the ability to utter word, and now clung to his seat and head like a madman. "Master Guido is there with Terrance Williams." She threw me an uneasy glance.

"He'll need a warm space," Aemilius noted patiently, the only one of us who'd not lost reason.

"Yes," I confirmed the obvious, feeling an abrupt touch of faintness myself, then composing just in time to help him pick a pained Philip up. I tried to avoid looking at him. Gods, was I like that as well? Did I cry like that? Or swing like that? Did I too shake and shiver? We never recalled these events after, and I currently thanked God for small mercies. "Yes he will."

A voice from another table rung shallow: "Is he alright?" No doubt another fourth year or more so to have recognized the symptoms.

"No, he's not all right!" muttered Aemilius, exasperated, and between the rather obscene comments concerning Philip's nature on account of doing this to him, I could swear I also heard something about his chocolate cake. Furious, he glided past the buffet area, with a tight grasp on Philip, and therefore imposing I increase the rhythm of my pacing as well.

"Take him to the Astronomy Tower!" suggested the same man as before, and in due time, as well. Already, Philip was quivering madly and whitish foam escaped his lips, and his eyes had rolled back, now presenting a glistening silver. These indications, I'd been told, resembled greatly those of a mostly Muggle-branded disease, by the name of epilepsy.

The Astronomy Tower had had many uses, in its long time of existence, but I had a distinct impression we were about to settle a new. Situated to the Eastern lateral, and with a fine view towards Orion, it was commonly the one location where the one art we'd kept from Hogwarts was still researched. We took Astronomy twice a week, in our earlier years, then only once from the fourth on. It did have an unique quality, and this was precisely the one for which we'd now sought - since most studies were executed during the night times, and since all estimation were done in the chamber beneath the grand opening, it was very well heated.

"Put him there," said Audiette, sliding in front of us and motioning towards the grand Roman sofa placed near a walling, where the questioners sat during our examinations.

We roughly managed to carry Philip a few steps more, before launching him in the specified direction. I wasn't precisely a strong man, myself, and neither could Aemilius take pride in a striking constitution, so the ordeal had succeeded in draining us both.

"So what now?" he demanded, and I could only think of a suggestion:

"C-call for a mentor?"

"No time - " Audiette shook her head. She'd lowered near Philip, enclosing her fingers to his. It did him no good, as he was hardly conscious at the time, but still, her affection was visible. "He'll be in the mists by the time one arrives."

Aemilius' expression was yet again that of sheer exasperation: "So what do we do?"

She shrugged: "I don't- Ottaviano!"

Between shakes and twists, Philip had now begun uttering. He kept slamming his head back and forth on the sofa, and Audiette was doing her best to keep him down. Only now, his eyes too rolled, and his veins were incredibly darkened, as he tried to speak. I couldn't tell what, at first, then it was all very much clear. And the voice he used, the voice seemed to pour through him. The lips to spawn them were his, true, but the voice was cold, and dead, and not like Philip's gentle tone, and not like his phrasing...

"Aris, Braxen, Rowah..."

"What's he doing?" Audiette clung to my arms, and tears swept her face violently. "Ottaviano, you've been through this, help him!"

"I-I..." I didn't know what to do. Aris...Braxen...Rowah...these were letters from the Diviners' alphabet, standing for A, B and R, respectively. He was murmuring them. And Audiette was yelling and pulling my sleeves, and asking me to help - but I didn't know how to help him! I didn't want his life in my hands, I wanted to call a Seer, a mentor, someone who could divert him from the mists. What if I failed? And even that was supposing that I knew how to handle the situation and therefore submit my actions to risk; but I didn't know. I was alone on this, and I didn't know what to do.

"Aris..." Philip chanted.

And then I understood. "He's..."

Aemilius had lost all patience, and now grasped me as well. Damn him, it did no good to shake me further, I just wanted a mentor, I- "What's he doing? Ottaviano!"

"He's...he's... " had to think...had to think...why did they hurry me? I had to think! "Sanen." The S of the Diviners' code.

"Sanen," Philip repeated. I tested further:

"Aris."

"Aris..."

I drew in. Last of the lot, were I correct. "Xanou."

"Xanou..."

And then together, we whispered: "Aris. Braxen. Rowah. Aris. Sanen. Aris. Xanou. "

"Abrasax," said Audiette, putting the letters in their Romanic correspondent.

I nodded. "Aye."

"What was the next step..." Aemilius let go of my arms, and only then could I discern the soreness of the places where he'd taken hold of me.

The woman rose to her feet then calmly paced back and forth, reminding me vaguely of Morianna. Oh, would that I lived to tell her of this, she'd know not to envy my gift as a Seer, had she ever done so! "Think of the theory - "

"I don't know!" I snapped. This was ridiculous, I didn't remember anything of the ritual, just like I didn't of what I had prophesized as well. Scaliger carried me through the knowledge, Scaliger had tended to all this, I didn't remember! Why couldn't they understand? "We don't learn how to mentor anyone or ourselves 'til fifth year!"

"Damned be Tybalt and his outings!" Aemilius slammed a fist to the wall in open fury. I gave him a reproachful look - thought he we were any more pleased by the ordeal than he?- and then my eyes fell on the tapestry...red...red like...

"T-there were rose petals in the auditory...I had rose petals on my lips upon awakening. On my hands as well. "

"Conjure some roses!" He turned towards Audiette, who merely shook her head.

"We can't - magical interferences while the subject resides in Abrasax cause great damage. He might- oh, who knows what might happen!"

As if to remind her of where she was best needed, Philip suddenly shook up, then again underwent his convulsive halts.

I tried to keep my mind on the other train of events, on our little search. This didn't do. Rose petals were a constant element. They had to be there, and I said as much. "Rose petals and water. Always. Crimson on the water. Crimson water..."

Aemilius' face suddenly lit in understanding. "A symbol. Remember Scaliger's first lesson?" He quoted, smoothly: " A Seer knows not pain nor hurt, for he or she ties to the earth "

Audiette frowned, more pointing concentration than anger: " Wasn't that from-?"

The inquiry unsettled Aemilius: "Blimey, who ruddy cares? Earth, my boy, materia, corpusculi, a tie to the earth. Crimson in water - that's only a symbol. A replacement!"

"For the real tie..." My eyes lost on the ground. "Blood."

Aemilius again took to sporting his perfect calm and, on a firm tonality, extended a hand towards the woman, whose convulsive shakes spoke enough of just how much this affected her. "Audiette, your stiletto."

She looked up, even her lips as much as trembling. "Your pardon?"

"I know you carry one, hand it over," he murmured, then sketched but not a gesture as she silently parted a the layers of golden lace from her skirt, finally revealing a shapely thigh, and, upon it, tied with a little string of velvet, a pointy little dagger. Aemilius soon took hold of it, keeping it in the light, and then, with a sigh, murmured bitterly: "Cursed be you, Philip!"

And then, with no notice, he made a little cut on his palm. Not deep, but blood poured enough, still, and the three of us all stopped to gaze to the crimson liquid in wonder. As if it were the first time we had laid eye upon its brand, and, somehow, it was. We'd all seen blood, all of us, as an element of continuity, of maintenance. And now it was about to make a swift transformation to something far more, to a tool of occult creation...

"Blood..." whispered Audiette, and as Aemilius let a few good drops be placed on Philip's lips, then his wrists, I though she would faint. The carnality of it all was dazzling, and I found it obstinately fascinating.

"You bloody owe me, you Mudblood!" said Aemilius, weakly, casting another glance towards the shaking Philip. We all cared for Philip, there was no point in feigning it. And seeing him like that...

I pushed the sofa more towards the center of the room, again making use of an insufficient strength. Damn it all to hell. Aemilius had grasped his own hand by the wrist, and kept looking at the wound with a dread that I took a few instants to reason. Despite all Audiette's claims, he knew the theory - and if not, his instinct served him well enough.

We had to build the circle, the circle of the 365 spheres. As many spheres as days in the years, as many mists in the realm of Abrasax.

"Aris," he murmured, nodding, as if having noted my recognition and urging me to go on. I took the dagger that bore still his blood, then encrypted in a corner, on the floor, the design of the letter Aris. Then handed the dagger for him to wipe again on his wound. More blood, we needed more blood. Had to draw the whole of it, in the circle.

"Braxen. Rowah. Aris. Sanen. Aris. Xanou...." His litany, it became, and I drew them all, loyally. Blood, all blood, and Philip kept shaking. Poor Philip. Poor Aemilius. So much blood...

I had never understood why we did not use the Greek alphabet but the Diviner's one in writing a few things. Abrasax was one of them - it only seemed to make sense if you wrote it under the Greek letters. Alpha for A - and the correspondent number for alpha, which was 1. Beta for B- the number was 2. Ro for R - 100. Another Alpha - 1. Sigma for S - 200. Alpha again - 1. Then Hi for X - 60. Add them up, and you got 365.

I sketched them all faithfully.

"Abrasax," said Aemilius, in barely a whisper, and then I uttered myself:

"The realm of mists..." and we all gazed in horror as Philip's body, from shaking madly, had grown remotely cold and still.

~~~~~~~~~

But what we had believed a most demanding and forceful task was in no way as easily ended. Philip stood in his place, a mass of pale flesh and bone, and even his breath seemed frozen when meeting the air. Audiette had neared him, yet again. Questioning, her elegant fingers had probed his hand - and there was reason enough to fear the touch. He was hideously cold. Almost like a cadaver, only even with those there was the vague distinctive thread of solemnity, of having earned passage to that one "better place". There was no such reassurance here, only the loss in the mists, and we had not heart nor courage enough to ponder the dreadful consequences of such an action.

"Do something," she pleaded, finally. "Anything! Just do it!"

"I-" I drew in. I had been standing near the wall, where Aemilius had seen fit to position me. I'd found soon enough that I could no longer depend on own forces, and that whatever physical strength I may have indeed possessed was simply diminished under emotional stress. I'd always known I held not the organized mind, and that I couldn't, as British gentry seemed to find fit, draw the line and just not take note of the circumstances. I couldn't distance myself from the surroundings, as much, and I couldn't play their emotionless games. "I can't! Get a mentor!"

"Don't further panic," advised Aemilius. He'd slipped towards a wall himself, and had somehow procured a little flask that indubitably contained some sort of popular "anesthetic" - Firewhiskey. "Just do what need be done." He shrugged, and in front of his evident casualty - as generated by the little liquor-provided oblivion as it might have been- I couldn't help but further damn my weakness in the respect.

"I...can't..."

Audiette's eyes met mine instantly. "Please, Ottaviano. Please..." I wanted to reply, and to tell her just why I couldn't, why it wasn't in my power. I wanted to tell her of the devastating sensation, of how wrong it was of her to place this sort of responsibility upon my shoulder. Of how weak I was, and how I could gamble his life, and that this was not a jest in which I cared to indulge. Not one in which I had the power to do so.

But I wasn't offered the chance. In his place, Philip commenced another series of trembles, and the voice that haunted him echoed feebly a second time:

" Cold...cold..."

Aemilius' determination and Audiette's implorations heartened my answer. "No, not cold, think not of the cold."

"It's cold, and the whisper, cold-"

I clasped my hands and walked towards him. Somehow, the distance between us brought unease to me, if not to him, and I longed for some sort of touch. "Philip, don't panic. Focus on the whisper."

"The whisper is cold..." he shifted in his place, threw a hand up then let the motion die as I grasped it, our fingers tangling in a dance of the flesh.

"It is." The resolve in my tonality was as false as Audiette's innocence. "But listen to it."

"Cold!" Don't fall in the mists, I wanted to cry, don't fall...and still, he could so very easily...

"No, no, don't, Philip, think of the warmth, the color."

"There is only gray...," he said, and this assessment grieved him immensely. I tried to think of it, think of mists myself, to recall the experience, but I couldn't. It seemed so far away, so distant from the then and there, from the way in which our skin tied, and Aemilius' blood flickered cruelly on his lips...

"Yes. Gray. But it will be no longer, for the gray shall pass, and once it does there will be but you, and the warmth within you. Think not of the cold."

"Fire of silver...lord of the blazes..."

I gasped. Lord of the blazes... there was such a startling familiarity in those words, such a dazzling perfection...my prophecy. My prophecy as well. It had to be. I immediately attempted to banish this thought - Scaliger would have told me had I uttered such words, and he hadn't, so I mustn't have...but still...

"Ottaviano, is everything alright?"

Someone - Audiette, or Aemilius, or mayhap the both or even none but the wicked voices in my mind- had posed the inquiry, and I nodded. We were alone, Philip and I, alone in a chamber of dreams. And as he lived for the words he bled, so did I for him and they; and that they could have such immense power over him, over him, well that was wrong, so very, very wrong. I hated it, and yearned for it all the same. The gift of the Sight. Such a horrid little talent. More of a curse.

"Lord of the Whisper, whose voice has grown silent." He paused, and I thought he would end this, but he didn't. "Lord of the Webs whose nets have faded. Lord of the Blazes...Lord of the Blazes who shall know life..."

Audiette offered me a look of concern, and what little tears had earlier shadowed her beauty now only came to endow her with an undoubted excellence as she birthed them silently. Ever so quickly I obliged in a quick inner question, in concern to the nature of the relations between Philip and she. There was evidently something there to have escaped my attention...

"Lord of the Blazes, Lord of the-" behind me, the door slammed open, and my two companions shrieked with something a slight close to relief, or terror. I didn't turn - I couldn't turn. I could only carry on Philip's hymn and his passion.

"Lord of the Blazes, command thee-"

Abruptly, I was thrown off my feet. I reached the wall, softly, finding that I had only then and there regained my breath. I hadn't even known I'd held it insofar, but this dizziness and fascination for Philip and his chant seemed to dissolve almost immediately. I made to ask what happened, but then I too saw the darken figure who now laid bent upon him, two fingers placed on Philip's forehead, and murmuring powerfully:

"There is blood before you, there is blood upon you, there is blood within you, awaken!"

Audiette's tears turned from grief to joy, then fear. "Maestro Scaliger... "

"Not a word from you, Miss Saint-Remy." He turned to the still open door, and in the borderline I could distinguish the slim frame of the man to have directed us to the Astronomoy Tower. "Leonard, take Mister Canterbury to proper accommodation." The student murmured a note of acceptance of his duty, then quickly went to pick Philip, who'd by now seen fit to stand. His eyes were awfully blurred, as I knew mine to always be under these conditions, and as I offered him my cape, I could see him tuck it to his mouth. He appeared at the verge of throwing up, and his constant claims of a headache said enough on just how much the ordeal had affected him on a physical scale.

Poor bastard. Wait he until he would meet the true emotional consequences, the ignorance on what had come to pass, the pain of sensing the prophecy had been there, that it had swept him by...that the Sight was not his captive but tormentor...

"What you have done here is monstrous. You were not prepared to do this, you risked his life, and your own!" There was no hiding Scaliger's ferocity, and it was deeply carved on his face as he'd even gritted his teeth and rather hissed his accusations than spoke them: "Why?"

"We didn't have time to call on-" Aemilius' attempt to explain was met by an unsympathetic glance.

"You had time! What you did not have was knowledge, and you made use of this, and risked a man's life! How dare you? How ruddy dare you? Oh, would that I never laid eyes upon you, but I have, and for this very reason I grant you a last word. Be gone to your chambers, the two of you, I shall seek you in private. The one I wish to address, the one who best knew the gamble, the one who broke his word is here in front of me, and it is with him that I shall have the first battle. Wage your own with your own consciences, until I attend to you."

Silence followed keenly. But they did as he asked. The door closed with Aemilius murmuring his remaining apologies. I sank on the sofa, the depth of the experience having bewildered me completely. I wanted to leave, wanted to breathe in, wanting to forget. And the worst of it was that, while there was solace for Philip Canterbury, there would be none for me. Further more, there was the matter of the prophecy and its correlation to what I sincerely believed to be my own as well. Something in the shadows...whispers...and now Scaliger ominously settling his scrutinizing glare upon me...

Reality returned to me through Scaliger's bitter murmur:

"I will not shelter my fears or fury, Ottaviano. There is only one penalty for those who taunt fortune as you just have, and for those who do not heed rules. And even this does not suffice for what you - all of you- just did. Expulsion, dear boy. Expulsion from the Order of Diviners."