Eremis &The College of Divanar

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Or snow elves. Or magic. There weren’t a lot of things. But the world constantly changes. And to thrive as a sorceress you must change with it.

- Marowyn

AWAKENING

Paranoid they’ll be caught by the Headmistress Marowyn, Eremis scans her surroundings, making sure no one can see the mischief her little sister is up to in the House of Light. This is it. This is how I get kicked out of college. When she’s sure the temple is empty, she looks back at her little sister, who sits atop the mortal. The mortal, half-naked, with skin as dark as the robe Eremis wears, and a shaved head, floats atop the Pool of Light with his eyes closed.

“So, this is how a man looks,” her sister, Varadhel, says, her legs submerged in the pale water, an offense whose punishment means death. No! No! Eremis takes off her hood and runs a hand through her silver hair. How did she even get here? She’s not supposed to be here! I’m not supposed to be here! She groans. What do I do? What do I do? She can try whispering an incantation that’ll levitate Varadhel off the mortal. No. No. I can’t. Doing so will only bring Marowyn straight to the House of Light. She can detect the slightest spell.

“They don’t look much different than we do,” Varadhel continues as she inspects the mortal’s ears. “I mean, aside from their ears.” She touches her own pointed ears. “And you know what, Eremis? He kind of looks like Dad, doesn’t he?”

Eremis’s fear of getting caught dies for but a brief moment. Dad. Varadhel, with long golden locks and blue eyes that match their mother, never had the chance to meet their father, Zaghenis. Heck, she’s never had the chance to meet any elven boy or man since she was born after their mysterious disappearance. Eremis, on the other hand, the spitting image of her father as her mother always told her, with short hair, a long nose, hazel eyes, and thin lips, wasn’t. She remembers when there were men. She remembers a time when she did have friends, all of them boys. And she remembers the bond she had with her father. I miss him. I miss him so much. After his disappearance, when magic became a privilege only the College of Divanar could use, Eremis would show Varadhel memories of their father through a crystal ball. “This is him,” she would tell her underneath the covers of her bed. “This is our dad.”

She doesn’t know him like I do, Eremis thinks as she crosses her arms over her chest, staring at her little sister. She doesn’t love him like I do. “No,” she answers. “He doesn’t look like dad. Now get off the mortal.”

Varadhel ignores her order and lays a hand on the mortal’s cheek. “Is he dead?” She places a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel a heartbeat.”

“Varadhel!” Eremis snaps. “Stop touching him!”

Varadhel retracts her hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It just happened!”

“It just happened?” Eremis scoffs, raising her voice. “It just happened? Everything always just happens with you!” She groans. “Get off him!”

“No!” Varadhel shoots back.

“Varadhel!”

“No!” her sister shouts, her voice echoing out of the House of Light and into the college’s white halls and walls plastered with figures of past kings, queens, and their white sun.

Eremis grunts and taps her foot. “Get. Over. Here. Now.”

“Noooooo!” Varadhel howls.

Huffing with anger, Eremis jumps into the white pool, the water up to her waist, and rushes to grab her little sister. The second Eremis enters the pool is the second Varadhel dives and swims away, her little arms flailing like mad as if she was fleeing from the jaws of a predator. “Come here, you little runt!” Eremis roars, quickly catching up. Varadhel squeals and screams, swimming faster.

This is it! This is the last straw! I’ve had it with her! Whenever Eremis tells her to not do something, she does it. Tell her to do something, she won’t. And the questions she asks! She never shuts up! The day Eremis was chosen as a Disciple for Marowyn, an honor only a select seven are granted, Varadhel bombarded her with questions when she returned home. “What’s the college like? What’s the House of Light? Why can’t you talk about it? What’s the Ervus? Why do they wear white robes and you wear black? Huh? Huh? Huh?” I can kill her! I should kill her! She’s not going to even bother to question how Varadhel snuck into the college. The time for questions is over. I’ve had it!

Eremis catches up to her little sister, latches onto her waist, and picks her up with both hands. Varadhel screams and kicks, throwing a tantrum. “Stop it!” Eremis demands.

“No!”

“Stop it!”

“Noooooooooo!” Varadhel howls.

Eremis grunts. “I oughta drown you!”

“Then drown me!”

Fueled by rage, Eremis sinks her little sister’s head into the pool for a second, then two, then three. In the fifth second, her anger vanishes in an instant as she realizes just what the hell she’s doing. Oh, no! She lifts Varadhel’s head out of the water, holds her close, and caresses her face. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I’m so sorry!” Varadhel coughs and wheezes, catching her breath. When she does, she slaps Eremis across the face and breaks free of her grip, swimming toward the edge of the pool. Once she reaches it, she lifts herself up, crawls, then walks, then runs toward the exit. She never makes it past the doors. She bumps headfirst into the green robes that belong to none other than the headmistress of the college.

Marowyn.

Standing at the height of about two women, Marowyn’s long black hair is worn in a dragon braid. She wears a necklace with a turquoise gemstone, the same color as her eyes. Beautiful but terrifying. Underneath her robes lies a physique as strong as the paintings of their greatest male warriors. Eremis and her six Disciples saw her physique on the day she gave them a lesson on the way of the sword and shield. “You can’t rely on magic all the time,” she said in their courtyard, the white sun highlighting every muscle on Marowyn’s half-naked body. “When spells fail you, and they will, you must look for something else. A sword. A spear. A shield. A rock. Or…” She held her large and thick hands in front of her face. “Your fists. When I’m through with you, you’ll know how to kill and torture someone a thousand different ways.”

She wasn’t lying. Though the punishments Marowyn inflicts on her seven Disciples are cruel, they’re nothing in comparison to what she does to the Ervus, women in white cloaks meant to serve. And heal. Since the time Eremis has been in the college, she has heard countless stories of the members of the Ervus tortured in different ways.

The most Eremis has suffered was a lashing. The first time she was whipped, she wanted to return home to her mother and sister. She would have done it were it not for the token she kept: a silver bracelet her father gave her that became a reminder of her mission. To master magic in order to learn of her father’s disappearance.

I’ve ruined it, Eremis thinks as Marowyn shoots her that cold gaze of hers. I’ve ruined my chance to find out what happened to dad.

Varadhel, her clothes soaked, clings to the headmistress’s robe. Marowyn looks down at her as if she’s never seen a child before. “Off,” she demands like one would to a dog. Varadhel complies, and Marowyn asks her, “You’re her sister, aren’t you?” Varadhel doesn’t respond. “Aren’t you?” Varadhel nods. “You have a tongue, don’t you?” Her sister nods again. “Then use it.”

“Yes. I’m her sister.”

Marowyn looks at Eremis and doesn’t say a word for a long time. What is she going to do? “You made an oath. You knew my rules. And you broke it.”

“Marowyn, I—”

Eremis shuts up when Marowyn places a hand atop Varadhel’s head. She runs a slow hand through her golden locks, and Eremis holds her breath, worried for her sister’s safety. Please, don’t harm her.

Marowyn brushes her sister’s hair two more times before she raises an eyebrow for a second. Suddenly, she places an index finger on her temple. Her touch makes Varadhel’s body grow limp in an instant, and she collapses onto the floor with her eyes closed. Eremis screams out her sister’s name, rushing out of the pool and kneeling by her side. “Varadhel!” She pats her face, hoping to wake her up. She doesn’t. So, Eremis places an ear to her heart, listening for a beat. She hears it and sighs, somewhat relieved. Huffing, she forms a fist, helps herself to her knees, ready to lash out at her headmistress, but stops as Marowyn waves her hand down, conjuring a spell that paralyzes Eremis and keeps her from standing. She tries to scream. She tries to move. But all she can do is watch Marowyn clap her hands twice, summoning two members of the Ervus to enter the House of Light, their faces covered by white veils, their hoods worn over their heads, and their hands enveloped by white silk gloves. “We’ve a new member,” Marowyn tells them before she picks Varadhel up and carries her out of the House of Light.

No! No! The Ervus place a black hood over Eremis’s head before dragging her out the only door and into the hallway. Aware of the layout of the College, she memorizes each door the Ervus drags her through solely by relying on her hearing. I don’t recognize this one, she thinks as she hears their footsteps echo down an iron staircase that seems as if it goes on and on and on. When the staircase ends, she hears silent and crazed murmurs to her left and right. Murmurs of what has to be more than four dozen women.

When the Ervus stop dragging her, she realizes that they’ve stopped in front of something. Whoosh! Her black hood is removed, and before she can scan her surroundings, she’s tossed inside a dark jail cell. There, one member holds a torch while the second strips her down and holds her paralyzed body against the black brick wall. She draws a whip and begins the lashing, striking Eremis’s back two dozen times. On the last strike, the Ervus leave and lock the steel door as blood trickles down Eremis’s back.

Dark. Cold. Eremis whimpers to herself as she lays on the wet and filthy floor, the jail filled with the stench of piss and shit. She thinks of Varadhel, regretting her outburst, regretting being so mean to her. I have to get out of here. I have to save her from Marowyn. She tries to scream. She tries to move. But she remains paralyzed. Frustrated, she takes in a deep breath and waits. And waits. Time passing her by as she focuses on nothing but her breath, doing her best to keep calm. When she feels an itch on her nose, she instinctively reaches to scratch it and…smiles, realizing that the spell has worn off.

Overcome with hope and strength, she whispers an incantation that will provide her flame, but nothing happens. Strange. She tries another spell and another, but she ends up getting the same result: nothing. Why doesn’t it work? She tries thinking of an answer but lets the thought die as Marowyn’s words echo in her mind: “When spells fail you, and they will, you must look for something else.” Something else. Hands raised, she uses touch to find her way to the iron door. Once she finds it, she touches the handle and tries to pry it open. It doesn’t work. So, she crouches down and searches for some item that can pick the lock open. She finds nothing. Frustrated, she kicks the door again and again until she feels a sharp pain in her knee. She curses from the pain, and the door suddenly swings open as two members of the Ervus rush in. Desperate, Eremis tries charging one woman down, but they end up pinning her down to the floor before drawing the whip again and leaving behind another two dozen lashes on her back.

When they leave, Eremis crawls to a corner of the jail cell and holds her knees to her chest, crying. She cries and cries until her eyes grow dry. Once that happens, she focuses on her breath again until she yawns and rests her head against the wall. Surprisingly, sleep finds her, and she ends up having sweet dreams of her sister. Dreams of them laughing and playing underneath the white sun. The dreams take a dark turn when Marowyn appears out of nowhere, soon latching onto Varadhel and taking her away from Eremis. “No! No!” The nightmare forces her awake. I’m still here, Eremis thinks as she realizes she’s still naked and tortured in that jail cell.

Dark. Cold. She sees only darkness. And she hears only cries of other women in prisons of their own. An hour passes, and then two, and three. She counts each second to keep time. But by the fourth hour, she gives up the effort when she feels the urge to release her bladder. Unable to hold it any longer, she crouches and relieves herself in a corner, soon stepping on her own urine.

More time passes. More hours. Has it been two days? Three? She doesn’t know. Not the time nor the place she’s confined in. The life of the Ervus and the life of the Disciples are two different worlds. Marowyn made sure to keep them separated.

During her time at the college, Eremis spoke and ate only with her six fellow students. She hardly ever saw any member of the Ervus. When she did manage to see one, it was always near the House of Light, a place the Disciples were forbidden to enter. “I hear they make sacrifices there,” her fellow roommate Aemma said one night in their chambers, huddled near the hearth.

“They don’t,” Eremis shot back, angry since Aemma had brought up her little sister into the conversation.

Aemma smiled. The twat always liked getting under her skin. “They do. You know, I hear Marowyn draws her power from the blood of mortals and little girls.” Eremis formed a fist. “And you know something else? I hear that when she’s done with them, she ships off their remains to—” Eremis shut her up by landing a fist across her face.

She smiles at the memory. It’s no wonder I don’t have any female friends. I’m too aggressive for them. Her smile fades as she thinks of her sister and pictures what Marowyn could be doing to her. Was Aemma right? She remembers Marowyn raising an eyebrow when she touched her sister’s head. She read her mind. And her soul. But what could she possibly want with her? She’s just a kid.

A kid. The thought reminds her of one of the last conversations she had with her dad. Varadhel had just ‘accidentally’ shredded her diary and Eremis, fuming like a teapot, pounced on her, ready to slap her across the face. Before she could, their dad walked in, separating them. “I wish I didn’t have a sister,” Eremis hissed once she was alone with her dad.

Her father sighed. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yeah. A dumb one.”

He lowered his head and fiddled with his silver braids. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“But I mean it. She destroys everything she touches. She’s useless.”

“She’s special.”

“I have the gift. I can do magic. I’m special. She’s not.”

“You’re both special.”

Eremis scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned away from her dad.

“Eremis,” her dad prodded, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Eremis, look at me.”

She didn’t.

Her dad sighed. “Eremis,” he said firmly. “Your sister is your world just like my brother was mine. Cherish that bond. Protect it. Because that bond will be there long after your mother and I are gone.”

Eremis discards the memory as she feels a tear run down her cheek, wishing she had embraced her dad rather than push him away. It’s like he knew he was going to vanish. And it’s like he knew something about Varadhel that I didn’t. She remembers Marowyn raising an eyebrow as she touched her sister’s head. He was right. She is special! Standing, she heads to the cell door and bashes against it until she hears a loud crack! When that happens, she whimpers and plops down on her glutes as she massages her shoulder. Varadhel. I have to save Varadhel.

More time passes. More hours. Soon, Eremis gets the gist of the schedule the Ervus abide by. They feed their prisoners once a day. They open the iron door, toss a steel tray to the floor, and slam the door shut. I haven’t received anything. No water. No food.

On what might be the third or fourth day, during a food run, Eremis overhears whispers between the Ervus. “When is the mortal being shipped?” asks one woman with a gentle voice.

“Which one?” responds the other woman with a raspy voice.

“What do you mean which one?”

“There was a man and a woman.”

“A woman? What woman?”

“She arrived not long after the man with a stab wound to her neck. She was shipped two days ago.”

“And the man? Why wasn’t he sent with her?”

There’s a brief silence. “Because he’s still alive.”

“What?”

“Shh, keep your voice down. Marowyn’s keeping him asleep.”

“Why? Who is he? What’s going on? Tell me, Roselyn!”

“Shhh! I don’t know! But you didn’t hear it from me, understand?”

Eremis thinks of the dark-skinned mortal she saw in the Pool of Light. What’s going on here? What has Marowyn been up to? The next day, Eremis feels the entire college tremble for five seconds. It ends just as quickly as it appeared. And a minute after the tremor, the prisoner next to Eremis chuckles. “Damn. The bitch did it.”

Eremis scrunches her eyebrows together, confused. “What? She did what?”

“She woke them up.”

“Woke who up?”

“The dragons, idiot.”

Eremis groans, declaring the prisoner a loony since dragons have been extinct for five centuries. You’re the idiot. She thinks back on all the lessons Marowyn made about dragons in the lecture room. “They’re dead. And they’ll stay dead.”

Aemma raised her hand. “Could they return?”

Marowyn raised an eyebrow. “They could… but not in the way you’ve remembered them.”

Eremis recollects the interest Marowyn took in her sister, her father declaring her special, and pictures what the return of a dragon would look like. She visualizes her sister’s face. She chuckles, unwilling to believe Varadhel could possess the soul of a dragon. That’s impossible. Her chuckle fades as more time passes. That’s impossible… right?

The next time Eremis hears anything from the Ervus is when they slam open her door, letting in the light from a torch that stings her eyes. Accustomed to torture, she expects another lashing, but instead, the two women pin her down and wrap a black hood over her eyes to blind her. Too exhausted to fight them, she feels herself dragged out of the cell and back up that iron staircase. Her bare feet touch limestone, and she soon feels the familiar hot and humid air of a bathhouse. She’s forced against a wall where the two women pour water over her before scrubbing her entire body down. Done washing her, they dry her with rough strokes before wrapping a towel over her chest. Finished, they dress her and feed her and then lead her out of the bathhouse and into a place Eremis has been in before. The scent gives it away, smelling of spearmint.

Marowyn’s chambers.

Hands force her to sit on a chair before she feels the black hood taken off her head. Vision restored, Eremis notices she’s dressed in white robes. In front of her, Marowyn leans on her desk with her arms crossed over her chest, the white sun’s light shining through the glass wall behind her. Marowyn nods at one of the members of the Ervus standing next to Eremis. With that sign, the member departs, leaving Eremis with Marowyn and one other member. “I have a task for you,” she tells Eremis. “Both of you.”

“Where’s my sister?” Eremis demands through clenched teeth.

“Finish this task, and I’ll send her back home with her memory erased of this place. You have my word.”

“What task?” asks the Ervus beside Eremis. I know her. She’s the girl with the raspy voice I heard. Roselyn.

“The mortal. He’s ready for the journey tomorrow. Take Eremis with you.”

Roselyn scoffs as she takes off her hood, revealing fire-red hair in a ponytail and a freckled face. “You can’t be serious. She’s a spoiled Disciple! She doesn’t know our ways, she’ll only slow me—”

Marowyn holds a palm out, signaling her to be quiet. Roselyn complies. “Get to it.”

Roselyn sighs and heads for the door. Eremis remains seated. “I’m not leaving without my sister.”

Marowyn turns around, gazing out the window. “You are.” She flicks two fingers backward, conjuring a spell that jolts Eremis out of her seat, out of Marowyn’s chambers, and into the white hallway. Falling on her back, she groans, stands, and rushes towards the pale story-high doors. Seconds before she reaches it, the doors slam shut. Eremis groans louder before taking a deep breath and whispering, “Igni,” ready to burn this whole college to the ground if it means saving her sister.

But the spell doesn’t work.

Confused, she stares at her hands, wondering why a faint flame isn’t emitting off her fingertips. What did they do to me?

She hears Roselyn chuckling behind her.

And her laughter only fuels her rage. In a swift motion, she turns around and punches Roselyn across the face, knocking her a few steps back. Roselyn smiles and spits out blood. “You want to go, sunshine? Let’s go.”

Roselyn charges.

And Eremis dodges the tackle, quickly grabbing onto the ends of her ponytail with both hands. Using the momentum of the charge, Eremis rotates her once before letting go. As Roselyn hits the back of her head against the wall, Eremis rushes in. Sitting atop her, she punches her twice. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?”

Roselyn doesn’t answer.

So, Eremis punches her two more times. “Tell me! Fucking tell me!”

Before Eremis can land another punch, two Ervus members yank her off. On her knees, each of her arms bound by one woman, Eremis watches as another Ervus member helps Roselyn stand. “Are you ok?” the woman asks.

Roselyn, her left eye swollen and face bloodied, ignores her as she approaches Eremis and strikes her across the face five times, dealing the same amount of damage that Eremis did to her.

The final blow dazes Eremis. Losing the strength to hold her head up, she lowers it. But Roselyn grips her chin with one hand and holds it up. Eremis huffs, looking her dead in the eye. Roselyn chuckles again. “You think you’re tough, huh? You’re not. Believe me, sunshine, you haven’t seen true suffering.”

Eremis spits blood onto the floor. “My sister,” she hisses through clenched teeth, refusing to break eye contact. “Where. Is. My. Sister?”

She smirks.

So, Eremis spits blood onto her face. Roselyn’s smile fades as she wipes off the blood with the back of her sleeve. Eremis’ breath escalates as she counts down the seconds to be struck again.

Three. Roselyn forms a fist. And Eremis wonders what other secrets Marowyn has been hiding from the Disciples and the Ervus. Could she be the one responsible for my dad’s disappearance?

Two. As Roselyn retracts her arm backward, preparing to unleash a punch, Eremis remembers her father’s words: “Your sister is your world just like my brother was mine. Cherish that bond. Protect it. Because that bond will be there long after your mother and I are gone.”

One. Roselyn swings. And Eremis faces the onslaught with fearless eyes, swearing that she’ll save her sister, find her father, and destroy everything that Marowyn stands for.