Ethaefal: An Anatomical Study.

[Oswin Raulins]

Winter 8th, 513 Her name is Alses. Alessia Written in the Symenestra’s distinctive and appropriately spidery lettering, that was all the note had said. The slip of paper was left in the care of one of the other medics left in charge of monitoring the Catholicon’s patients. As soon as Oswin arrived that afternoon for her shift, it was delivered to her in passing as he moved from one room to another. Her only response was a quizzical expression as she took the note, the medic disappeared, and she was left alone at the top of the staircase to the first loft. With her wrapped lunch for the afternoon still clutched in her other hand, Oswin stood dumbfounded and speechless. Even on the days when Alessia was away from the Catholicon, she still made sure to impose her influential presence on the place. She was ever cryptic. It would annoy Oswin if it didn’t fascinate her so much. Sharing with herself a private laugh at Alessia’s sense of humor, Oswin decided that whatever the doctor had in store for her would reveal itself in due time. The physician was halfway back down the staircase to deposit her lunch somewhere inconspicuous when the medic called down to her, freezing her in place. “The fourth room,” he informed, leaning over the railing. Oswin craned her neck, sliding a strand of hair out of her eyes with a deft sweep of her hand. His name was Ozrick. Short cropped hair, dark skin, a preoccupation with vests, pleasant eyes, a boring demeanor, and a wedding mark on his neck. She thought he had children but she only heard about his life in passing and wasn’t entirely sure. He was, however, the entire reason Oswin had never gone by “Os” for as long as she had lived in Lhavit. “There’s someone waiting for you.” “A patient?” “An artist.” Ozrick left the railing. What? “What am I going to do with an artist?” “She said you’d know,” he called down, by the sound of his voice, he was gone a moment later. “Well, I bloody don’t,” Oswin mumbled, resuming her short trip to the reception area. She was Alessia of course. What riddle was this of hers now? She had the maddening habit of retaining information deliberately to make her underlings bridge the gap with their own estimations. If one had a question, it was one’s own responsibility to figure it out. Questions were lazy. Obtaining information first hand was the most reliable method of learning anything. Oswin complained, but secretly she also loved it. Intellectual challenges, now there’s something she didn’t encounter enough of in her developing years. After tucking her lunch away in a cubby, the physician ascended to the first loft again and made her way to the fourth room, which was usually where a patient would be monitored during recovery. Lifting away the curtain, Oswin found a young, light haired woman seated in the corner next to an easel with an array of charcoal sticks, a puff of cotton, and a stack of papers laid out on the table normally meant for serving food to patients. The bed had been turned on its side and moved toward the wall, and extra seating had been laid out. Alessia had prepared for this. Or, the “artist” had rearranged the room of her own accord. “Are you Alses?” the artist asked before Oswin could form a question. “No.” Oswin raised her eyebrows, still standing in the entryway with the curtain resting against one arm. “And I take it you aren’t either. Do you know what this is about?” The artist shrugged. “Miss Amaryllis said it was an anatomical study.” “Ah.” Well, something was beginning to take shape in all this fog. Alses had, presumably, not yet arrived. She must have had something to do with this impromptu study. What was this for, though? The library and the Catholicon had plenty of charts about anatomy. Why would Alessia task Oswin with performing another study? “Well, I’ll return with Alses when she arrives. Have you got a name?” “Yuris.” “Yuris, I’m Miss Raulins. Sit tight and… well, sit tight.” Oswin dropped the curtain again. Naught left to do now but remain downstairs and wait for this “Alses”. There were only a handful of patients at the Catholicon and Ozrick had not requested help. She’s wait half a bell before she gave up and imposed her presence on the medic and asked for something productive to do. And so it was at the 8th bell that Oswin’s lunch became her breakfast while she went about organizing the instruments on the shelves downstairs.

[Alses]

Snow was just starting to fall, in delicate little flakes that played and gambolled with the light breezes dancing through the celestial city, when Alses made the trek from the cosy, enveloping warmth of the baths of the Towers Respite, where she currently made her home, to the imposing and ancient tower of the Catholicon, clinging to its striated and foliage-swathed pinnacle of rock.

Warm light glowed out from its many windows into the snow-swirled air, lighting up the gently-falling flakes as they tumbled through the multi-coloured glow that was Lhavit itself, radiant skyglass blazing up from a hundred hundred spires, roofs and domes that made up the cluttered skyline.

The streets, thankfully, were still kept clear by the innate warmth of the skyglass, and Alses’ journey through the winding boulevards and idyllic courtyards of the city – some still clinging grimly onto the last vestiges of Autumn for grim death – was unimpeded by snowdrifts, ice slicks or any of the other less-welcome phenomena of the winter city.

They were sure to arrive later on, of course – they always did – but for now, the city and its inhabitants were in the perfect time of year, poised between the fading brilliance of late Autumn and the long hammer of deep Winter. Alses relished the nip in the air, the scent of woodsmoke on the wind from the myriad fires of the city, the dragonsbreath that rolled out in misty clouds with every breath, the comfortable cosiness of her winter garb and, most of all, the cherished feeling of sinking into hot and slightly sulphurous water at the end of a long day.

Yes, that was one of her favourite feelings, no doubt, the sudden and immensely pleasurable shock as she lowered herself into the steam-wreathed water and simply lay there, unthinking and blank, letting the boundless heat unravel every single knot and tension strain.

Even better if she was in her mortal chain and could properly submerge herself, at the deepest part of the bathing pools, just floating in the middle of rising heat and falling cold, enjoying it to the fullest on every centimetre of her body.

Pale cream silk, shimmering with subtle gold embroidery, swirled around Alses’ shoulders as she made her way through the wintry tiers and up to the small bridge that linked the pinnacle of the Catholicon with the main mass of the city itself. As she walked, she offered absent-minded thanks to the legion of long-dead Constellation priests that had etched the ancient and impervious skyglass with a thousand small ridges for extra grip, the soles of her trusty boots biting eagerly at the tiny peaks and troughs, all of it keeping her gracefully upright as she swept towards the Catholicon entry.


A


The be-pillared portico of the great building offered welcome relief and shelter from the weather – softly melting snow began to chill her head and water dripped off her crown-of-horns, newly changed for the Winter season into their usual colours of scintillating green, bright emeralds bursting forth from the duller sheen of her hair.

A moment or two to compose herself, to make herself presentable for the esteemed doctors and medics of the Catholicon – not that she often had much call for their services – and Alses set her hand and shoulder to the doors and pushed, stepping inside the facility proper. She was instantly embraced, no, overwhelmed, by a wave of heat and - less welcome - a potent potpourri and a mixing melange of medical smells from all floors of the Catholicon, churned up by the arcane ventilation of the place.

Some of the smells were penetratingly chemical, burning Alses’ sensitive nose when she inadvertently snuffed them up and making her eyes water uncontrollably, whilst others were horribly, suggestively organic, unpleasant. Neither bore much scrutiny, and so she cast quickly about for any likely helper who might be able to direct her; the Catholicon was a maze, after all, and whilst Alses had visited once or twice she was still unsure of its exact layout, or indeed where Alessia Amaryllis might be found at any given bell. Better by far to simply ask, to commandeer someone from their labours for a few moments, than to wander aimlessly through this monument to mortal imperfection.

Fortunately, she wasn’t looking long. There was a slender figure working in one corner of the barrel-vaulted hall, working to restock and replenish all the natural and artificial nostrums, balms, unguents, embrocations, balsams, poultices, and infusions that were ranged in orderly array and with military precision on the shelves all around.

Shaking herself to get rid of the worst of the water from her glittering crown-of-horns, she made her way to within easy speaking distance, boots ringing on the marble as she did so.

“Your pardon,” she commanded, the cadenced fall of her voice quite melodious. “We’re looking for Doctor Amaryllis; could you direct me to where we might find her?” A brief pause, Alses considering her options, wondering whether further information might be necessary.

In the end, she decided to err on the side of caution. “Our name is Alses; I was led to believe I’d be expected?”

‘What can the good doctor want with me?’ Alses wondered privately, as she had numerous times on the walk up, and indeed before that, ever since Alessia had first called in a favour with nary a hint of further explanation, one of several that the radiant Ethaefal owed the half-Symenestra director.

‘Hopefully nothing too appalling,’ she thought, trying to keep her outlook positive; this wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned spending her day off. But her word was her word, inviolate once given.

Irritatingly.

[Oswin Raulins]

The snow made everything so quiet. Even the echoes within the lower levels of the Catholicon seemed muted. It was a trait that Oswin associated with Lhavit, though logically she knew it wasn’t unique to one Kalean city. Snow was an affliction that happened everywhere else in the world except where she was raised, she knew that now, but she had only seen it here in this windy place. It was beautiful to behold, Oswin thought as she looked through the window, dusting Lhavit’s luminous structures in a gentle shroud of white. Yet it was bitter cold and potentially lethal in the right amounts. Naturally snow could fit in any number of metaphors with those descriptors, but it just reminded Oswin of Rhysol, who she once revered at a distance but never wanted to meet up close. That was a long time ago. Hard to say what she thought of Rhysol now. He was far away from here. And everywhere he wasn’t, there was snow. The Ethaefal was halfway across the Catholicon before Oswin managed to notice her. She nearly started, but the godly creature radiated an infectious calm that the human absorbed immediately. It wasn’t her first encounter with one of their kind, but this one had caught her off guard. She could never quite get accustomed to their existence. They were too comely and perfectly structured, and their colorful eyes were deeper than the ocean and full of things Oswin couldn’t fathom. Their horns looked like priceless relics carved by long dead artisans. The Ethaefal didn’t seem to belong in the mortal world. But here they were, and this one looked like she had an appointment. Oswin swallowed her bite of food and came down from the second step of a ladder and greeted the creature with the same disingenuous half-smile she’d give anyone. Surprisingly she found this Ethaefal wasn’t much taller than she was. They usually ranged a lot taller. “We?” Oswin leaned to the side looking for the rest of the Ethaefal’s party. None was found, so she returned to the woman’s piercing eyes. Was she referring to both of her halves? That was quaint. The Sun Goddess had amused herself with this one, apparently. “Sorry, the good doctor is out at the moment. I’d be happy to take a message for her, unless there’s anything I can assist you with.” The physician found that her eyes kept gravitating toward the Ethaefal’s horns. Odd appendages for any upright creature to have. They didn’t even look like appendages. Did they grow like that or were Ethaefal simply born with them? And suddenly there was her name. Oswin felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest. “Oh, you’re Alses?” It was a lovely thing, sudden clarity. Up to this moment, Oswin had not been sure what the purpose of another anatomical study could prove, unless the library was in need of more visceral pictures of a person’s exposed shapes. This, however, was an Ethaefal. A divine creature, not from nature. Supposedly immortal, immune to illness and age, able to change one’s shape, horns and hair that changed with the seasons - ever since Oswin had learned of the creature, she had wanted to know how they worked. And now here was Alses for an anatomical study. Oswin hadn’t prepared herself for this. She cleared her throat and quickly straightened her hair. “Why yes, we were expecting you. Doctor Amaryllis has you slated to be the subject of an anatomical study. The artist is upstairs, preparing her tools. Would you like to follow me?” Oswin gestured toward the staircase, waiting for a sign that Alses would comply before taking the initiative to lead her up to the fourth room. She imagined the artist, Yuris, was growing impatient, as their lot were wont to do. Oswin wasn’t sure how long she had been there, adjusting the hieght of her easel, sharpening her sticks of charcoal, mixing her paints, rolling back their sleeves. Whatever it was they did. It seemed likely that Alessia hadn’t told Yuris who the study subject was, and Oswin looked forward to relishing the surprise on her face. “I assume she has paid you in advance, or something of the like,” Oswin said as she began to head toward the stairs. “I was given your name, but not your nature. I’m surprised an Ethaefal would stoop to an errand like this. How does someone like you become acquainted with the doctor? She is not exactly what one would call social.”

[Alses]

Alses blushed slightly when Oswin picked up on her perennial difficulty with the personal pronoun. “Ethaefal are composite creatures,” she murmured, as an explanation. “It’s difficult for me to separate out the one from the many, and the more lives lived, the greater the choir inside, always clamouring to make themselves heard. We are legion, each and every one of us; truth be told, I envy the other Ethaefal their mastery of themselves.”

For a long moment, Alses feared there’d been some mixup; had Alessia forgotten her request? Had Alses got the wrong day, the wrong time? Then the girl had processed her name and everything changed in an instant: Alses’ tension melted away and plated itself subtly on the Catholicon employee she’d accosted.

“Indeed, I am she,” Alses replied happily, in response to the exclamation. “You have the advantage of me, doctor…” she tailed off, expectantly, inwardly enjoying the reaction that her name had endengered; Alses couldn’t help the small smile that curved her Cupid’s bow lips even as Oswin regained some of her formidable professionalism and began to lead the way deeper into the labyrinth of the Catholicon proper. That smile, however, melted away in short order at her next remarks, delivered offhand over the shoulder as they progressed.

“Stoop?” Alses exclaimed, surprised beyond reason. “Do you truly believe the Ethaefal to be so arrogant? Detached, yes, otherworldly, yes, arrogant? That we dispute. Would it surprise you to know I was a courier, not so very long ago? We ran all over the city, carried message-boxes to the great and good of Lhavit, took letters to the traders and merchantmen of the Azure Market and beyond. Doing that sort of thing is sure to puncture even the most inflated ego in short order.” A sudden bright smile, wide and warm, split her face and set lights to dancing in her eyes.

“Besides, even if we were arrogant – as some claim – the pursuit of knowledge is a glorious thing, and well worth a few bells of our endless time.” Alses paused, to let that sink in, before continuing, answering as calmly as possible Oswin’s questions. Curiosity was something to be expected, to an extent; there were only forty-seven Ethaefal in the entire city, after all, and even that small number was a far greater concentration than could be found almost anywhere else on Mizahar.

“We’re not being paid, either. This is repayment of a favour; the good doctor let me bring some of my own students here for some advanced tuition, and in return she asked me to do this…anatomical study, did you say it was?” A lopsided shrug at Oswin’s shapely backside. “I’d have done it anyway, had she simply asked, more likely than not. We were treated for kuhari poisoning some while ago by a Symenestra doctor, and ever since then I’ve had something of a soft spot for the spider-kin in the city. Always providing they don’t do something stupid, of course. It helps that the Catholicon has looked after several of my novices after the occasional mishap, too, and they’ve all been returned to me hale and healthy. We respect this place’s attempts to overcome mortal imperfections, and by extension its staff.”

Alses let the silence stretch for a little. “Could you enlighten me as to what an ‘anatomical study’-” one could almost hear the inverted commas dropping into place around the words “-entails, exactly? We’re not the most familiar with Catholicon procedures, it has to be said.”

Something of an understatement, considering she was blessed with perfect health and had little need for their services in the normal execution of her duties.