Somewhere in the depths of a fallen beast, where an airship had millennia before been devoured and preserved, the pitiful victim, or Coward as the captain had put it, sat on the silent throne, quite dead as his petrified socket watched his treasures being plundered by the alares of the Daybright. We were the conquerors of that which he had failed to flee from, though a mighty creature he must have been in life.
Such prizes for the victor - the captain had granted the alares a gift: one gemstone for each to be plundered by our fancy from the laden caskets.
They glittered in the dark of the cabin like clusters of the brightest stars within our touch, where the stench of the leviathan’s belly did not quite reach. Never in my life had I seen such a beautiful and vibrant collection of colors in one place. Stark red and green, radiant blue and violet, touches of silver and sparkling gold. I knew they were precious beyond belief, though I had little use for their value.
Rosa Alba went first and selected a white stone that flashed brilliantly as it spun between her thin fingers, as though in its core lay a hidden fire. For her part, Gladiola took a dark and unassuming stone without much luster, but the moment she weighed it in her hand, she made the instant choice. The Primas Alae having made the decision, the rest began to peruse the caskets.
Now, as my pledge Litzia was wandering elsewhere eyeing each casket, it occurred to me that I had not the slightest idea of which to pick. I was at a loss. I had never been asked to make a choice to my preference. My clothes as a slave could at most cover my basic needs, and I had no personal possession to speak of. Now to choose a thing so precious, that most human girls could never dream of touching in their life, I could not bring myself to make a choice.
Obviously a silly matter, and in all likelihood not an awfully unique one. It was not as though I was alone in having difficulties choosing. But if the alares of the Anemone made their choices with great pain, carefully weighing, studying the touch of each facet, the shifting of hues and how each compared to the next one, I agonized for simply being clueless about my own desire.
Some way off, Litzia bent low on the stones. So intense was her scrutinizing gaze. Picking one for Begonia, I suppose.
I had not that. I had not a purpose in picking these stones. No personal possession to adorn, no existing taste to fulfill. A stargazer could number the constellations and wonder at their beauty, but to tell her to pluck one off the sky to keep in her closet is madness. It is not for the likes of me to be granted so great a prize.
I did not attempt to mask my plight, but so absorbed were the rest of my Ala-sisters that only one person in particular had taken notice, and came to raise a brow.
“But take one you like,” said the demure Galanthus. Perhaps for the first time I saw her not within an arm's length of her knight. The quiet wyverness and her slightly more talkative pledge-sister being so inseparable, it felt almost wrong to see her ss, alone.
“Well, that’s the problem.”
“And? Is it a secret?” She sounded vexed.
The thing about this timid-looking wyverness was that she had a way of being overly direct, I had realized after our few conversations, if they could be so called. Implications and evasiveness do not fly with her. While the others of my Ala might be friendly enough, she in a way frightened me. Often also, she knowingly cornered me, as though she saw through my mannerism to the nothingness beneath and shied not from pointing that out. In short, she was the last person to whom I should like to explain my circumstance. However irrational the sentiment might be.
“There is not one I particularly like,” I was honest.
“Curious problem,” she observed.
She could afford to be a little more helpful, however.
“‘Tis like going from being strangers to sisters of the pledge,” she was not done, but followed with a remark, “Overwhelming for one not used to it. But what care, cover your eyes and pick by fate’s hand, if indeed you can’t choose.”
For so flat a tone, she seemed to coat her words with poison. Was that sarcasm? Her distaste for me seemed bland, if I was not gravely mistaken. And how icily was the way she looked. If Litzia’s coldness was an unreadable aloofness, hers was just plain annoyance.
“Galanthus,” bluntness being what she wanted, then bluntness I should grant her, “could it be that you hate me? I am of the mind that you disapprove of my pledge with Litzia.”
The wyverness tilted her head, rather cat-like. “You have much to learn, Asteria,” said she with an unchanged gaze, “you think and presume much. But I mean no more than what I say. Had I saddened you? There, there, now do not be sad,” she repeated, as if consoling a scared cat, in spite of standing unmoving, hands holding a bright gemstone to her face.
“I’m not sad. Not overmuch at any rate. But you are right, I was wrong to presume. What do you think then, about us, I mean?”
“I think it shouldn’t have been.”
She had a way of being direct. I could not guess her mind, at all.
“So you do disapprove then?”
“Not quite.”
Truly an arduous task. ‘Twas was like solving a puzzle, beating around for the right questions. If only I knew which one to ask, she would probably give the right answer. But the girl seemed bent on keeping it a mystery. And I, who knew little of the ways of humans and wyverns, wanted nothing more than to venture down that path. Litzia was plenty difficult enough, yet I wouldn’t dream to solve this one. I would rather heed her suggestion and pick a gem at random and be done with it. A wasted opportunity though it might be.
“Leaving that aside,” as though perceived my descent to mental exhaustion, she discarded the matter entirely, mercilessly, “What do you think of this stone?”
She shoved what she had been holding in my face. White it was, with a dash of blue from within, as large as my thumbs and million-faced.
“It’s… pretty?”
“No. Wrong.” She rejected my answer. “You don’t think only in prettiness. There’s a degree to it, that for some reason one is more attractive to your eyes.”
Could she be perhaps teaching me how to “like things”?
As a matter of course I already knew what it is like to have a preference. I might be an azure, but an azure does not equal a human child. Though I seriously doubt even a human child would have a difficult time liking something. But how is one to know the heart’s desire if it has not one already? Gemstones are unlike people or the stars one gazes upon every night, for years and years. Excellent prettiness, but infinitely rare and precious. I could not judge the differences between them any more than I could between one God and another. ‘Tis a matter of having not even a favorite color, as strange as it may sound to a normal human.
“I don’t follow, sorry,” was all I could say.
The subject was quite mundane. And no doubt aught in better touch with common sense would have simply laughed at my problem or only gone as far as telling me to pick at random, as she indeed had. But apparently, Galanthus was the kind of wyvern who would explain how to “like things” to an azure.
“See—” she made one step closer and intent upon me with a stern expression. She was serious, deadly serious. Again, she shoved the stone in my face. “This stone is white, it is sparkling. But why is it pretty?” she demanded.
“I do not know. It just is.” There she went, cornering me yet again.
“Exactly. It’s pretty because it is. But for you to like it more than the others, there has to be something that draws you in, something special.”
“Something special? And how am I to go about growing one?”
Galanthus sighed, closed her eyes, then again glared at me with a will.
She might not be a very good lecturer, a shortcoming her bland words betrayed all too readily, but her enthusiasm was anything but lacking, if her facial expression was. There existed, of course, also the obvious explanation that I was just dense, and the girl lived yet in denial that even an azure could not be so dumb.
“This stone has my scales’ color, and its accent my eyes’. It does remind of my appearance, does it not?”
“Now that it is said, it does seem that way. But Galanthus, I like little of myself. Am I supposed to just like things that bear resemblance to something I don’t like?”
“No, you imbecile!”
I was scolded.
Her way of being direct could come off as overbearing.
“This is not for myself,” she said, “I’m picking one for Acis. And she’s over there picking one for me. I have to think about what she would like.”
“And what Acis likes,” I ventured, at the very real risk of being scolded again, “is you?”
“Precisely,” she said, unabashed, “it stands to reason she would want something with my colors.”
What a terrifying girl.
“I like the autumn’s fallen leaves,” she went on, “as well the first sight of snow, the over blooms in spring and the clear cool creeks on summer days. Because on a day of snowfall I met her, and in all other seasons, I was with her since. And she showed me the beauty that was kept from me. As we speak, Acis is choosing a stone in resemblance to these. For they remind me of her just as much as they do me. When you live, Astaria, you come to assign sentiments to things, either a person or a season. By which you grow a fondness. That is what it means to “like things''. But it does not happen consciously. You can’t force it, yet it comes naturally.”
“So in conclusion, it is not possible to be taught a preference?”
Is that what she was trying to tell me, in a rather roundabout way?
“Do not choose one for yourself if you do not want for aught,” she said. “Choose one for your pledge-sister. Think what she would like for a present.”
“Huh?”
“You may not know this, being the silly azure you are, but sometimes it would delight yourself better to make the person you like happy than to satisfy your own needs.”
So there it was, her real opinion of me behind all the puzzles: a silly azure. But I could not deny the seed of wisdom in her words.
“I am grateful, Galanthus. I hope Acis likes your present.”
Upon hearing those words, for the first time since I’d made acquainted with her, a flush came to her face. She drew back and retreated her intense gaze, cat-like, but this time adorably, “We-well, I hope so too.”
It seems, for all her sensible reasoning, she was not that certain of her pledge-sister’s taste after all. And there existed still, in her mind at least, the chance that Acis would not delight at her gift. But as an outsider, I could not see however that could be the case. It could be anything at all and the result would not be altered in the slightest. Even a simple crude rock gifted by their pledge-sister to each other would be more valuable than the prettiest gemstone found in the wild.
It would be nice, however, if the white wyverness could recall my name correctly.
I had a little clearer idea of this preference thing now.
The majority of the present Anemone were still making their choices, a while since the captain’s departure. Most of them couldn’t settle for one. As I wandered the long chamber, where the petrified corpse of some ancient culture sat not so far off, Litzia and I met each other’s eyes. Her first choice had already been made: in her hand was a pinkish round gem – for Begonia I supposed – and was in the process of finding one for herself. She seemed caught off guard, and that was a rare sight, before returning to her browsing with a newfound intensity.
But unlike between Galanthus and Acis, I didn’t think Litzia would take joy so readily in anything I give her. When I went among the caskets again, it dawned on me that I didn’t know Litzia much more than I did myself. What is it that she likes? Does she have something she hates?
Perhaps I could simply ask her directly. But there had to be a reason Galanthus and Acis didn’t. Perhaps the act of choosing a gift itself is a source of happiness. There was much for me to learn yet.
That was when it caught my eye: a rough stone of many colors. An ammolite, as I later learned its name. Between my fingers, it had a rough texture like that of shells. Orange but also blue and green. So queer was how it reflected the light, I could not pull my eyes away from it. Yet if I was not specifically looking for it, and being conscious of what someone other than me would like, I might have overlooked it for its lacking lustrous, shine and cuts. It was not as shining or carefully cut as the other gems. But it was much like Litzia – special in a way I could not quite put into words. Something that demands attention in its own unique way, that once you have seen and singled out its beauty from the rest, it leaves not the back of your mind. Even then, I was not so sure if such was my impression of the icy wyverness I had met by chance, yet seeing the stone, I attributed its aspects of beauty to the person I would gift it to. Highly unreasonable, of a surety. Yet the thought occurred to me so easily, that it could be naught but the truth.
Later that night, when our shift was done and my Ala joined the others for dinner and the symposium. Already Acis and Galanthus were playing with their stones. They mumbled unheard words in each other’s ears. Seeing their lively giggles and whispers, I knew Galanthus’ worries were unwarranted.
“Are you interested, Aster?” Litzia asked me when I was looking at the two.
“Interest what?”
“Their sweetness.” Litzia curled the corner of her lips. “We may practice that if you want, you know.”
“She’s right, this is quite overwhelming.”
“What is?”
“Never mind that. I have something to tell you later.”
Her face suddenly darkened and recoiled back. The act hurt me not a little. Even now, she seemed to fear still that I would renounce our pledge on a whim.
Ere I could assure her yet again, Hortensia interrupted with her own thesis on sweetness and cuddly acts. And so the symposium passed with little privacy allowed between us.
Not without the occasional displays of anxiousness, I noted how my pledge-sister sat impatiently through the ordeal. But she was to endure it late into the night. Not owing to a perverse desire of mine to cause her needless agony, I must say. I had it in the pouch at my belt, the shining thing, all the time as we retired to our chamber, and during our small bedtime preparations in the presence of Thea. Up until the moon was high in the sky, and Thea already back to the servant chamber.
This stone here held many of my firsts. The first ever of my possession beyond necessities, the first selected by my own hands and eyes. And it was to be the first gift to another person. I knew now the fluttering heart Galathis had worn on her sleeve when she’d thought hopefully of the gift for her pledge-sisters. Anxiety in the face of the unknown. How would I even react if she scorned the gift, I wondered. Indifferently and unphased like the azure I am, or slightly depressed like a proper human?
I held on hope as a swaying ship held on chance glimpses of stars beyond the thick storm clouds. Both Thea and Galanthus had testified that I was not entirely dull like a typical azure. I trusted and respected them. But here was my first test as a person. Silly, yes, but the event to come held that much weight for me. Litzia might not think much of it, never as troubled as I was by a pathetic lament for inferiority. I resolved then that I would hide my feelings, regardless of her reactions to the gift. I had not a dignity to protect, to be sure. Yet it occurred nigh unbearable to reveal the extent of my deep insecurity to someone other than Thea. Our pledge had carried us a long way since the day of apprehension when we first met, and yet I was still thinking of her as a stranger, closer to a friend, but not so far off from a mere acquaintance of whom I would be ashamed to disclose my less than dignified sides.
So it happened that only until Litzia had changed to her sleep wears, and, currently, was immersing in poking at the begonia under the porthole, that courage was sufficiently gathered in me.
“Litzia,” my voice was scarce larger than a whisper, which startled the wyverness regardless. Her face froze under the moonlight.
But say it, I thought, say I have something for her, and present the thing. The simplest thing one could ever do. But what if…
“Litzia,” I repeated, half wanting to get up from my bed to where she was, but didn’t. “I told you, didn’t I? We are in this together, I will be your pledge-sister until you get quite tired of it.”
“What is the matter now?” she darted her narrowing eyes.
“Just that I don’t hate being with you.” That came out wrong somehow.
Awkwardly, she smiled, the tension on her face had dissipated by a little, and she turned to face me. “For that I am grateful. Is that all?” It was as though she was in a hurry to get the conversation over with.
“Oh, not much else. It’s late, I suppose we should get some sleep.” The stone’s cold was on my fingers.
Well.
My mind went blank.
“Also this,” I said.
Those cold fingers of mine quivered slightly, “You may not like this… I mean, you know what thing I am … understanding people, even myself, is not my forte… so mayhap you hate it, but what if you do? It’s not like I worked hard to earn it. It was but a granted choice, which I couldn’t even make on my own... Here, I like the look of it. It reminds me of you. Which does not follow that it is a good gift, obviously. That is to say, what you like, what you want, by the Under, I have no idea. You’re a mystery to me. But here, sister, my present – I picked it out for you. I have never gifted anyone anything, so naturally not so gifted in the gifting of things. Don’t bother to pretend to like it if you don’t. I won’t get upset or anything. Just take it. If you’d like.”
For a while she didn’t respond to my rambling, but stared at me. Me, not the stone in my outstretched hand. Yet she took it.
“Oh,” she said.
I wailed but a little inside.
“I didn’t think you would think of me. How weird,” she chuckled. It pained me so. “I did not expect that. Yet it fits you perfectly, anyhow. What I think of you…. But forget that. I like it, Aster, my sister. I like it.” She smiled. A smile that the moonlight bent awry. “I will treasure it to be sure. Because you gave it to me. Funny, I don’t see how it resembles me, but so long as I have it, it will remind me of you. Oh, yes, pledge-sister, I like it.”
I thought it was ill-fit for a wyverness to seem happy for a present from one such as I. And it made my day, and night, and perhaps tomorrow too. A warm thing it was to think of from the bottom of my chest. I fell back on my bed, sinking in the softness, but hardly could I think of physical comfort when there was someone beaming because of my gift right across the room.
But the night did not end there. Litzia came upon me. With the ammolite in her hand, she hovered over me where I was hanging my legs off the edge. There was a fire in her eyes, a determination. I shuddered.
“What’s the matter, Litzia? You scare me.”
“What? Don’t be. Here.” And she opened her other palm. Within was a shining star of violet. A perfectly faceted purple gemstone, at its core sat a blood-red stroke. “It’s the color of the aster. But not any aster, it is different, there is some beauty hidden within I could almost touch, but I dare not. It is pretty. I want it. I need it. Please take it. I did not choose it for myself but for you. I have done you naught but trouble. My offering is a little, paltry price to pay if we could stay together. That’s all I have to say. Will you take it?”
“Of course.” She seemed pleased, while I was stunted, and lay still on the bed even seconds after having said the words. “Thanks, Litzia. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She smiled sweetly, but only for a split second, before pivoting on her heel and back to her side of the room and her bed.
What a strange thing. I couldn’t think much as I lay there, holding the beautiful gemstone right before my eyes. It was not necessarily prettier in my eyes than the others in those caskets. I had been given many new experiences these past few days as a freshly made alaris. I had been living a life a common slave, let alone an azure could only dream of. Yet this was different. This stone was not a luxury, nor a thing of comfort. It was different, that’s it. I could not make sense of this feeling. I went to sleep. A very, very pleasant sleep, that came only after much toss and turn and rolling upon the soft bedding.
Somewhere in the depths of a fallen beast, where an airship had millennia before been devoured and preserved, the pitiful victim, or Coward as the captain had put it, sat on the silent throne, quite dead as his petrified socket watched his treasures being plundered by the alares of the Daybright. We were the conquerors of that which he had failed to flee from, though a mighty creature he must have been in life.
Such prizes for the victor - the captain had granted the alares a gift: one gemstone for each to be plundered by our fancy from the laden caskets.
They glittered in the dark of the cabin like clusters of the brightest stars within our touch, where the stench of the leviathan’s belly did not quite reach. Never in my life had I seen such a beautiful and vibrant collection of colors in one place. Stark red and green, radiant blue and violet, touches of silver and sparkling gold. I knew they were precious beyond belief, though I had little use for their value.
Rosa Alba went first and selected a white stone that flashed brilliantly as it spun between her thin fingers, as though in its core lay a hidden fire. For her part, Gladiola took a dark and unassuming stone without much luster, but the moment she weighed it in her hand, she made the instant choice. The Primas Alae having made the decision, the rest began to peruse the caskets.
Now, as my pledge Litzia was wandering elsewhere eyeing each casket, it occurred to me that I had not the slightest idea of which to pick. I was at a loss. I had never been asked to make a choice to my preference. My clothes as a slave could at most cover my basic needs, and I had no personal possession to speak of. Now to choose a thing so precious, that most human girls could never dream of touching in their life, I could not bring myself to make a choice.
Obviously a silly matter, and in all likelihood not an awfully unique one. It was not as though I was alone in having difficulties choosing. But if the alares of the Anemone made their choices with great pain, carefully weighing, studying the touch of each facet, the shifting of hues and how each compared to the next one, I agonized for simply being clueless about my own desire.
Some way off, Litzia bent low on the stones. So intense was her scrutinizing gaze. Picking one for Begonia, I suppose.
I had not that. I had not a purpose in picking these stones. No personal possession to adorn, no existing taste to fulfill. A stargazer could number the constellations and wonder at their beauty, but to tell her to pluck one off the sky to keep in her closet is madness. It is not for the likes of me to be granted so great a prize.
I did not attempt to mask my plight, but so absorbed were the rest of my Ala-sisters that only one person in particular had taken notice, and came to raise a brow.
“But take one you like,” said the demure Galanthus. Perhaps for the first time I saw her not within an arm's length of her knight. The quiet wyverness and her slightly more talkative pledge-sister being so inseparable, it felt almost wrong to see her ss, alone.
“Well, that’s the problem.”
“And? Is it a secret?” She sounded vexed.
The thing about this timid-looking wyverness was that she had a way of being overly direct, I had realized after our few conversations, if they could be so called. Implications and evasiveness do not fly with her. While the others of my Ala might be friendly enough, she in a way frightened me. Often also, she knowingly cornered me, as though she saw through my mannerism to the nothingness beneath and shied not from pointing that out. In short, she was the last person to whom I should like to explain my circumstance. However irrational the sentiment might be.
“There is not one I particularly like,” I was honest.
“Curious problem,” she observed.
She could afford to be a little more helpful, however.
“‘Tis like going from being strangers to sisters of the pledge,” she was not done, but followed with a remark, “Overwhelming for one not used to it. But what care, cover your eyes and pick by fate’s hand, if indeed you can’t choose.”
For so flat a tone, she seemed to coat her words with poison. Was that sarcasm? Her distaste for me seemed bland, if I was not gravely mistaken. And how icily was the way she looked. If Litzia’s coldness was an unreadable aloofness, hers was just plain annoyance.
“Galanthus,” bluntness being what she wanted, then bluntness I should grant her, “could it be that you hate me? I am of the mind that you disapprove of my pledge with Litzia.”
The wyverness tilted her head, rather cat-like. “You have much to learn, Asteria,” said she with an unchanged gaze, “you think and presume much. But I mean no more than what I say. Had I saddened you? There, there, now do not be sad,” she repeated, as if consoling a scared cat, in spite of standing unmoving, hands holding a bright gemstone to her face.
“I’m not sad. Not overmuch at any rate. But you are right, I was wrong to presume. What do you think then, about us, I mean?”
“I think it shouldn’t have been.”
She had a way of being direct. I could not guess her mind, at all.
“So you do disapprove then?”
“Not quite.”
Truly an arduous task. ‘Twas was like solving a puzzle, beating around for the right questions. If only I knew which one to ask, she would probably give the right answer. But the girl seemed bent on keeping it a mystery. And I, who knew little of the ways of humans and wyverns, wanted nothing more than to venture down that path. Litzia was plenty difficult enough, yet I wouldn’t dream to solve this one. I would rather heed her suggestion and pick a gem at random and be done with it. A wasted opportunity though it might be.
“Leaving that aside,” as though perceived my descent to mental exhaustion, she discarded the matter entirely, mercilessly, “What do you think of this stone?”
She shoved what she had been holding in my face. White it was, with a dash of blue from within, as large as my thumbs and million-faced.
“It’s… pretty?”
“No. Wrong.” She rejected my answer. “You don’t think only in prettiness. There’s a degree to it, that for some reason one is more attractive to your eyes.”
Could she be perhaps teaching me how to “like things”?
As a matter of course I already knew what it is like to have a preference. I might be an azure, but an azure does not equal a human child. Though I seriously doubt even a human child would have a difficult time liking something. But how is one to know the heart’s desire if it has not one already? Gemstones are unlike people or the stars one gazes upon every night, for years and years. Excellent prettiness, but infinitely rare and precious. I could not judge the differences between them any more than I could between one God and another. ‘Tis a matter of having not even a favorite color, as strange as it may sound to a normal human.
“I don’t follow, sorry,” was all I could say.
The subject was quite mundane. And no doubt aught in better touch with common sense would have simply laughed at my problem or only gone as far as telling me to pick at random, as she indeed had. But apparently, Galanthus was the kind of wyvern who would explain how to “like things” to an azure.
“See—” she made one step closer and intent upon me with a stern expression. She was serious, deadly serious. Again, she shoved the stone in my face. “This stone is white, it is sparkling. But why is it pretty?” she demanded.
“I do not know. It just is.” There she went, cornering me yet again.
“Exactly. It’s pretty because it is. But for you to like it more than the others, there has to be something that draws you in, something special.”
“Something special? And how am I to go about growing one?”
Galanthus sighed, closed her eyes, then again glared at me with a will.
She might not be a very good lecturer, a shortcoming her bland words betrayed all too readily, but her enthusiasm was anything but lacking, if her facial expression was. There existed, of course, also the obvious explanation that I was just dense, and the girl lived yet in denial that even an azure could not be so dumb.
“This stone has my scales’ color, and its accent my eyes’. It does remind of my appearance, does it not?”
“Now that it is said, it does seem that way. But Galanthus, I like little of myself. Am I supposed to just like things that bear resemblance to something I don’t like?”
“No, you imbecile!”
I was scolded.
Her way of being direct could come off as overbearing.
“This is not for myself,” she said, “I’m picking one for Acis. And she’s over there picking one for me. I have to think about what she would like.”
“And what Acis likes,” I ventured, at the very real risk of being scolded again, “is you?”
“Precisely,” she said, unabashed, “it stands to reason she would want something with my colors.”
What a terrifying girl.
“I like the autumn’s fallen leaves,” she went on, “as well the first sight of snow, the over blooms in spring and the clear cool creeks on summer days. Because on a day of snowfall I met her, and in all other seasons, I was with her since. And she showed me the beauty that was kept from me. As we speak, Acis is choosing a stone in resemblance to these. For they remind me of her just as much as they do me. When you live, Astaria, you come to assign sentiments to things, either a person or a season. By which you grow a fondness. That is what it means to “like things''. But it does not happen consciously. You can’t force it, yet it comes naturally.”
“So in conclusion, it is not possible to be taught a preference?”
Is that what she was trying to tell me, in a rather roundabout way?
“Do not choose one for yourself if you do not want for aught,” she said. “Choose one for your pledge-sister. Think what she would like for a present.”
“Huh?”
“You may not know this, being the silly azure you are, but sometimes it would delight yourself better to make the person you like happy than to satisfy your own needs.”
So there it was, her real opinion of me behind all the puzzles: a silly azure. But I could not deny the seed of wisdom in her words.
“I am grateful, Galanthus. I hope Acis likes your present.”
Upon hearing those words, for the first time since I’d made acquainted with her, a flush came to her face. She drew back and retreated her intense gaze, cat-like, but this time adorably, “We-well, I hope so too.”
It seems, for all her sensible reasoning, she was not that certain of her pledge-sister’s taste after all. And there existed still, in her mind at least, the chance that Acis would not delight at her gift. But as an outsider, I could not see however that could be the case. It could be anything at all and the result would not be altered in the slightest. Even a simple crude rock gifted by their pledge-sister to each other would be more valuable than the prettiest gemstone found in the wild.
It would be nice, however, if the white wyverness could recall my name correctly.
I had a little clearer idea of this preference thing now.
The majority of the present Anemone were still making their choices, a while since the captain’s departure. Most of them couldn’t settle for one. As I wandered the long chamber, where the petrified corpse of some ancient culture sat not so far off, Litzia and I met each other’s eyes. Her first choice had already been made: in her hand was a pinkish round gem – for Begonia I supposed – and was in the process of finding one for herself. She seemed caught off guard, and that was a rare sight, before returning to her browsing with a newfound intensity.
But unlike between Galanthus and Acis, I didn’t think Litzia would take joy so readily in anything I give her. When I went among the caskets again, it dawned on me that I didn’t know Litzia much more than I did myself. What is it that she likes? Does she have something she hates?
Perhaps I could simply ask her directly. But there had to be a reason Galanthus and Acis didn’t. Perhaps the act of choosing a gift itself is a source of happiness. There was much for me to learn yet.
That was when it caught my eye: a rough stone of many colors. An ammolite, as I later learned its name. Between my fingers, it had a rough texture like that of shells. Orange but also blue and green. So queer was how it reflected the light, I could not pull my eyes away from it. Yet if I was not specifically looking for it, and being conscious of what someone other than me would like, I might have overlooked it for its lacking lustrous, shine and cuts. It was not as shining or carefully cut as the other gems. But it was much like Litzia – special in a way I could not quite put into words. Something that demands attention in its own unique way, that once you have seen and singled out its beauty from the rest, it leaves not the back of your mind. Even then, I was not so sure if such was my impression of the icy wyverness I had met by chance, yet seeing the stone, I attributed its aspects of beauty to the person I would gift it to. Highly unreasonable, of a surety. Yet the thought occurred to me so easily, that it could be naught but the truth.
Later that night, when our shift was done and my Ala joined the others for dinner and the symposium. Already Acis and Galanthus were playing with their stones. They mumbled unheard words in each other’s ears. Seeing their lively giggles and whispers, I knew Galanthus’ worries were unwarranted.
“Are you interested, Aster?” Litzia asked me when I was looking at the two.
“Interest what?”
“Their sweetness.” Litzia curled the corner of her lips. “We may practice that if you want, you know.”
“She’s right, this is quite overwhelming.”
“What is?”
“Never mind that. I have something to tell you later.”
Her face suddenly darkened and recoiled back. The act hurt me not a little. Even now, she seemed to fear still that I would renounce our pledge on a whim.
Ere I could assure her yet again, Hortensia interrupted with her own thesis on sweetness and cuddly acts. And so the symposium passed with little privacy allowed between us.
Not without the occasional displays of anxiousness, I noted how my pledge-sister sat impatiently through the ordeal. But she was to endure it late into the night. Not owing to a perverse desire of mine to cause her needless agony, I must say. I had it in the pouch at my belt, the shining thing, all the time as we retired to our chamber, and during our small bedtime preparations in the presence of Thea. Up until the moon was high in the sky, and Thea already back to the servant chamber.
This stone here held many of my firsts. The first ever of my possession beyond necessities, the first selected by my own hands and eyes. And it was to be the first gift to another person. I knew now the fluttering heart Galathis had worn on her sleeve when she’d thought hopefully of the gift for her pledge-sisters. Anxiety in the face of the unknown. How would I even react if she scorned the gift, I wondered. Indifferently and unphased like the azure I am, or slightly depressed like a proper human?
I held on hope as a swaying ship held on chance glimpses of stars beyond the thick storm clouds. Both Thea and Galanthus had testified that I was not entirely dull like a typical azure. I trusted and respected them. But here was my first test as a person. Silly, yes, but the event to come held that much weight for me. Litzia might not think much of it, never as troubled as I was by a pathetic lament for inferiority. I resolved then that I would hide my feelings, regardless of her reactions to the gift. I had not a dignity to protect, to be sure. Yet it occurred nigh unbearable to reveal the extent of my deep insecurity to someone other than Thea. Our pledge had carried us a long way since the day of apprehension when we first met, and yet I was still thinking of her as a stranger, closer to a friend, but not so far off from a mere acquaintance of whom I would be ashamed to disclose my less than dignified sides.
So it happened that only until Litzia had changed to her sleep wears, and, currently, was immersing in poking at the begonia under the porthole, that courage was sufficiently gathered in me.
“Litzia,” my voice was scarce larger than a whisper, which startled the wyverness regardless. Her face froze under the moonlight.
But say it, I thought, say I have something for her, and present the thing. The simplest thing one could ever do. But what if…
“Litzia,” I repeated, half wanting to get up from my bed to where she was, but didn’t. “I told you, didn’t I? We are in this together, I will be your pledge-sister until you get quite tired of it.”
“What is the matter now?” she darted her narrowing eyes.
“Just that I don’t hate being with you.” That came out wrong somehow.
Awkwardly, she smiled, the tension on her face had dissipated by a little, and she turned to face me. “For that I am grateful. Is that all?” It was as though she was in a hurry to get the conversation over with.
“Oh, not much else. It’s late, I suppose we should get some sleep.” The stone’s cold was on my fingers.
Well.
My mind went blank.
“Also this,” I said.
Those cold fingers of mine quivered slightly, “You may not like this… I mean, you know what thing I am … understanding people, even myself, is not my forte… so mayhap you hate it, but what if you do? It’s not like I worked hard to earn it. It was but a granted choice, which I couldn’t even make on my own... Here, I like the look of it. It reminds me of you. Which does not follow that it is a good gift, obviously. That is to say, what you like, what you want, by the Under, I have no idea. You’re a mystery to me. But here, sister, my present – I picked it out for you. I have never gifted anyone anything, so naturally not so gifted in the gifting of things. Don’t bother to pretend to like it if you don’t. I won’t get upset or anything. Just take it. If you’d like.”
For a while she didn’t respond to my rambling, but stared at me. Me, not the stone in my outstretched hand. Yet she took it.
“Oh,” she said.
I wailed but a little inside.
“I didn’t think you would think of me. How weird,” she chuckled. It pained me so. “I did not expect that. Yet it fits you perfectly, anyhow. What I think of you…. But forget that. I like it, Aster, my sister. I like it.” She smiled. A smile that the moonlight bent awry. “I will treasure it to be sure. Because you gave it to me. Funny, I don’t see how it resembles me, but so long as I have it, it will remind me of you. Oh, yes, pledge-sister, I like it.”
I thought it was ill-fit for a wyverness to seem happy for a present from one such as I. And it made my day, and night, and perhaps tomorrow too. A warm thing it was to think of from the bottom of my chest. I fell back on my bed, sinking in the softness, but hardly could I think of physical comfort when there was someone beaming because of my gift right across the room.
But the night did not end there. Litzia came upon me. With the ammolite in her hand, she hovered over me where I was hanging my legs off the edge. There was a fire in her eyes, a determination. I shuddered.
“What’s the matter, Litzia? You scare me.”
“What? Don’t be. Here.” And she opened her other palm. Within was a shining star of violet. A perfectly faceted purple gemstone, at its core sat a blood-red stroke. “It’s the color of the aster. But not any aster, it is different, there is some beauty hidden within I could almost touch, but I dare not. It is pretty. I want it. I need it. Please take it. I did not choose it for myself but for you. I have done you naught but trouble. My offering is a little, paltry price to pay if we could stay together. That’s all I have to say. Will you take it?”
“Of course.” She seemed pleased, while I was stunted, and lay still on the bed even seconds after having said the words. “Thanks, Litzia. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She smiled sweetly, but only for a split second, before pivoting on her heel and back to her side of the room and her bed.
What a strange thing. I couldn’t think much as I lay there, holding the beautiful gemstone right before my eyes. It was not necessarily prettier in my eyes than the others in those caskets. I had been given many new experiences these past few days as a freshly made alaris. I had been living a life a common slave, let alone an azure could only dream of. Yet this was different. This stone was not a luxury, nor a thing of comfort. It was different, that’s it. I could not make sense of this feeling. I went to sleep. A very, very pleasant sleep, that came only after much toss and turn and rolling upon the soft bedding.
