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MALAN - Child

The cries of the newborn infant didn't last for long. Just a brief squawk of alarm then she opened her eyes to a new world, accepted it and settled down to enjoy it.

 

It wasn't a terribly auspicious birth, nothing pre-ordained or prophesied. Nothing even notable, other than the bright awareness in her big brown eyes and an immediate sense that she knew everything was going to be wonderful. It was Phaedran Tellos 3310.

 

As with all babies born to the Numae, at halfterm in utero, the communication process began as expected between mother and child. Her mother began teaching her the language of the Numae and her father's Elven clan dialect, as well as the histories of the two races. So it was unsurprising that her first conscious knowledge was of a world fully formed.

 

She was the third child to Garthen Tael and Fern Anders, residents of the great levitated city of Sorenia. Her older brothers' names were Aaren and Steven, and from the first time they saw their tiny sister they were fiercely protective of her.

 

Fern was Ini' as an archivist in the Guild of Chroniclers and Garthen was Ini' with the Guild of Protectors as a Weaponsmith. The only thing slightly different about her family was that her mother was Numae and her father of an Elven clan. Although this wasn't all that unusual either in the 1300 or so tellos since the Elves first settled a delegation on Phaedran Prime.

 

It was her father who chose her name. She looked so like him that her name had to be something elven – from her tiny pointed ears to her creamy pale skin and fine-boned facial features. Malan. It meant “eyes of life” in the elder language of his ancestors and it seemed no other name could possibly fit so well with this tiny bundle of warm energy.

 

As she grew her elven heritage became more pronounced and she rapidly became a favourite among her father's clanfolk who fell into the practice of teaching her anything she wished to know about the world of Phaedran Prime and the Elven home world – and her curiousity was boundless. However, her favourite place was with her mother. Sitting among the books, scrolls, pens, inks and stylos of Fern's vocation. Malan had a fascination for words and by the time she reached her fifth tellos was entertaining the archive staff by reading from the heavy tomes in their care. By her seventh tellos she was writing everything she did, saw and felt in a journal each day – recording in detail, events in her life so she could relive them later - as if she wanted to experience all of her life for all time.

 

When she reached the threshold age of fifteen tellos she was called into the office of the Chief Archivist and although she'd known him for almost all her life this summons was not only unexpected, but frightening for her. She'd wandered at will in and out of his office as a child, but this was an official Summons.

 

Malan stood outside his door, very aware she was wearing her old ink-stained dress – something that had never bothered her before. She'd been Summoned. She slowly reached a nervous fist to the door, took a deep breath, stood straight and rapped confidently.

 

“Come”

 

Now she officially had those mythical butterflies flapping madly in her stomach, but she opened the latch, pushed open the door and stepped inside.

 

“Close the door please”

 

She turned and shut it hurriedly.

 

“Come”

 

She walked over to stand in front of the Chief Archivist's desk (he wasn't Tal Aren any more, this was too official to use the avuncular 'Tal').

 

“Take a seat child, and please don't look so much like a mouse. I'm not going to hurt you, you've done nothing wrong. In fact, you've done a lot of right things and that's why I've called you here. So sit, please”.

 

Malan heaved a sigh of relief relaxing her entire body, quickly pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the large, heavy desk to her long-time friend. She wiped her palms down her dress and realised they were sweating. This was only something that happened when she was nervous so something was still very different here.

 

“Yes Tal Aren”. It was hard not to see this big man as anything other than the kindly gentleman who'd helped her with her handwriting, and shown her the secrets of mixing the inks used by Chroniclers in times long past.

 

“Malan, you've been coming to our rooms here all your life, and you've shown a remarkable gift for words and recording the things you experience. I've spoken to your parents over the past few days about this, and they agreed I could speak to you now.”

 

Malan shifted a little in her chair. Something was about to happen, she just knew it – something momentous and life-changing, and her stomach suddenly became a mass of whirling Lepidopterae.

 

“Yes Tal Aren”

 

He smiled at her. She looked so small and frightened while trying to hide her nervousness under a thin mask of proud calmness. He knew her palms would be sweaty. They always were when she was nervous – a rare happening with Malan and something she tried to pretend didn't happen.

 

“I'll jump right in at the heart of the matter. Malan, I've been asked to take on the position of Cor' to the Guild of Chroniclers.”

 

Malan gasped. She knew this was the highest role anyone could have in the Guild. One only offered to those held in the highest esteem by the Omnius as a whole. Her hard-held poise fell away as she took in the fact that she was sitting opposite one of the greatest individuals in her world – and she'd just called him Tal. All the different emotions of this must have played across her face as she came to understand what it meant because Tal Aren – oh she meant Cor'Aren - was smiling (he looked amused) and watching her intently.

 

“Close your mouth Malan. It spoils your pretty face.” His deep chuckle didn't ease things for her at all. He passed her one of the cloths the Chroniclers always had on hand for keeping their work surfaces clean. “Please use this, your dress is grubby enough as it is”. Horror. She'd been rubbing her palms on her dress. She hated that they sweated like this and she had no control over them. She looked down at her dress, then quickly took the offered cloth, wiped her hands, handed the cloth back to him and lifted her chin in determination.

 

“Congratulations Cor'Zanth Aren” she said. “There is no-one on this world or any other who will bring more honour to the position. Although I will miss our times together and the teaching you would have otherwise given me, I hope your duties as Cor' will allow you to still visit the Chroniclers rooms on occasion.” There, she'd been as formal as the situation called for, and she'd given him his correct title too. So why did he still look amused.

 

“Little one, you don't get away from my lessons so quickly I'm afraid. I wish to take you into the Guild as an apprentice. Oh, your mouth is open again dear. Would you like that? It's time in your life to find your lifepath and settle on your future contribution to the Phaedran people. And being a Chronicler is a fine profession.”

 

With her big brown eyes shining brightly in a serious face she blurted out “Oh Tal Aren, I've only ever wanted to be a Chronicler, you knew that all along didn't you? This has all just been a way to rattle me hasn't it? You knew I'd say yes all along didn't you?” She then did something she'd never done before in all her tellos - she acted on impulse. She ran around his desk and gave her old friend a hug in gratitude and excitement.

 

Zanth Aren laughed at this uncharacteristic display of girlishness in the child he always thought of as serious and bookish. She was definitely gifted not only in her command of a number of the racial languages of Phaedran Prime, but in mastering languages as a whole. Her penmanship still needed training, but she had a keen eye for detail and tended to record situations and events with an accuracy that was most impressive – a talent highly prized in Chroniclers.

 

“We'll need you and your parents to sign the indenture, then you can commence your formal studies.” He cupped the side of her head in his big gentle hand and spoke directly into her eyes “I'll be keeping a close eye on your progress my dear, and ask that you please work hard on your handwriting. Remember, others need to read what you write. It may be the most accurate account, but of no use if it can't be read.” She nodded.

 

“Now off you go and please ask your mother to come in to see me.”

 

She almost ran from his office in excitement, bumping into Timi, one of the apprentices carrying books on the way through the outer hall. She apologised quickly while helping him pick up scattered books and bundling them back into his arms before being off at a fast walk to tell her mother and all her colleagues the news.

 

This was the beginning of what to Malan, was the most boring part of her life so far. She knew she had to sit in the classes, do the exercises, listen as intently as possible, and fetch and carry for the Masters when asked. But it was all so dull and unexciting, even though necessary. At the same time, she spent long hours working on her handwriting until even her mother felt she had one of the most legible and correct hands she'd seen – a great compliment indeed.

 

Her main respite was the time she spent with her father's people. Her propensity for language had her fluent in both the Elder and New languages, and the different dialects each of the clans used. She learned from them how to use the weapons the Elves were so famous for producing and the history of the clans. She listened intently to stories about the worlds the Elves had visited and established delegations and settlements on, and poured over the graphic image displayers. There was even talk of her visiting Sharwen once her apprenticeship was over, something that had her almost desperate to see this phase of her training complete.

 

Of her elder brothers, she knew little. They adored her and were bemused by her at the same time, and their initial need to protect her was as strong when they reached manhood as it had been when they were small children.

 

Aaren while growing into a strong, muscular young man liked nothing more than to accompany his father to the Guild of Protectors. He had a gift for creating metal blades that rivalled any made by the Masters, and because of this the apprenticeship he'd taken with the Guild was rapidly progressed. By the time his father had been raised from Ini' Weaponsmith to Master, Aaren was working alongside him well on the way to becoming Weaponsmith in his own right. Blades made by the father and son combination were becoming a sought for by Weaponwielders from a number of the known worlds.

 

Steven was not a strong lad. He was tall and slender with fine, gentle hands that matched his manner. He found it difficult to find the lifepath his sister and brother had found so easily. It was not until he visited a family friend in the rural settlement of in his twelfth year that he found his vocation. It seemed plants and indeed all growing things prospered with his attentions. It had always been known that the Elven races were of nature, and that there was an inherent magic in this. It seemed as though natural magic had been distilled in Steven. Some whispered that the earth knew when Steven touched it, and wanted nothing more than to please him. The growers and gardeners of the Guild of Agru welcomed Steven's application for apprenticeship and over time his way with living things meant the Masters took a particular interest in him.

 

So the years passed for the family without very many problems. As their majority at the age of thirty years was reached each of the boys took their second names – the ones which would speak for them through out their lives. Aaren took the name Veneth as it represented strength and metal while Steven took the name Garell for life and verdancy. Each was then of an age to begin their own families with Aaron wedding Tarren a Weaponweilder of the Guild of Protectors and several years later Steven wed the beautiful Ellin, an Elven maid of the Guild of Healers.

 

Malan reached her majority and took the name Khalifa meaning representative. She chose the name as by this time she was travelling through Phaedran Prime and other worlds with the Elven delegation, recording events as she saw them. In her eyes, her words represented what was happening, so the name seemed relevant. Although now old enough to take a life partner, she chose not to. When Fern asked her about this, she replied thoughtfully “I have a feeling there is very good reason for me not to tie my life to another. That if I do it will cause heartache.” The subject was not discussed again between mother and daughter, but later events proved Malan's prescience to be all too accurate for so many.

 

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