Dearest Grandma,

Kirdain told me, you complained to him about my lack of letters this year. I promised to take care of it, so here’s a letter.

I’m deeply sorry for not writing more or longer letters to you.

I just had a lot to do but very little to write about — as long as you’re not interested in changed trade agreements, laws against interspecies coupling, and that sort of thing, and I suppose you are not. Because most reasonable people aren’t.

I performed my last exam task earlier this week and haven’t done a lot since then. Thinking, mostly.

I’m not that excited about my scores — I guess that’s what a lack of competition does to you. I remember Kirdain being a bit antsy last year but I’ll be the best and worse at once so it’s pretty boring. He had two classmates - so very exciting.

I know you are waiting for confirmation about me being assigned to Agshraf but I can’t give that to you. I can’t say anything about assignments in general, at this point.

The Andrush Vandrainor informed me that they don’t wish for me to leave just yet. And that any confirmations will have to wait for a while.

There is some sort of greater ritual taking place later this year and I am to remain here until afterward. They are summoning everybody available so I guess sending away someone would be pretty stupid.

That also means I might not be able to come home in summer at all, just like we talked about. Give it up for making plans.

I’m also sorry for that. I hope you’re not too disappointed.

Tishian and I will continue to hope that we’ll be able to come home for summer, talk about everything. See the city again. And the rest of the family, too. If the ritual and general scheduling allow it, I’ll come home after the herd was here.

It’s always a bit weird to imagine that I have great-nieces and nephews and don’t know them yet, that they grow up without me. And my younger cousins of course. I sometimes wonder how they’ll see me, you know? Even if I end up staying in Agshraf. We were always so close, we children. And you know how much all of you still mean to me. But I’m afraid it’ll never be the same. Or will it? Will they learn to see me as a real family member or will I always be the odd one out? I’m pretty sure I’ll be that eventually, three to four generations down the road.

Sometimes, immortality scares me. I see it in Telassi all the time — they are surrounded by family, not just the Vandrainor but actual blood family — the actual Nighttears and those with a lot of shared blood, they are here all the time — and still so lonely. I’m afraid of that loneliness. Whenever I think of that, I understand why so many of us leave on their own terms. You just can’t do it forever.

But I didn’t want to write about that. Rumbling about immortality is a bad and a bit weird habit of mine, I’m sorry. But I am afraid I don’t have much else to tell you.

I learned about spell casting, lately. I don’t know any spells, don’t worry. But I know roughly how it works and it’s very complicated. I think. I also think that Renor — Kirdain’s old master — doesn’t tell me as much as he knows about it. Telassi doesn’t want me to learn, I think you’d agree? So… it’s only theory for me, and frankly, I find it interesting but not worth the cost?

Oh, yes, I also talked to Kirdain and he’s very sorry for not saying goodbye. He had to go on a spontaneous emergency mission — a witch somewhere got hurt and he was closest. He’s currently waiting for him to get better. He asks that you hang on to his sword and armor until someone comes to pick it up. (And not spread the rumor that the equipment is at your house.) I’m not sure if he explained, but please keep it safe and away from the little ones, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.

Do you know if he talked to his mother? I haven’t asked.

I love you.

- Ilandi

‘Will you ever tell her?’

‘Tell her what?’ Ilandi asked.

‘You know what.’

Ilandi made a half-grin. Of course, they knew. Tishian’s mind was not just an open book, it was more or less the same. They could feel their companion’s thoughts at any moment. And Tishian could, too. But sometimes it was necessary to state what they wanted. It made things easier. If both of them stayed in their shared space all the time, it sometimes became hard to untangle their identities. Over the years, they had learned that it was very important to be able to say who had done what later. But the door was always open. They could always feel each other, always lend the others’ senses. Ilandi loved it. From the very moment they had seen Tishian, they had been able to be that close. It was as if the door, a door they had always known was there inside their head, had finally gotten a room to connect to. And whatever they did, that door remained open, bright light shining out of it, most of the time.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird to write to your Grandma about … death?’, Tishian asked.

Ilandi folded the parchment to a tight roll, shrugging. ‘What else should I write? Hello grandma, I’m in the mids of secrecy I know more about it than I should because I can’t obey my teacher? Doesn’t sound good. Writing about … that is easier. She’ll think I’m okay. She expects me to have these kinds of thoughts.’

‘We are okay, Ilandi. Just because Lexon can’t keep his mouth shut doesn’t mean we did anything.’

‘We poked! We bothered him like hell beasts about it, Tishian.’

Tishian snorted. ‘You bothered him. I asked politely. Besides, you could just write how great we are doing. No need to sell ourselves short.’

Ilandi rolled their eyes and snickered. ‘Should I write to her about your accomplishments?’, they asked.

‘Yes. But not in this letter. Next time. I’ll remind you.’

Ilandi grinned. They rummaged in one of the drawers and produced a strap of band. Carefully, they wrapped it around the roll and twisted it into a knot, took the scroll under the arm, and turned to the door. A nudging in their mind stopped them. Tishian’s attention was focused on the object they had left behind on the table.

A hand made from steel and stone lay there, fingertips pressed against the smooth wood, fingers lifted, they seemed to carry the weight of the palm, like columns that kept up a roof.

They sighed and attached the hand to the stump at the end of their right arm. As always, it took a second to get used to the feeling.

This was not a delicate yet dead prosthesis Ishgol Watchmaker had made for them in Agshraf. The man had made several of these over the years for Ilandi. As their body grew, the prostheses had to be remodeled and adjusted regularly. Ishgol had always said it was easier for him to simply make a new one, instead of working hours on end on an old model that had been through some things, already. Ilandi had always been thankful for that. Without the watchmaker, their life in Agshraf wouldn’t have been as easy.

This prosthesis was different, though. It was alive. Two days after their arrival in Nahandrain, Telassi had called a carver, a blacksmith, a witch, a conjurer, and a spell caster in their office. All of these people had talked and debated for hours and finally came up with something that would be way more than just a prosthesis. The stone and metal were connected with a special kind of fungus that lived in symbiosis with the stone. It ate away not on the stone but instead consumed dirt and grime, and the occasional flake of rust. This fungus had allowed the witch to knit it together with Ilandi’s own bond. They could control it, it could do all the things a normal hand could do.

To this day, they had no idea how much money Telassi had spent just for them to have this hand. It had taken all those people almost a month to complete it, and hours to adjust it perfectly to their body. Ideally, after a few years, they wouldn’t take it off anymore, because they wouldn’t notice a real difference, and learned to see it as a natural part of themselves. That idea made them shiver; because Ilandi hated that thing.

It wasn’t the magic or the hand itself. They had always admired all kinds of magic. Their grandmother had taught them the basics of conjuring when they were nine or ten, and they had spent hours pestering Agnesa about one spell, or one of the tricks she could do because she was the descendant of witches — without success, of course. Kirdain’s mother had never let anyone in on her family’s secrets.

No, Ilandi just hated how it was. Too real, too lively.

As long as they could remember, they had been without it. They couldn’t even remember the accident that had taken away the hand. All the prostheses Ishgol had made were simply for the looks. So that people didn’t stare and they could balance themselves with them in the worst case. No intention for them to actually use the hand. And now, whenever they felt the hand move, a finger twitch, whenever they felt the constant flow of magic between hand and their self, they recoiled. It just felt weird.

Tishian had offered, several times, to find a witch and connect the hand to his life force. And that had somehow made it even worse. Getting their companion, their soul mate, mixed up in this was wrong. Even thinking about it made Ilandi feel sick.

They had never told Telassi that. Whenever they left their room, or someone entered, they attached the hand. Except for Kirdain. He of course knew.

Scroll in magical hand, Ilandi left the room. A fast pace toward the falcon’s tower where the birds were kept. Tishian walked behind them, slowly. No horse enjoyed that tower. It was one of the very few parts of the Great Stable that had not been built with the comfort of the horses in mind. They were simply not meant to go there.

“Tishian!”, a voice came from behind them. “Ilandi!”

Ilandi sighed and turned around. Despite their frustration, a little smile spread around their lips. Tishian’s feelings brightened shamelessly. A small ongai stood behind them. Heskra. Heskra was twelve and small, even for their age. Ongai only started to really grow after their first hormonal burst. No feathers or horns so far, the little ongai was neither here, nor there, and Ilandi liked that a lot. Their little tusks were more stumps than anything else at the moment, and their silvery scales glistened blue and green. Their companion was nowhere to be seen.

“Heskra”, they said friendly.

“Where are you going?”, Heskra asked in their own native tongue.

Ilandi smiled and shook their head. “I’m going to send a message”, they said. They had answered in common. Unlike humans, ongai had to learn every language they encountered and for Heskra, it was hard. Ilandi had no idea how it was like. They only had to learn writing systems, and that was bad enough. But talking? It sounded horrible. Heskra’s face was blank for a second, then they smiled. “You are sending a massage?”, they asked.

“A message”, Ilandi corrected gently.

“Oh”, Heskra replied and smiled sheepishly. “Can I tag along?”

‘Of course you can!’, Tishian answered. He loved the little ongai. And the love was returned in kind.

Heskra beamed. “Thank you!"

It had taken Heskra a while to understand, that answering horses mentally instead of verbally, was something reserved to people who were very close to both the rider and the horse. Knowing, that they finally grasped that concept made it easier for Ilandi to relax around them.

Tishian snickered. ‘You’re welcome, little one. But where’s Darcia?’

Heskra’s shoulder sacked. “She’s still with Mistress Tershja”, they said.

Ilandi touched the little ongai’s shoulder in sympathy and leaned against Tishian’s flank.

It was cold now, the room they shared, and for a second, Ilandi focused all their inner light inside it, all to aid his companion.

Darcia and Heskra had come here late last year. Darcia had been badly hurt at this point, and still had trouble walking. The healers were pretty sure that she would be fine one day. But until then, she needed to be closely supervised and spent many hours every day in therapy.

Heskra had spent a lot of nights sleeping pressed against Tishian, while Ilandi studied next to the two of them. Darcia had the same parents;

Tishian felt for her.

‘Hop on’, Tishian said.

Ilandi tried not to make a face. But Heskra started to beam with joy. again, and nodded. So they gave the little one a leg-up. It looked comical. Their silvery scales would probably look odd against most fur colors but Tishian’s seal brown coat and white spotted blanket made for an interesting contrast. Not to mention the difference in height; Tishian was fully grown and too tall for them.

Still, Ilandi did not like the idea of someone else riding their companion.

‘Relax,’ Tishian said and nudged their head. ‘You’re still my favorite bipedal.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And it’s not like they’re assuming anything.’

‘Mhh. I’d like to see you so relaxed when I …’

‘When you ride another horse? Or another rider?’

Ilandi shook their head and resumed his path. Behind them, Heskra was talking to Tishian. Most of it was praise, they knew. They weren’t actively listening but the feeling of satisfaction from Tishian was almost impossible to ignore.

The falcon’s tower was empty. Like it was most of the time. Letters didn’t mean much to the Vandrainor. Whenever possible, they preferred to talk to people directly. But Ilandi could hardly ride to Agshraf just to tell their grandmother, they weren’t coming home any time soon.

The annals told of other times when there had been more of them, they would have given the message to another Vandrainor who was headed the way. But there were too few of them for that now.

So Ilandi stood there, in the middle of the tower, and waited patiently for a falcon to sit down on their hand. A strip of dried meat between their fingers to encourage the animals.

“Why don’t you just scry the person you want to send this message to?”, Heskra asked.

Ilandi smiled. “Well, do you know the downsides of scrying?”

‘Don’t lecture them!’

‘They need to learn.’

‘But not from… oh, whatever.’

Heskra thought for a second. “It can only be done, when the other person is in front of a reflective surface, right? Like a mirror or a puddle of water or something.”

“Right. At least, if you want them to hear and see you, as well. What else?”

“Uhh, it’s difficult? I’m always so tired afterward.”

“Whom do you scry?”

“My parents, mostly”, they said. “Sometimes they do, if they think I’ve gone too long without … you know… checking in.”

“I see.” If Ilandi had been Heskra’s age, their grandmother would have insisted on checking in regularly, too. She probably would have come up with something more ridiculous, even.

“So… you don’t know if whoever you wanna talk to has time right now, is it that?”

“Yes”, Ilandi agreed. “She’s usually working at this time.”

“Oh. Is it your mom?”

“No.” At this precise moment, a falcon landed on their hand. That was a great cue to leave that conversation.

‘You’re really rude.’

‘No, they are.’

Tishian was unconvinced. It was normal for a child to ask questions. And they couldn’t — Ilandi yanked themselves consciously away from Tishian’s thoughts and focused instead on the task at hand. The falcon could feel their restlessness and tripled a bit. It took a little effort to calm the creature’s mind enough, to secure the message to its leg. Then, another brief touch to give the location away, and the falcon flew away, its mind filled with calm determination.

They walked back in silence. “What will you do now?”, Heskra asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… you are finished, right? Your last exam was this week, right?”

“Yeah.”

Ilandi smiled for a second. Right now, there were fourteen students in the Stable. It was impossible to not know everything about everybody else. Heskra and Serjio were the newest ones; he was an elf and five years older than her. Ilandi was senior to everyone in terms of studying but not the oldest student at all. One of them - Hafna - was over forty years old and in her fourth year. She was a human, too.

When a new student arrived, they took on the last name Vandrainor. An empty gesture by now, but an old practice. Traditionally, it was meant to symbolize that — despite all the differences — the Vandrainor were a family. Now, when there were so very few of them, they really were a family. An odd one with weird age gaps but a family.

“So… what will you do?”

Ilandi smiled. “Wait. Maybe I won’t pass, who knows.”

Heskra scoffed. “They say you’ll pass.”

“Who ‘they?’”

“Everyone. They’re kind of waiting for you to pass with amazing grades, you know.”

“Mhh.” Of course, they did. For all the right and all the wrong reasons. “Mistress Lernkah said you could be the next Andrush Vandrainor, if Telassi ever steps down.”

Ilandi shot them a look. “Heskra, did no one teach you not to gossip?”

“Why? They like you, they wouldn’t get rid of you.”

Ilandi froze. So did Tishian for a moment. Slowly, deliberately, they turned toward the little ongai. “Telassi did not get rid of anyone, ever”, they said. “I know Lernkah doesn’t like them. Still, don’t go around spreading those lies.”

Heskra shrugged. “I’m sorry. She just told me.”

“I bet she did.”

Lernkah was a conservative lady from minor Nightlandian nobility. Unwavering in her dislike of Telassi. It had something to do with ancient superstitions about disabled people, long discarded. And something else, that neither humans discussed. But saying something like this seemed to be more than just spitefulness.

Ilandi shook their head. “Where are you supposed to be next, Heskra? We can bring you.”

“Oh, that’s nice! Next is my history class, I believe.”

“Alright.”

Ilandi set a fast pace. Heskra was a nice enough child but right now, they had overstayed their welcome. And they wanted to talk to Telassi about Lernkah. Or maybe just rant.

The library, where the history class would take place, was already open and an old dwarf ushered Heskra inside. “Thank you, for bringing them, Ilandi”, she said.

Ilandi nodded quickly in acknowledgment and turned the second the door closed behind Heskra.

‘Ilandi, you are paranoid’, Tishian cautioned. ‘Let me talk to Lexon, or … I don’t know but we don’t have to bother Telassi.’

Ilandi ignored him.

‘Fine. Fine ignore me, but you know I’m right!!’ Even his hoof beat sounded irritated.

Tegilbor’s desk was one of the biggest in the entire Stable. It surrounded the dwarf on three sides, and the fourth was a bookcase and allowed him to actually leave the desk from time to time. But Ilandi probably wouldn’t have noticed if the dwarf had just no way of leaving the desk at all because he was there all the time.

Several scrolls and letters laid on the desk, and Tegilbor worked on his own long scroll when Ilandi approached. He looked up. His unsettling eyes were enlarged by his glasses. His beard was immaculately combed as always but his skin had a gray shadow on it, his eyes a bit too much red. He looked tired.

“You cannot go in there, Ilandi”, he said. “Right now, there’s a meeting going on.”

“I need to speak with them.”

Tegilbor sighed. “Ilandi, we’ve been through this. The Andrush Vandrainor is in a meeting. They have no time for you.”

Kirdain groaned. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave a message.”

Tegilbor nodded and presented a piece of parchment. Ilandi closed their eyes and remembered the alphabet of points and lines, elevations and delves, Telassi could read without help.

Tegilbor usually transcribed messages into this alphabet but Ilandi wanted to be sure, that they got his message just right.

They handed the message to the confused dwarf. “Tell them, if they need me, I’ll be on the training grounds.” By now, they were almost sure they wanted to do more than just rant. But their irritation needed to go before that.

Tegilbor nodded. “Blowing off some steam sounds wise, young friend. If I might be so blunt.”

“I can’t stop you anyway”, Ilandi said while turning away.