Bright Flame, Deep Shadow (lesbian story)

Arabella

I don't hear anyone approaching, but suddenly hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I instinctively realise I'm no longer alone. I look over my shoulder and find myself staring at a tall, thin man who only looks partially real. It takes a moment for me to recognise him, but when I do, I wonder if I'm hallucinating.

"Professor Martel?" My voice is deafening in the empty silence of the Shadows.

He nods, a sad smile on his lips. "Arabella," he says in greeting. "I had hoped to find you here. May I sit?" He gestures to the ground next to me.

"Why are you here?" I ask as I shuffle over. "Tanvik said I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone..." I trail off. I already know the answer to my own question, but I don't want to believe it.

"...anyone living," he finishes. He looks a lot older than when I last saw him—there's creases under his eyes and a streak of grey at his temple.

I can't stop myself. "You seem pretty calm for someone who just died." I bite my lip, hoping I haven't offended him. Not that he could really do anything to hurt me further, but still.

Martel unhooks his dagger from his belt and twirls it between his fingers thoughtfully. "My death was not a surprise, to tell you the truth. Arabella, there's a lot of things you don't know about me. I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you them now."

I sit up straighter, despite my exhaustion. This could be interesting.

Martel takes a deep breath before saying, "I am a Seer. Not a Shadow."

I'm too stunned to say anything, so I just blink at him for a moment while his eyes search my face, as if judging my reaction. "So...you knew you would die?" Does that mean he knew what would happen to me, too?

"Not exactly. I am—was—an exceptionally weak sorcerer. I was never going to make a living using my powers. I'm usually limited to small-scale predictions. Catching an object before it falls, for example, or having a strong feeling that something will go wrong. That is what I got today—I saw Ardyan Rybur's future, but I got an overwhelming sense of emptiness, though I could not say what caused it. Until the moment I realised I would—" his voice cracks a little, but he continues on, "that I would die, I did not realise that the warning was intended for us both. That must have been why the feeling was so strong. I suppose my premonitions got jumbled together or something, as they occurred simultaneously. I at least tried to keep Hestia safe, but I fear it will not be enough to save Ardyan." He takes his glasses off and blinks a few times, like he's trying to clear his vision. "I can see a little more clearly now, though." He squints as if trying to make out something in the distance.

I lean in closer, my voice low, though of course there's nobody around to hear us. "Can you see anything about me?" I have to know.

Martel shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry. You must understand, Arabella, my powers are pitiful. I am an embarrassment to my whole family." The bitterness in his voice is tangible, and it sounds strange coming from someone like him. Suddenly, I think I understand why Hestia took such a liking to him. "Some said I was not even a full-blooded Seer at all. I never truly believed it, but I always wondered."

"I'm sorry," is all I can say.

"Don't be," Martel says, giving me a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You have more important things to worry about than my life story."

"Like what?" I can't think of anything that could affect me now.

"Of course. You don't know about Davorin."

Something in the way he says the name makes me pause."Is that who killed you?"

Martel nods. "An ex-student. He was cast out about...about eight or nine years ago now. His crime was similar to the one you have been accused of. He was caught writing to a contact in the Flames of Astia. Have you heard of them?" I shake my head. "They seem to think there's something sinister about you—the Shadows, I mean. They were trying to use Davorin to infiltrate the Academy, and he was exiled for it."

"Why do they hate us?" Oskany and Astia aren't exactly friends, but we aren't enemies either.

Martel shrugs. "All I know about Shadows is what I've learned from living with you and observing. I might be the keeper of the archive, but that doesn't mean I'm allowed to read the books."

"What archive?" There's so much about this whole damn situation I don't know, yet who's the one who gets punished for it?

"The reason I work here. Government thought a Seer would be a good choice for someone to keep an eye on the place, but anyone more powerful was off North looking after the borders, or predicting the weather, or doing anything useful. Nobody else wanted to guard a dusty old library in the middle of nowhere, and I was already a teacher, so here I am."

Something isn't making sense. "But why would they keep a government archive all the way out here? Why not in Wintermouth?"

Martel shrugs again. "I don't know. I value my head, Arabella, so whenever a sealed document arrived I never opened it. They do inspections, you know."

"This archive, or whatever's in it, must have something to do with whatever Ardyan was doing that was secret enough for Hestia to feel the need to protect him from Tanvik," I say, but then I sigh and slump back against the tree. My head hurts when I think about it too hard. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm as good as dead."

"Not quite."

I jerk upright at that, my heart hammering against my ribs. Martel holds his dagger out to me, hilt first. "Davorin escaped the Deep Shadow, even though Tanvik had his arms cut off. You have both arms, and now you have my dagger."

I take it with shaking hands. When I touch it, the blade loses its strange hue and becomes real and solid in my grasp. "Are you sure? What about you?"

"I have no use for it now—not that I ever did. Even if my body wasn't as...damaged as it is, I would never be able to cut my way out of here. But you can get out of this, Arabella, though I would be careful in how you do it. Do not let Tanvik catch you. Or those." His eyes remain fixed on my face, but his hand points upward.

"They're evil souls who never moved on, aren't they?" It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, like something a child would say, but the words feel true on my tongue.

"I have no idea," Martel admits.

"Professor...why haven't you moved on yet?" For some reason, It feels a little intrusive to ask.

"I have a sense that I will be needed soon." His voice his heavy, like he's been brooding on that for a while.

"Ardyan."I don't have to wonder about that—Martel said he was in danger, and he predicted his own death well enough.

He nods sadly. "I'm not always right. I hope today is one of those days."

I weigh the dagger in my hands. I could get out of this after all. I might never see Flick again—Wintermouth is massive, and I could spend my life searching its streets and guildhalls for her—but I'd be alive. That's more than Ardyan could soon be. Even after what he did, I don't want him to die.

I think.

~~~~~

A/N: I seriously can't believe how fast this story is getting reads. 300 already??? Thank you!