Solo Percipience

[Verena Lorak]

Percipience
7th of Summer, 514 A.V.

It had been two whole seasons since Verena’s Auristic vision was distorted. It was a minor change, but noticeable nevertheless. Usually, she had relied on her magic for a much faster and accurate diagnostics, but it would seem like she would need to tune it down. Now, if she exerted herself, her head would start spinning and her eyes blurring. Therefore, the healer dared not use her magic too often. But she could not simply stop using it entirely.

It meant finding another way of using her magic.

Verena had read somewhere that the art of Auristics didn’t simply rely on sight. Of course, most users focused on that particular sense, but her situation had probed her to be a bit more creative. She was not entirely sure how it would work with other senses, since she usually spotted colors and patterns. It was like asking her to see with her nose in a quite literal way. How does one do that? Was it even possible?

Still, various resources wrote that it has been done. That would mean there was a way. Verena was unsure whether such things apply to such a novice like her, but she was willing to try. She had no idea when her vision will turn back to normal – if it ever will. As much as she was accustomed to determining the effects of disease, the Lorak was not quite sure how the overuse of magic might affect the human body. Better to keep it safe until she had gained more information.

“Do you really need me here?” Hallan’s deep voice asked. He was standing in front of her row of plants, staring out the window. He ran his fingers through his freshly cut hair in a mindless gesture. Unlike most slaves, his markings were done on his chest, drawn with black ink. He had been in her care and Verena insisted that she would not have him branded on the face. She did not want to mark him as her property. It seemed cruel to do such a thing.

There was no way she could spare every slave from the pain, but at least she saved one. It was not enough, but it was the best she could do at the time.

When her mistress did not answer, he added, “I don’t think your family will approve of us being alone behind closed doors.”

A long time ago, rumors had been spreading around about her having a slave lover. Hallan had always been her shadow - never too far from her mistress - and that garnered some attention from the people of Kenash. Being as she was, Verena barely noticed the gossip, much less react to it. A gossip was no fun when the subject seemed not to care even the slightest pinch. And so, it faded with time. Mostly.

“Why don’t you hire a tutor? I am sure you can afford that,” the slave pointed out lightly as he moved toward her.

The healer was already sitting cross-legged on her bed. Around her were strewn papers filled with her scrawls regarding Auristics. Once she had grasped the basic concept, Verena preferred to study the magic independently. “If I failed this, then I shall hire one.”

Hallan took his place sitting across her, looking mildly amused. “Whatever you want, milady.” It was an amazing thing, how casual they were conversing despite their statuses. This was precisely why the Loraks hoped to keep the two away. If anyone else saw how well Verena treated her own slaves, people will start talking again. “So, what am I feeling?” he questioned as he extended his arm toward his mistress.

Verena placed her hand in Hallan’s, hoping that direct contact could help her. The first sense she was about to try was touch. It seemed appropriate since the skin could identify various surfaces, defining each as a unique sensation – hot, cold, pain, rough, smooth, numb. She imagined her djed spreading across the surface of her hand, reaching out to the knowledge just outside her own body.

Nothing.

Again, she tried to force her djed to encase her hand like a glove.

Still nothing.

The healer started visualizing her magic transferring into Hallan somehow, though unsure how it would help her understand his aura.

None.

Mildly vexed, she finally asked as she slipped a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you feeling?”

The comely slave grinned. “Famished. We missed lunch.”