Frost 1, 121
The voice had been as good as its word, the doctor did ask about his suggestion for the centrifuge the next day, and was even enthusiastic about the changes. Rivin tried not to be stunned, tried to keep his lack of belief in the situation from showing and marring his strong belief in his new ideas. He dared not ask Ilex any questions about the day before; it could lead to no good thing.
Over the next few days, he waited for the voice to return, to offer the promised understanding, but it did not come. The voice had mentioned a deal, and he had certain;y felt like a spirit, though far more vast and powerful than any of the tiny sprites and lesser spirits he'd ever made pacts with in the past.
It must have happened while he was in the red space he could never remember. Rivin knew he took actions, made choices in that state, only that he could not remember them afterward. His mother had told him, the one time she had ever seen it, that he seemed coherent and able to control himself. The idea that he might be making pacts, the tenants of which he would have to keep, while he was in a state that he would not recall later, did not, at all, sit well with him.
As the weeks turned into months it was a struggle to keep his frustration under control and not showing around anyone who mattered. As the days grew colder he was forced to wear shoes on his daily exercise in the gardens, was unable to lay out under the trees for any meaningful length of time. His connection to the earth felt pulled away from him, so he spent the time huddling before the fire in his room, trying to make friends with the mercurial little sprites that too were pulled inside during the cold months.
It wasn't like companionship, and while Rivin had grown used to not having anyone in his life who wasn't a danger, it was particularly trying when there were fewer distractions for him. There were still books, but he'd made his way through the stack of volumes he'd initially been so excited about and was now attempting to glean through the large library for a rarity: Books that he had not yet read, which were also interesting.
What he wanted was someone to talk to, someone who wanted good things for him. It had been eight years since he'd seen his mother. Ilex sometimes gave him reports on her, and there had been a couple of letters the first year, but for all realistic purposes, she was gone. They had been separated just before he'd been giving his rune. It was at this time of year, just after he'd reached his fourteenth year.
~~~~
When Rivin and his mother had been released again from their cell hadn't seemed to be on any particular day, just, one morning, they had been. The room they were given was similar to their previous one, but not the same. Life continued from that point as though none of the months spent in the cell had happened. He had new tutors, but the schedule was the same, they taught him more advanced things, but expected just as much. They were allowed to spend time in the courtyard, though there were never any other children and their mothers. Rivin was even allowed to assist the doctor again. No mention was ever made, by anyone, of the incident and the punishment that followed. It was like the first time he'd been beaten, after it was done, it was gone.
Rather than feeling relief at this, some part of Rivin, edging toward puberty, resented the fact that his severe injury was never addressed. His mother, when she noticed his irritation, told him it was better this way, better than having to be reminded, or talked down to about it. She said this as though she had experienced both, and he tried to believe her.
Life went on in this way, learning to meditate without being noticed, working out his body, assisting where he could. After his new tutors evaluated his progress he graduated from learning math and general sciences to specialized learning in biology and chemistry. They both fascinated him, so he didn't question being led into them and away from the other sciences. As he learned more, he was allowed to assist more, even at times, when Ilex was particularly pleased with him, to conduct experiments of his own interest.
The seasons turned, the meditation helped when his eyes tried to go red on him too, which was good, as it happened more and more often as his body began to trip over the blurred line between childhood and adulthood. The changes, which he was mentally well prepared for, by both his mother and his studies, proved to be emotionally difficult. This, too, was to be expected, he knew. Knowing did not make it easier to bear, nor control.
He was beaten several more times for disobedience or belligerence. Sometimes they were mild and he was able to keep control of his own mind, other times they were not, or he never even got to the beginning of them before the red covered his vision and he woke up in a cell, obviously having been beaten. The time he was forced to remain in the cell was never very much longer than it took his bruises and welts to heal, and it was never so bad as the first time the red had taken him. His mother alternatively encouraged him and demanded that he work harder at controlling himself. As usual, her methods helped, and, over time, the incidents grew fewer.
Just after the beginning of Ash, the season his mother informed him he'd been born in, Dr. Ilex called him to him specifically. Rivin had arrived to assist as usual, and the doctor had called him over. It wasn't the tone the man used to give him instructions, nor the one that said he was in trouble. When he had obeyed the summons the doctor had informed him that there would be one more examination, a very thorough one, on the next day, and, if Rivin passed this, he would be given a very special, and difficult task.
Ilex had been quite serious, but there was something about his eyes, in his voice, that spoke of excitement and happiness. A thrill went through Rivin, and he had expressed that he understood. This was what he had been born for, to complete this project. This was the experiment that he had been existing inside all his life.
When he returned to his mother that evening in excitement, and informed her, she put on a face of pleasure, of pride, but her demeanor was sunken, somehow. When he had asked why she wasn't happy she had told him she was, that he was the culmination of all she had wanted, and more. Seeing that he was neither fooled nor satisfied she had sat him down with her and explained that, should he succeed, he would not need her any longer, and they would not see each other again.
Sitting perfectly still, Rivin had come to several realizations that had been hovering beyond his consciousness for some time but never quite landed. The first was that, while it had been fun to imagine himself as a part of a large, long-term experiment, the reality of it was that he was a specimen, and like all specimens, he would be given only what he needed to survive. Once he had succeeded, or failed, he would no longer need a parent to look after him.
The second was that he had no idea if he would retain any value beyond the moment of culmination. Live, or die, (for he knew these were the two optional outcomes), the answer to the question that was at the heart of the experiment would be answered, and in so being, the experiment would be over. At least, his part in it. There was some hope that, as the doctor had allowed him an extensive education, he would be allowed to continue as a useful assistant, should he live.
He had spent the night curled up on his mother's bed with her, as he'd used to sleep as a young child. They did not sleep; speaking quietly to each other through the dark hours. They said the things they needed to, things of the past, things of the future, things of the heart and of the head. They did not say goodbye. Rivin did not understand farewells, but, in his heart, he tried to accept letting go of the only thing that had ever been for him.
At some point, near dawn, he had fallen asleep, warm in her arms. When she woke him, she helped him dress, combed his hair, washed his face, as though he were still small, and, for once, none of his rebellious, teenage emotions objected at all. They had eaten breakfast together, not sure if it was their last meal together, though she had said she suspected he would have at least a day, possibly longer, before the results would be back.
The guard came, and the examination proceeded. It was extensive; all parts of him being measured or weighed, all parts of him inspected for fault. There was nothing but clinical indifference on the part of the doctors, for there were two in addition to Ilex. The mage-healer appeared after all the measurements were taken and did whatever tests on him she typically administered. As usual, Rivin felt little tingles that told him when she was using magic. He had gotten better at interpreting the tiny pulses since he'd first felt them, and his mother had explained that they were a gift from her linage, but nothing more had ever come of them.
One of the two doctors, not Ilex, had begun to run tests on his sight, his hearing, his reflexes. When these had moved on to testing his intelligence Ilex had waved them away with a gruff,
"He passes those."
More questions had come afterward, about his behavior, his bodily functions, sleeping, eating, exercise. Some of these questions had not been things he spoke about, even with his mother, about the reactions his changing body had to different stimulation. These made him uncomfortable but he had relaxed his jaw and answered them, trying for the same empty, calm manor his mother wore whenever it wasn't just the two of them.
The examination had taken all the morning, and the better part of the afternoon, and some of it had been distinctly uncomfortable, physically and otherwise, but, at last, it was done. He was allowed to put his clothing back on and return to his room. To his relief, his mother had been there, and now, all they had was to wait.
The voice had been as good as its word, the doctor did ask about his suggestion for the centrifuge the next day, and was even enthusiastic about the changes. Rivin tried not to be stunned, tried to keep his lack of belief in the situation from showing and marring his strong belief in his new ideas. He dared not ask Ilex any questions about the day before; it could lead to no good thing.
Over the next few days, he waited for the voice to return, to offer the promised understanding, but it did not come. The voice had mentioned a deal, and he had certain;y felt like a spirit, though far more vast and powerful than any of the tiny sprites and lesser spirits he'd ever made pacts with in the past.
It must have happened while he was in the red space he could never remember. Rivin knew he took actions, made choices in that state, only that he could not remember them afterward. His mother had told him, the one time she had ever seen it, that he seemed coherent and able to control himself. The idea that he might be making pacts, the tenants of which he would have to keep, while he was in a state that he would not recall later, did not, at all, sit well with him.
As the weeks turned into months it was a struggle to keep his frustration under control and not showing around anyone who mattered. As the days grew colder he was forced to wear shoes on his daily exercise in the gardens, was unable to lay out under the trees for any meaningful length of time. His connection to the earth felt pulled away from him, so he spent the time huddling before the fire in his room, trying to make friends with the mercurial little sprites that too were pulled inside during the cold months.
It wasn't like companionship, and while Rivin had grown used to not having anyone in his life who wasn't a danger, it was particularly trying when there were fewer distractions for him. There were still books, but he'd made his way through the stack of volumes he'd initially been so excited about and was now attempting to glean through the large library for a rarity: Books that he had not yet read, which were also interesting.
What he wanted was someone to talk to, someone who wanted good things for him. It had been eight years since he'd seen his mother. Ilex sometimes gave him reports on her, and there had been a couple of letters the first year, but for all realistic purposes, she was gone. They had been separated just before he'd been giving his rune. It was at this time of year, just after he'd reached his fourteenth year.
~~~~
When Rivin and his mother had been released again from their cell hadn't seemed to be on any particular day, just, one morning, they had been. The room they were given was similar to their previous one, but not the same. Life continued from that point as though none of the months spent in the cell had happened. He had new tutors, but the schedule was the same, they taught him more advanced things, but expected just as much. They were allowed to spend time in the courtyard, though there were never any other children and their mothers. Rivin was even allowed to assist the doctor again. No mention was ever made, by anyone, of the incident and the punishment that followed. It was like the first time he'd been beaten, after it was done, it was gone.
Rather than feeling relief at this, some part of Rivin, edging toward puberty, resented the fact that his severe injury was never addressed. His mother, when she noticed his irritation, told him it was better this way, better than having to be reminded, or talked down to about it. She said this as though she had experienced both, and he tried to believe her.
Life went on in this way, learning to meditate without being noticed, working out his body, assisting where he could. After his new tutors evaluated his progress he graduated from learning math and general sciences to specialized learning in biology and chemistry. They both fascinated him, so he didn't question being led into them and away from the other sciences. As he learned more, he was allowed to assist more, even at times, when Ilex was particularly pleased with him, to conduct experiments of his own interest.
The seasons turned, the meditation helped when his eyes tried to go red on him too, which was good, as it happened more and more often as his body began to trip over the blurred line between childhood and adulthood. The changes, which he was mentally well prepared for, by both his mother and his studies, proved to be emotionally difficult. This, too, was to be expected, he knew. Knowing did not make it easier to bear, nor control.
He was beaten several more times for disobedience or belligerence. Sometimes they were mild and he was able to keep control of his own mind, other times they were not, or he never even got to the beginning of them before the red covered his vision and he woke up in a cell, obviously having been beaten. The time he was forced to remain in the cell was never very much longer than it took his bruises and welts to heal, and it was never so bad as the first time the red had taken him. His mother alternatively encouraged him and demanded that he work harder at controlling himself. As usual, her methods helped, and, over time, the incidents grew fewer.
Just after the beginning of Ash, the season his mother informed him he'd been born in, Dr. Ilex called him to him specifically. Rivin had arrived to assist as usual, and the doctor had called him over. It wasn't the tone the man used to give him instructions, nor the one that said he was in trouble. When he had obeyed the summons the doctor had informed him that there would be one more examination, a very thorough one, on the next day, and, if Rivin passed this, he would be given a very special, and difficult task.
Ilex had been quite serious, but there was something about his eyes, in his voice, that spoke of excitement and happiness. A thrill went through Rivin, and he had expressed that he understood. This was what he had been born for, to complete this project. This was the experiment that he had been existing inside all his life.
When he returned to his mother that evening in excitement, and informed her, she put on a face of pleasure, of pride, but her demeanor was sunken, somehow. When he had asked why she wasn't happy she had told him she was, that he was the culmination of all she had wanted, and more. Seeing that he was neither fooled nor satisfied she had sat him down with her and explained that, should he succeed, he would not need her any longer, and they would not see each other again.
Sitting perfectly still, Rivin had come to several realizations that had been hovering beyond his consciousness for some time but never quite landed. The first was that, while it had been fun to imagine himself as a part of a large, long-term experiment, the reality of it was that he was a specimen, and like all specimens, he would be given only what he needed to survive. Once he had succeeded, or failed, he would no longer need a parent to look after him.
The second was that he had no idea if he would retain any value beyond the moment of culmination. Live, or die, (for he knew these were the two optional outcomes), the answer to the question that was at the heart of the experiment would be answered, and in so being, the experiment would be over. At least, his part in it. There was some hope that, as the doctor had allowed him an extensive education, he would be allowed to continue as a useful assistant, should he live.
He had spent the night curled up on his mother's bed with her, as he'd used to sleep as a young child. They did not sleep; speaking quietly to each other through the dark hours. They said the things they needed to, things of the past, things of the future, things of the heart and of the head. They did not say goodbye. Rivin did not understand farewells, but, in his heart, he tried to accept letting go of the only thing that had ever been for him.
At some point, near dawn, he had fallen asleep, warm in her arms. When she woke him, she helped him dress, combed his hair, washed his face, as though he were still small, and, for once, none of his rebellious, teenage emotions objected at all. They had eaten breakfast together, not sure if it was their last meal together, though she had said she suspected he would have at least a day, possibly longer, before the results would be back.
The guard came, and the examination proceeded. It was extensive; all parts of him being measured or weighed, all parts of him inspected for fault. There was nothing but clinical indifference on the part of the doctors, for there were two in addition to Ilex. The mage-healer appeared after all the measurements were taken and did whatever tests on him she typically administered. As usual, Rivin felt little tingles that told him when she was using magic. He had gotten better at interpreting the tiny pulses since he'd first felt them, and his mother had explained that they were a gift from her linage, but nothing more had ever come of them.
One of the two doctors, not Ilex, had begun to run tests on his sight, his hearing, his reflexes. When these had moved on to testing his intelligence Ilex had waved them away with a gruff,
"He passes those."
More questions had come afterward, about his behavior, his bodily functions, sleeping, eating, exercise. Some of these questions had not been things he spoke about, even with his mother, about the reactions his changing body had to different stimulation. These made him uncomfortable but he had relaxed his jaw and answered them, trying for the same empty, calm manor his mother wore whenever it wasn't just the two of them.
The examination had taken all the morning, and the better part of the afternoon, and some of it had been distinctly uncomfortable, physically and otherwise, but, at last, it was done. He was allowed to put his clothing back on and return to his room. To his relief, his mother had been there, and now, all they had was to wait.
