Chapter Text
For all that he was a fifteen year old boy, Ramasu had the typical grace and reservation one would associate with a priest, a lucky coincidence most of the time. His family’s aspirations for him: a top Mithran priest in the duchy they lived in, and happily married to Hafsa, the duke’s third child. For the most part, life was good, food plentiful, and plenty of coin saved away. All of this made it atypical for Ramasu to not only drop a plate, imported porcelain from Yaman, but to vaporize it before it hit the ground.
“Ramasu, what was that?” queried his mother, a woman from the city-state Amar, before her arranged marriage to Ramasu’s father called for her to relocate to Apal. In a less stately and refined person, her question would have been phrased less carefully, or carried disdain, but her near-nobility upbringing prevented any such indelicacy.
“Mother, forgive me, I do not know. It felt strange to be holding the plate, it felt wrong, and now it is gone,” he responded, head down in the chance she might not feel inclined to believe him respectful enough. He was as surprised and upset as she was, and it must have shown on his face.
“Come now,” she said, “I will not blame you, but I suggest we test you for the Gift again.” Ramasu nodded, head truly hanging now. The magic-sniffers, the household servants and slaves called them, and he had already been tested thrice, with no result. If he had a Gift, the magic had waited to appear with horrible tardiness. Young children typically manifested the Gift, if they had it, and it was with increasing rareness that a person older than that would be discovered with the magical Gift. Should he have magic, he would have to be trained or risk the destruction caused by accidental outbursts.
Some time passed before the magic sniffer could come, but that afternoon he did. Ramasu had spent the time waiting for his arrival catching up on his studies, having fallen slightly behind in the academic work required of a Mithran priest-in-training. After the magic sniffer had seen him, identified that Ramasu did indeed have the Gift, and left after leaving a note about the future for his parents, Ramasu and his parents were in the more private of the two sitting rooms their house possessed.
“The lad has the Gift, and stronger than any I’ve seen in a long while. Send him to the stronghold to be trained to control it, but once under control, training in a priest’s duties can resume,” read Mother, outloud, to Father, who was relaxing in the great chair by the door. She looked at him as he processed the information.
“Well, Ramasu, l do believe we should see what your gift can do. Let’s have a demonstration,” he said. Ramasu’s father was a man of great standing in the city-state, frequenting the duke’s household as a counsellor. Though intimidating in appearance, having great stature, the man was compassionate and kind to those within his household.
“Yes, Father,” Ramasu responded, standing and hoping that nothing would turn to dust this time. He focused all of his energy and called a bit of his amber-gold gift to the surface of his skin, making his palms glow. His parents looked disconcerted, and disappointed. Not wanting to fail them, Ramasu attempted to call the light outside of his skin. When, after a few moments of trying, his vision began to fade in and out, Ramasu fainted from the effort.
He awoke in an infirmary, fully clothed, but not alone. The healer, identified by the style of clothing, more functional than fashionable, was sitting next to the chief mage of the duchy. Ramasu had only seen the chief mage on festival days, when she had done tricks for the duke, like lighting fireworks. The woman was dressed in the height of Carthaki style, with a wrap skirt and top in bright colors and a bare midriff. The two were deep in discussion.
“He has to be trained by someone, and his parent’s are clearly not going to do it. They tried to make him use his Gift untrained! And he overexerted himself,” the healer’s harsh whisper would have echoed had the chief mage not interjected.
“I know that, have you seen the power this young man has? He has more depth to his power reserves than I do, five times over. I can no more train him than you could train a monkey to fly. I have already talked with the duke. Ramasu will stay under your eye as he learns to meditate, then he is to learn no more. The duke does not want a mage son-in-law, but a priest, and will get one.” Standing, she placed a purse, clanking with coins, on the table at which they were sat. “For your silence and time” she said, and left. Waiting a few moments, then turning to Ramasu, the healer smirked.
“Now, lad, I know you heard all of that, I had a spell on you to alert me to your waking. What think you of this?”
Having the decency to look ashamed, Ramasu shook his head. “I just want to be a priest, marry my betrothed, and be normal. I never asked for the Gift.”
“A priest, hmm. Well, good luck with that. And good luck if you wanted me to teach you mage craft.” He snorted, a half-smile crinkling in his eyes. “I’m no mage, just a very good healer.”
“So that money the master bribed you with-”
“Will compensate for the time I spend teaching you to meditate. Which will start in three days time, you being here at dawn, before any priestly training you might be required to do takes place.”
“Yes Healer.” Ramasu nodded agreement.
“Good, then you are cleared to go home. Rest and I will see you tomorrow.” Knowing he was dismissed, Ramasu left for home, where he detailed his new schedule to his parents. They were convinced that studying magic was folly for a priest, but they deigned that he could indeed study meditation in the early morning. That night, sleep came late, as concerns and anxiety for the morning followed Ramasu into the dark hours.