Rosh was a loner. He had no friends, but he knew that was due in part to his inability to forget he was different. Tarq had his dark skin, Mac her pink, there were others among the Hushai who were varying shades of black, brown or reddish. But there were very few like him: his skin was orange.
He kept his face and hands wrapped when he trained, refusing to be the distraction that made it so someone couldn't focus. It helped that his biggest strength was magic and healing because he was not training with the groups of people as much: they still had him running and learning patterns but only in the large groups. He mostly kept to the infirmary where it didn't matter that he wore bandages to hand over various tools and medications. Unconscious people didn't care what color his flesh was.
He wondered sometimes about the chosen he'd traveled with, he'd observed them for so long. Maybe they could have been friends if they'd known.
"Focus, Rosh," Master Kurt rapped his shoulder, "what is that you're studying?"
"Red blood cells, Master."
"Good, now just like we did with the water last week, make more cells."
"Rosh pulled moisture from air," he said, "air all around us: blood not in air. Rosh cannot make blood from air."
Master Kurt smiled wryly, "Most at least try before they tell me no. You are correct, creating blood is not like water. Water is in the very air," he gestured widely, "blood is not, so how can you make more blood cells?"
"Rosh cannot," Rosh shook his head.
"Ahhh, but you can." the Master told him.
Rosh stared as the red blood cells split. He watched the Master for a time them scrubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands said, "Rosh no understand."
"That is your project for the week: figure out how to split the cells. I will be working on other projects this week, once you've got it figured out tell Maya and she'll find me."
Rosh flushed under his bandages, "Master, Maya no like Rosh."
"One day you will also understand that, but it is not likely to be this week." Master Kurt gathered his things, "when will you accept that you're flesh means nothing and leave your bandages off?" he challenged. Rosh glared, "Rosh, you must understand: your people have orange skin, it's not full of pox or contagious, you're not going to offend anyone and all hiding does is segregate you from others. It is not good."
"Rosh be about my task," Rosh changed the topic, and bent to observe the cells more, "Rosh thank you, Master."
Shaking his head Kurt went back to gathering supplies for his visit to Helf. He hoped that one day Rosh would accept himself, only then would he be able to train as a Hushai properly. Next to Maya, Rosh was the most competent student he had but the boy could not accept himself. His language was
Rosh fidgeted with the tools on his table, trying to analyze the cells and visualize what Master Kurt had done. He didn't know what Master Kurt had done but he wanted to figure it out. The conversation about acceptance wasn't a new one: Master Kurt had said the same thing many times.
When they had traveled he remembered the others had tried to include him, it was he who shied away. His family traveled a lot within Santora, but until the Masters had Chosen him, he had never left Santora. It had been the dream of training his magic that had brought him. His mother had been the voice of reason suggesting that he consider covering his skin. Santorians were not known for travelling outside their province. Santorians were not known for interacting with outsiders. He wondered why that was.
They didn't know it but his travelling companions had taught him a lot. Tarq with his attitude towards women had taught him that no matter what temporary kindness and strength a person showed it wasn't always true: that people could fake just about anything. Phillip had taught him that wealth was not important: despite what his family came from the older boy was always kind and helpful, wanting to make everything right. Lindy was scared but tough, she wanted to fit in and be like her cousin but she couldn't and she was finding a way to manage. Mackinley had taught him that you could get through anything if you put your mind to it.
He shook himself out of memories and looked at the blood on the tray in front of him. The sample Master Kurt had given him had been drained from a chicken that morning. The Master had taught him to make water, he knew from watching other students that he was more advanced. He could thank his grandmother for that: she had taught him control and basic healing when he was little, but she couldn't teach him anymore.
The Hushai coming had been a blessing for him. When they chose him, he knew that Master Kurt could teach him more. Maya stood over his shoulder, "No luck yet?" she asked contemptuously. He shook his head, "Go for lunch and try again this afternoon." she told him, "You won't figure it out by staring at it."
Rosh nodded and cleaned up his station, putting the blood in the cold room Master Kurt had fashioned for storing samples and potions in. He didn't speak to her, his lack of communication bothered Maya he knew. His lack of communication and the way he spoke. He knew he wasn't very good at speaking Common. In Santora they spoke Santorian, his Grandmother had taught him what little she could. She'd raised him: his parents had died in a flood that had killed nearly ever person in their village.
It was what had first drawn him to Mackinley. When the Hushai had stopped at the orphanage where she lived it had reminded him of how alone he was. He had wanted to talk to her, to be friends, but he couldn't. Orange skin, he'd learned that first week of traveling with the Hushai, made him stand out. It made him conspicuous and made people uncomfortable. It had been the first time he had felt insecure. He wished he wasn't so insecure about who he was.
He took a plate of lunch from the kitchens, like he did every day, and found a bench in an alley to eat in where he was shaded from the heat of the day and refocused on the task Master Kurt had given him. How could he split the blood cells, and what purpose would it serve to be able to do it. He wondered if it was like a worm that had the ability to be split in two and still live, he decided he'd try it after lunch and see. It still amazed him that he was able to see the individual cells in the pool of blood.
A shadow soared over his head and he glanced up: training never stopped here in Raso. Someone was always running or jumping, falling or practicing something. He'd stopped eating to watch, them people train. He was so focused that he forgot the bowl of soup and set his hand into it. Cursing he unwrapped the bandaging he used to cover his hand, getting the moist fabric off.
"Hey Rosh," Mackinley stopped as she walked by, "Are you okay, I heard you call out."
"Rosh fine," Rosh tried to pull his sleeve over his hand as Mackinley bent to pick up the dropped dish.
Mackinley noticed his fumbling, "It's okay, Rosh," she told him softly, "I know you have orange skin, I've known a long time. You don't need to hide it." She stood, setting the bowl on the seat where he'd been sitting. "I used to hide," she told him, "the Mistress at the orphanage used to beat me whenever she wanted to and the only way to avoid it was to hide. It was worse when she found me." She spread her arms, "But I don't have to hide here, and neither do you. There are people from everywhere and no one will beat you if you spill soup or shirk your chores. They just want us to be ourselves."
Rosh starred at Mackinley blankly, "But Rosh different."
"No, Rosh," Mackinley took his unwrapped hand, "Where it counts, you are just the same as me."
"Rosh not understand." He shook his head.
Mackinley smiled and held her hand against his: "You have two hands, like me. You have two feet, like me. And you have a heart, a brain, two eyes and inside of you the Masters saw something special, like me." She let his hand go, "It doesn't matter if you're pink or black or brown or yellow or orange. What matters is how you treat people and what you do with your life."
Rosh starred again as she reached for the wrapping on his face, he started to pull away and she stopped, "I wish you wouldn't hide anymore Rosh, we just want to be your friend." She smiled and stepped away, "I have to go practice patterns," she told him, "Daram has me running and practicing as much as Master did, but it's hard to keep it all up, I wish I could split myself in half so I could be in two places at once."
"What Mackinley say?" his mind was whirling with an idea.
"That I wish I could be in two places at once?" Mackinley was confused.
"That's it!" Rosh rushed away, "Mackinley helped Rosh. Rosh say thank you!"
Rosh was so focused on the task Master had given him that he didn't notice the wrapping from his other hand had come loose and was trailing behind him. Rushing into the workshop he fetched the blood and called Maya over. "Rosh know how!" he declared.
Focusing his attention on the blood, he used his magic to separate a cell from the group so she could see it. Concentrating on that cell Rosh gathered his will, and split the cell, first once, then twice until the dish was full. Maya starred, first at his bowl and then at his hands, "But how Rosh?"
Rosh grinned, "Mackinley say 'wish could split self', Rosh know to split self would mean split heart, lungs, brain, not enough, must split all. Same for blood. Both blood grow if have same parts and Rosh encourage both parts to grow and accept change."
"It took me five weeks," Maya told him, "And you did it in one afternoon."
"Rosh sorry Maya. Rosh not want to do better Maya, Rosh just want to be normal."
"Well losing the hand wraps is a start," Maya walked away, "When you can lose the face wrap as well you just might be normal."
Rosh starred after her as she left.