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Post by Tiger on Aug 16, 2014 22:24:34 GMT -5
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Post by Tiger on Aug 16, 2014 22:25:08 GMT -5
Medieval: Unused Posts - Leif’s Death & Reaction to Kirin Death Leif Jade, Sieg Braham, and Joffery Jade were heading for triage, but to get there, they first needed to traverse the soldier-infested halls of the Keep. Leif walked a few paces ahead of the knight and the Jade heir supporting him, knife and wand at the ready. He was confident he would hear any Courdonian soldiers before they came, confident as they were in their loud armor.
Unfortunately for Leif, the black-clad figure who came around the corner was wearing no armor to betray his presence. The knife was cold and sharp in his gut.
Leif couldn’t even gasp a spell before Davorin Silverkin was gone. A pouch of coin bounced slightly in the assassin’s pocket, courtesy of the noble in Stallion colors who had approached him just before the start of the coronation, while the bustle of the crowd could cover their words.
“He’s a mage,” the noble had warned, but, placing a vial in the assassin’s hand (alongside the pouch of coin, of course), they added, “Soak a knife in this, and all the spells in the world will be useless.”
Leif could feel that mixture now, the stinging cold that wanted to tear him apart from the insides of his veins. He tried to cast a spell to stop the bleeding but it felt like he was being burned by ice from within, and no magic fell from his wand. The blood was coming fast and heavy...he tried to put pressure on it, his mind already whirling, but somehow the Archmage of House Jade knew it would not be enough.----- He was sitting against the fence - the broken, dilapidated fence dividing the field and Medieville. Leif’s back was to the Medieville side and he couldn’t turn to look at it. The field was empty, its sky clear, and everything was so still it somehow hurt. "I am so sorry."Leif heard the steps, felt the wing settle around his shoulders. From the corner of his eye, Leif saw the talons, huge and black and stained with very old, very ancient blood. Leif looked up. "Lunari." Once upon a time, Leif had been a priest-in-training. He had always been meant for the clergy, like many of the fourth-born sons of House Accipiter before him. His interests lay in birds and magic, but the church would be quiet and peaceful and he would be away from his family, so he left home without regrets. He had always felt like something in his head didn't work properly - that something was too slow to react when he met one of his parents' dignitary friends or tried to talk to his siblings or cousins or stood in a room full of people for too long. Leif had told himself it would be better at the church. He would go to a place of quiet and solitude and he would serve the Lord Woo with his magic, and he wouldn't feel so...pressed. He was wrong. It got worse. The metaphorical pressure felt like a literal weight on him and suddenly Leif couldn't stand to be touched, couldn't cope with noise, could hardly breath if someone's eye contact and attention was on him for too long. He curled up in corners and dark places and tried to read the words of Woo and tell himself things would be okay that things would be okay but he didn't believe it - how could things be okay if he could barely stand the presence of the quiet priests? There was one place where he could sometimes believe it. In the highest steeple of the church there was a mews, and though it looked out on a great city so big it terrified Leif to consider all the people in its buildings, he could hide among the mass of doves and their cooing and he could see hope practically personified in the church's beautiful, pure-white eagle. She was huge, a raptor from the deepest jungle whose diet consisted of monkeys. They said she could take down deer and the huge snakes that roamed the swamps if given a chance. Her name was Lunari, and when Leif looked up at the huge eagle and her massive wings and the dark, glaring eyes scowling from over the dark, curved beak, something deep inside his soul told him to keep going, to keep trying. Fool that he'd been, Leif wanted to carry that power on his arm. He had seen the priests carry Lunari on a glove, and Leif had already handled the doves despite the orders to leave the birds be. Leif didn't know what he'd been thinking. He hadn't been thinking - it was impossible to think under the constant pressure, that near-physical feeling that his skull would split. Maybe he'd just wanted Lunari's presence closer, the way a freezing man wants to reach for fire with no comprehension of its ability to burn. A seventeen-pound raptor was too much for a first-time falconer to carry on his left arm. Leif traced a finger over the swirled marking under his left eye. Not a birthmark. Not paint. Not a tattoo. A flash of a beak... He reached for his arm, found the sleeve suddenly gone. Three larger but identical in color and shape swirls there. Not birthmarks. Not paint. Not tattoos. The cut of talons... So much blood. Streaming down his face, sopping his arm - then the light, the glow from the wounds themselves and the tendriling shapes they made as they reached from one end of torn flesh to the other... "My Lord Woo makes difficult decisions. Sometimes even his angels do not understand them. Sometimes we challenge them. Sometimes, His Holiness allows his angels free will.""You ripped me apart..." "So your gift could be free, and you would not suffer, Archmage."Leif cringed at the term. "Why?" "Almighty Lord Woo saw your path to this city, and he saw that no matter what branch you took, you would find the Killing Curse."The hairs on the back of Leif's neck stood up. "That curse," he said hatefully, practically spitting the words. "His Holiness saw the tension and the conflict, and the Lord Woo feared your temptation to cast it would be too great."Leif looked up, startled. "He - he thought I would - but then, why would you ever - " "Archmage, you do not know what it is to be an angel. When I look into a child of Lord Woo’s eyes, I can see into their heart. I know what they love and what they've lost and where their breaking point lies. My Lord Woo is wiser and has seen much more of life than even his angels - the Lord Woo has seen many people, many strong people, break and become terrible. I thought, maybe it is my own folly that I see this lordling and think that perhaps his suffering is too great, and perhaps his strength can be bolstered - but I spoke to my Lord, and in his generosity and faith he granted me the ability to release your gift." Leif looked down. He had known it was the trauma of the injuries that had released his gifts...turned him from a broken run-of-the-mill Accipiter mage into an Archmage. He had known it was the suppression of those gifts that had occupied his brain and body so thoroughly, like the pressure of trying not to throw up, that he physically couldn't function. He had thought the suppression was someone else's fault. There were ways to release an Archmage's power - he'd thought they simply hadn't been done, or done properly. He hadn't known...Lord Woo thought he could be a murderer. ”Perhaps, if this was the result, I should not have released your powers. Then you would not have come here and died.”“But then what? I’d be cowering in the church - I might have been dead anyway. How long do you think I could’ve taken it, Lunari?” Leif asked bitterly. “Here - I could’ve been happy here. I was happy here.” Leif’s vision blurred as the tears finally came. “I thought - I finally did things right - I helped Xavier. And Kirin…” His voice broke; Lunari pulled her wing tight around him and Leif collapsed into the feathers, his entire body heaving with sobs. He was dead - he would never see Kirin again, or at least, not until years and years had passed, and even then - they’d had so little time together. There was so much more Leif wanted to do, wanted to say...and now he couldn’t - he might never get to say or do or even see him again. Eventually, he regained enough breath to duly ask, “Who - who was it who...who killed me?” “An assassin, directly. Ignotus Travers hired his blade.”Leif lifted his head. “...H-House Stallion?” “No. Ignotus acted without his House’s permission or knowledge. It was a foolish move and Alain Stallion would not have condoned it. He sent his knight to intercept the assassin, in fact, but he could not find you in time. ...I am so sorry.” The eagle tilted her head, looking into Leif’s eyes. “You know Kirin would not have supported it.”“I - I know.” And in a way, that broke Leif’s heart even more. What would happen when Kirin found out? He hadn’t ordered it and wouldn’t have agreed to it if he’d known, but...it was still a member of his House who had done the deed. That sort of guilt… Leif looked down at his hands. “They - they were considering - “ “I know.”“Lunari - they wanted me to kill Ambrose - because we saw the inventions - he wasn’t even the threat to us, ever - or - or is that why Ignotus did it? Did he know, was he trying to protect Ambrose? I wouldn’t have done it, Lunari - even if they’d all agreed to it, I wouldn’t have done it.” His voice shook even as his hands clenched into fists. “I’d - I’d rather be dead than a murderer.” “Leif...if he were trying to protect Ambrose, would Alain have so objected?”Leif thought about that a moment, remembering the moment in the square where he had forced Duval to apologize for the insult to his brother. He let out a slow breath. “No. So...so it was purposeless. I died for nothing.” “Every action has a consequence. Your life and your death were not for nothing.”“I...I suppose the death spell is gone now. Everett doesn’t have another archmage handy to learn the spell...and I can’t cast magic anymore, can I?” It was a truth he could feel, something he didn’t need Lunari to tell him. He felt another ache of loss growing already. His magic...the one talent he had... “You were stronger than Lord Woo predicted, lordling. Fear did not drive you to the Killing Curse.” Something boomed in the distance when the eagle spoke those words; Lunari’s feathers rose a touch but she otherwise did not react. “It wasn’t strength,” Leif said. “It was fear of everyone I’d loose. I was afraid of what I’d be. I know,” he added grimly, “the dark raptor was me. Same eyes, same marking. I heard your warnings.” “Leif...those were not sent by I or the Lord Woo. You gave them to yourself.” The eagle tightened her wing around Leif again. “Perhaps...perhaps Lord Woo saw that you might not be strong enough to resist the temptation, but when I spoke to him of releasing your powers, he saw that your strength might not come from yourself, but from the others who would be on that path. Perhaps that is why His Holiness allowed it.”Fresh tears welled in Leif’s eyes. “Maybe.” And now here he was - cut off from all those people who had made him into a better man. Unable to do anything to protect or help them...and they were in the middle of a war… “Lunari...is there a way - I have to go back. I have to do something - I - I want to see them again, but - not like this!” “Leif - “Leif stood up, shakily. “You got me into this - but it wouldn’t have worked if - if people like Kirin and Xavier - and Sieg - and Aldrich - and Ruth - and - if so many of those people down there are the reason I didn’t turn into a murderer, then - then you owe them something! There must be a way. Please.” “Taking your spirit from Death’s Box was not an easy task, Leif, and he will not allow me to retrieve you if you are caught.”“Then - then a disguise. - or - or I can possess something - “ Lunari folded her wings, looking down contemplatively. “I cannot send you back. But perhaps...you can influence. You would need a way to see…”“...Ayleth,” Leif breathed. “She’s small and fast and she’s a raptor - and Kirin knows her, maybe - maybe I can send a message…” Lunari touched his arm with the tip of a wingfeather. “Do not get too attached to the idea, Leif. The living do not expect the return of the dead...and I do not know that it will help.”“I have to try. And I can’t let any of them get hurt. There’s still time, right?” Lunari spread her wings, and the field around them disappeared, replaced by - by a view of a gryphon-filled sky, of small but startlingly distinct people below, of the battle raging - the scene shifted and Leif saw a wingtip - they were seeing through Ayleth’s eyes. “There is time,” Lunari said, and suddenly she was on Leif’s shoulder, heavy without actually weighing Leif down. “But not much of it. Do what you feel you must…quickly.” Explanation/Trivia On the second-to-last round of metagame, Jade purchased a boon that allowed us to see the actions of a few members of House Stallion. Imagine our horror when we saw that one member had purchased the services of the assassin =D Our immediate assumption was that they were gunning for Leif, the Archmage, since we assumed they had a quest similar to our ‘kill the inventor’ quest and wanted the last-minute points. Despite being pretty sure that the Stallions were going to block the assassin with their knight, I couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if I was wrong. And then brain kicked in with about the first half of the post. After the game I wrote the second half and the narrator section, so keep in mind those parts are probably not accurate to how I would have written this at the time. Except the narrator post, which I would totally have written the same way BD
Beyond the first half of this snippet, I had next to no death plans. The only idea I did have, had Leif died earlier on, was that Leif could have a visible spirit but wouldn’t be able to use his magic unless channeling it through someone living. I didn’t like this idea very much because I felt it would have tied up whatever character(s) Leif was using his magic through, and given that Xavier and Kirin were pretty much the only two Leif would have trusted, it wasn’t as if I could do much alternation between rounds. So thanks for not killing Leif =D While on the subject of death… I had no idea what I would have done with Leif if Kirin had died, aside from possibly going full-out vengeful on the Shadows if it had been their doing (and I could justify Leif knowing it ICly). I’m glad it didn’t come to that. Brain, however, did provide me with this teeny little post (no doubt showing off its studies from the Riel school of dramatic posting) that would probably have been the only thing I posted for a round in which Kirin died. Leif cast two spells that day. The first sealed his door against any intrusion.
The second sound-proofed the walls so that no one would hear his screams. |
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Post by Tiger on Aug 24, 2014 22:03:44 GMT -5
Medieval - To the Rescue Sacrificing the horridly itchy coat had saved Kirin from one gryphon, but the Stallion was not keen on testing his luck with any more of the huge creatures. The Keep seemed like the best place to avoid gryphons, and one of the more likely places to find allies, though even it was not a perfect shelter. Vibrant flashes of red and green light flashed from the narrow windows as mages both Kythian and Courdonian fought the enemy and each other. The flashes tended to move on quickly, but especially where mages dueled and the glow of spellwork came and went fast as lightning, they could linger for a long while. Sometimes Kirin saw the glow of brief but intense fires and unsettlingly familiar flashes of white-hot electricity from the windows as well.
Still, the lower floors looked largely spell-free. What light Kirin did see there was green, so perhaps the Kythians had secured part of the Keep. Hopefully the rest of the Stallions were there, though at this point he doubted it… Everyone else seemed to have had some personal battle in mind when they’d run off.
A section of the Keep’s wall two stories up suddenly blew apart, with enough force to hurl rocks far from the castle. Kirin and a few other Kythians hurrying toward the Keep drew to a halt as the stones slammed into the ground between them and the Keep. The air filled with dust and rubble. Kirin put up an arm to shield his eyes from the worst of it.
Battered by the winds of beating gryphon wings, the dust cleared and revealed that the blast had left a gaping hole in one of the Keep’s towers. The opening was as tall as the hallway - someone was standing in the corridor, stalking toward someone else, someone in green and gold, hanging from the gap and clinging to the broken edge by one hand.
Kirin’s heart lurched - he wanted to believe it was a trick of the distance and his own fears, but he knew better. Leif!
He started running - he didn’t know what he could do but he had to do something.
Before he could get more than a few steps toward the Keep, the Courdonian came to a stop and pointed his wandtip toward Leif’s precarious grip. Leif had already raised his own wand, and flashes of light sprang from both of the mages’ weapons at the same moment. The Courdonian lurched forward and over the edge as if seized by an invisible hand, just as the stones Leif clung to broke apart under the force of a blast of red magic. Both mages fell toward the rocks below, more of the wall falling alongside them.
There was a flicker of green in the air just before the two hit the ground, but the split-second hope Kirin had that Leif’s descent would stop wasn’t realized - they both hit the ground. Such a jolt of horror shot through Kirin that he almost stopped running, half-questioning whether he’d been hit with another lightning spell, before catching himself and breaking back into a sprint. More dust was rising from the fresh rubble, but not as much this time.
His stomach violently constricting, Kirin reached the edge of the stone pile. He quickly spotted the Courdonian mage, who was...not in a position to be any more of a threat. Kirin looked away from him, and found Leif - facedown, not moving, his leg pinned under a few stones. Kirin hurried to the Jade’s side, and though part of him wanted to shake Leif until he responded, Kirin didn’t know how badly he might be hurt - because he was only hurt, if anything, nothing worse, Kirin was sure, he couldn’t live with the alternative - so he didn’t, just placed his hands on Leif’s shoulders. “Leif! Leif, are you okay?”
The mage didn’t respond, but Kirin could feel him breathing. Though he was bloodied from what appeared to be gryphon scratches, the Jade didn’t look to have been seriously hurt by the fall. Kirin remembered the flash of green - maybe Leif had managed to cast a spell on his way down after all.
Kirin got up to see if he could move any of the rocks trapping Leif’s leg. Before he could go anywhere, the loud and rapidly-approaching sounds of a gryphon screech and beating wings made him turn in alarm. Another riderless gryphon was swooping right toward him, one talon outstretched. Kirin crossed his arms in front of him to shield his face, but the gryphon landed a few feet away with another enraged shriek. Its ear tufts were flat like the ears of an angry cat and there was wild fury in its yellow eyes.
But it didn’t attack. The gryphon was breathing heavily and favoring one leg; Kirin looked to the leg the gryphon was holding close to its chest and saw the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from the calf muscle. Another riderless, wounded gryphon... If it couldn’t use that leg, the gryphon probably wouldn't be able to catch Kirin if he ran.
But he couldn’t run. That would mean leaving Leif behind.
The gryphon prowled forward, and Kirin planted his feet. This was no different from dealing with a spooked horse, he told himself. No different. At all. ...Though a horse would be much less interested in killing him.
“Easy,” Kirin told the gryphon. He wasn’t sure if he should look it in the eye or not; that tended to spook horses, but a predator might take lack of eye contact as weakness. Kirin settled for brief glances right into its eyes. “Easy…”
The gryphon hissed. Its gaze flicked frustratedly to Kirin’s chest and then back to his face. Kirin glanced down, but all he saw was the Stallion-red shirt he’d been wearing under the fuzzy coat. Nothing should have caught the creature’s interest. Unless it was noticing the color, and the similarity to the Courdonian garb? Courdonian red was brighter than that of Kirin’s shirt, but maybe the gryphon wasn’t quite able to tell the difference.
Perhaps it thought he was a Courdonian gryphon-rider. That might be enough of an advantage for Kirin to survive this. “It’s all right,” Kirin told the gryphon. “You don’t need to attack anybody.”
The creature’s lion-like tail lashed and it hissed again. It didn’t step any closer, however. Kirin needed the reins if he wanted to get control of the gryphon… He took a deep breath and edged a half-step closer. “It’s all right. Just stay calm…” He wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to the gryphon or himself at this point. “I’m not going to hurt you...and hopefully you aren’t going to hurt me…”
The gryphon tried to shift its weight onto its injured limb, but quickly pulled it back with a squawk. Kirin wished he could get the arrow out, the gryphon would probably trust him a lot more if he helped it. He just wasn’t sure how to get close enough without being mauled. This was the sort of situation where Leif’s healing magic would come in handy. If only that were an option right now.
He was running out of non-magical choices, unfortunately. “Lay down?” Kirin tried. The gryphon shifted, but didn’t do as it was told. It might not know the command, and even if it did, it was half-cat. The glare with which it was favoring Kirin reminded him much more of Ayleth, though.
Clearly Kirin needed to earn more of its trust. Food might be a good way to do that, except that Kirin didn’t have anything a gryphon would like to eat lying in his pockets.
Leif, however, had carried meat for Ayleth in a pocket on his belt at the festival. If Kirin knew anything about the Jade, it was that the he had likely come to the coronation prepared to feed any hungry birds of prey.
“Give me a moment,” Kirin said to the gryphon as he stepped back, feeling he ought to keep talking even if it was rather pointless. The gryphon’s ear tufts flicked and it growled. Slowly, Kirin pointed to the deceased Courdonian mage, though he wasn’t sure if the gryphon could read the gesture. “Go - go see if he can help you.”
Apparently gryphons did understand pointing. The gryphon turned to look at the Courdonian, and even hobbled a step toward him, probably attracted by the more vibrant red. Kirin crouched beside Leif, careful to keep the gryphon clearly in sight even as he checked the Jade’s belt. He found the pouch and when he opened it, saw several strips of meat inside. A bit of cold pricked at Kirin’s fingers as he fished them out. All the pieces looked very, very small compared to the gryphon’s beak. Hopefully they would be enough.
Leif suddenly shifted a bit and groaned. Kirin was relieved to see another sign that he was still alive. “Leif?” He gently shook the Jade’s shoulder. Nothing. Kirin bit his lip, now unsure whether or not this was a good sign, or meant things were especially bad. Either way, Kirin couldn’t help the Jade until the gryphon was calmed down. “Hold on, Leif; it’ll be okay.”
Kirin took a deep breath, stood up and took a few slow, cautious steps toward the gryphon. The creature looked away from the Courdonian and crouched, hackles rising. Kirin’s heart raced painfully hard, but he picked up one of the strips of meat, held it up for the gryphon to see, and tossed it in the animal’s direction.
The meat landed in front of the gryphon’s uninjured talon. Watching Kirin cautiously, the gryphon lowered its beak to the meat and prodded at it for a moment, before snatching the chunk up and swallowing it in one gulp. Kirin threw another piece of meat, and the gryphon caught it in midair.
“There,” Kirin told it in as calm and steady a voice as he could manage. “See? I told you it was all right. Maybe we can be friends?”
He held up another piece of meat, but didn’t throw it this time. The gryphon edged closer with a single tentative glance at Kirin’s shirt. Kirin threw the meat to the animal. “Come on - it’s okay.” The gryphon’s reins hung in front of its chest, broken by a knife or sword or spell into two long pieces instead of one solid loop.
The gryphon edged two steps closer on bribes, but Kirin was quickly running out of meat. He didn’t think the pocket on Leif’s belt was enchanted to automatically refill, convenient though that might have been. Kirin was going to have to take a chance.
Kirin held out his hand. The three remaining strips of meat lay in his palm. “Come on. I won’t hurt you.”
The gryphon looked between the meat and Kirin’s shirt. It squawked plaintively, but Kirin didn’t move. Wings tense, the gryphon limped forward, and slowly - very, very slowly - stretched its neck out toward Kirin’s hand. Kirin had stopped breathing at some point during this glacial-paced advance, but didn’t feel any urge to start now for fear he would spook the gryphon. The closer it came, the larger and sharper he could see its beak and talons were.
At last, the gryphon paused with its beak just inches from Kirin’s fingertips...then delicately started licking the meat to get it from Kirin’s hand. Kirin was so relieved it hadn’t decided to take the appendage off at the wrist, he almost forgot he needed to grab the gryphon’s reins. Luckily, their swinging motion caught his eye. Slowly, so as not to startled the incredibly huge predator, Kirin reached out with his other hand and seized the cords. He didn’t tug on them, though, hoping the gryphon would stay calm on its own.
The gryphon finished off the meat and looked up at Kirin. It glanced again at the red of his shirt, and started to settle on its haunches - until it spotted something over Kirin’s shoulder. He actually saw the gryphon’s pupils slit as its wings flared and it’s beak gaped open.
Kirin looped the gryphon’s reins around his hand in one quick motion, drawing them taut, and tugged, surprising the gryphon into freezing. Kirin looked to see what had startled the gryphon, and with a mingled feeling of relief and fear, saw Leif lifting his head and starting to push himself up on his elbows. “Leif!”
Leif blinked. “Kirin? What - “ He spotted the gryphon and his eyes went wide. “Kirin!”
“It’s okay!” Kirin told both Leif and the gryphon. The gryphon screeched and tried to start forward; almost without thinking, Kirin put himself in its path and put a hand on the gryphon’s beak. The gryphon hissed, but it made no move to snap at him or continue toward Leif.
“It’s okay,” Kirin said again, his voice shaking badly now as he belatedly realized what could have happened. “Leif, are you - are you all right?” He looked back at the Jade, who had just snatched his wand from between two rocks. “No, don’t attack it!”
Leif’s wand was already half-raised. “It’s - “
“It’s fine, it thinks I’m Courodnian,” Kirin explained hastily. “Can you turn your clothes red? Maybe it would think you’re Courdonian, too.”
“It thinks - “ Leif blinked, but finally seemed to realize that the gryphon wasn’t about to tear Kirin to shreds. The Jade turned his wand toward himself and with a sharp incantation and a flicker of green, his clothes turned a deep crimson, as if wine had soaked into the fabric. Kirin checked the gryphon - it blinked a sideways, second pair of eyelids, shut its regular eyelids, and then looked at Leif again. A low growl rumbled in its throat, but some of its tension eased.
“Are you okay, Leif?” Kirin asked again.
“I- I’m fine - I just - “ Leif tried to get up, but his foot caught on the rocks. Cursing, Leif twisted around and cast a spell on the boulders pinning him. Kirin thought he saw a flash of a pained expression on the mage’s face as the green light left his wand.
The rocks rose into the air and Leif pulled his foot free. He stood, giving a cautious glance to the gryphon before he looked Kirin over. “You’re all right?” he asked, approaching the Stallion with only a slight gingerness on the recently-freed ankle.
“Yes - now what about you?” Before Leif could give another vague answer, Kirin blurted, “I saw you fall out of the castle! I thought - I thought you might be - “ His voice was shaking again.
Leif came close and put his arm around Kirin, drawing him into a hug. “It’s okay,” he said, close to Kirin’s ear. “I’m all right.”
Kirin hugged him back, relieved beyond ability to express to have Leif alive and close by again. He wasn’t sure if it was his own heart or Leif’s he could feel hammering - neither way would surprise him. For a moment, Kirin had really thought… “But how? The Courdonian fell just as far, and he...”
“I made a shield and hit that. The Jades have a protection spell so it didn’t hurt...well, didn’t hurt as badly. I hit the edge or bounced off it...I don’t know, something like that, so I hit the rocks...I knocked myself out, didn’t I?”
Kirin nodded. Leif let out a shaky breath. “Oh ‘Woo that was stupid of me.”
“It wasn’t your fault…”
“Well, I would’ve paid for it, if the Courdonians came along - or your gryphon might have taken care of me for them. If you hadn’t been here…” Leif’s arm tightened around Kirin’s shoulders. “Thank you.“
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
The gryphon squawked irritably and rustled its wings, a motion big enough that Kirin could hear the feathers brushing against one-another. Little as he wanted to let Leif go, Kirin knew they couldn’t stay out here much longer.
“The gryphon’s hurt,” Kirin told Leif as they pulled apart. “There’s an arrow in its leg. I think that’s why it’s being...tamer than the others, so it can get help. Do you think you can heal it?”
Leif looked over the injury, raising his wand slightly. “I should be able to. This shouldn’t hurt him, but be careful” Leif frowned at the arrow a moment, before flicking his wand and muttering a spell. The arrow in the gryphon’s foreleg dissolved into water, and the gryphon visibly relaxed even before Leif cast a spell that pulled the edges of the puncture wound together.
The gryphon chittered and tested its foreleg. Apparently it found it satisfactory; it stood at attention, ear tufts pricked and wings pert, looking between the two false-Courdonians.
“There,” Leif said, rubbing at his arm. “So...I wonder…do you think it’ll let us ride it?”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Not much trivia here, Kirin needed an opportunity to rescue Leif, is all ^^ |
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Post by Tiger on Aug 28, 2014 18:43:16 GMT -5
Medieval -Bad End AU - Nightmare So, uh, don’t expect this often from me, but here’s a scene that brutally accosted me on the highway and ties in with Elcie’s Bad End AU. It draws heavily from those stories, particularly Kirin and Leif’s (omg no wai!). However, this doesn’t necessarily dovetail into Elcie’s storylines, since I know she has her own devious plans and timeline, so I guess consider this an AU of an AU?
Leif was struggling through a headache and a difficult volume on Courdonian spellwork when he heard an incredibly soft knock at his door. Leif thought he’d imagined the sound, but called out a tentative, “Come in?” to be safe. The doorknob didn’t so much as wiggle, and Leif sighed, glowering down at the book. Maybe it was time to stop for the night if he was hallucinating sounds to get out of reading and deciphering it - it was probably closer to dawn than dusk at this point. Maybe this would be easier to comprehend with a clearer head, anyw-
He heard and saw from the corner of his eye the doorknob turning. Leif looked up, startled. He automatically reached for his wand, but halted when the door opened wide enough for him to see a shock of white hair on the person standing outside. “Kirin?”
Leif was up and at the door in an instant, hands poised at Kirin’s shoulders, though he didn’t actually touch the Stallion. As usual, Kirin stood with his shoulders hunched and head down, but his eyes were wide and he shook so badly Leif could physically see him trembling. “Kirin, what’s wrong?” Leif didn’t really expect an answer, but this was more shaken than Leif had seen him in a while. It made his gut ache to see Kirin this terrified, and to know he likely couldn’t do much about it.
Kirin glanced up at Leif, and then to Leif’s surprise, Kirin suddenly leaned into him with a noise like a whimper, grasping at Leif’s shirt with his intact fingers. Leif wrapped his arms protectively around Kirin, though he paused a second before actually touching Kirin’s back. He seemed all right with the hug, or maybe he couldn’t even feel it over his violent shaking.
“It’s all right,” Leif told him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you...”
The mage looked up and down the hall, trying to figure out what had spooked Kirin so badly. His immediate thought was an attack, but Leif didn’t see or hear anything suspicious, and he would know if the wards had been breached.
Maybe Kirin was sick? Leif touched the back of his hand to Kirin’s forehead. He felt fine temperature-wise, but Leif did find a lot of sweat. A much more likely explanation came to mind.
“Nightmare?” Leif asked quietly, taking his hand from Kirin’s forehead and gently stroking the man’s hair. It was starting to grow back, but slowly; no doubt just about every available nutrient Kirin ate was going toward replenishing his lost weight and muscle instead.
It took a moment, but Kirin nodded minutely in response to Leif’s question. Leif caught and checked an immediate urge to tighten his hug; he didn’t want the gesture to turn threatening or painful. Kirin’s nightmares had stopped a little after they’d reached the manor, or so Leif had thought; now it seemed more likely that all the travel and the stress of re-adjusting had temporarily left Kirin too exhausted for dreaming.
“It was only a dream, Kirin. You’re never going back there - they’re never going to hurt you again. You’re safe now, you’re with us…”
It was hard to tell sometimes just how much Kirin really heard of what people said; he did what others told him to do without fail, and would sometimes nod or shake his head or point to answer questions, so the words must be processed. Yet, Kirin reacted so little to anything else that sometimes Leif wondered if he let most words gloss over his battered mind, listening only for the tonal shift of a command about to be given. But Leif went on speaking comforting words anyway, hoping that if nothing else, the sound and tone of his voice might help.
He hated that there was so little he could do, hated being so helpless, hated the feeling that Kirin was miles out of reach even when he was right there in his arms. Leif shoved all those feelings away; how he felt wasn’t important right now, and Leif didn’t dare let any of that emotion trickle into his voice.
They stood in the doorway for a long time before Kirin’s shaking eased. He made no move to pull away from Leif, so the mage stayed as he was, keeping his movements slow and gentle and murmuring assurances of safety. He dared briefly to think of Medieville, their embrace before the coronation and the last time Leif had seen Kirin whole and healthy. The stark differences between then and now were so vast they tore and hurt, and Leif quickly forced the memories away and fought back the tears pricking at his eyes.
Kirin suddenly slumped; Leif tightened his grip to catch him and Kirin cringed. “I’m sorry,” Leif whispered, quickly easing the pressure again. Once more he had to push aside feelings of anger, this time directed at the Courdonians who had driven Kirin to fear even the most innocent of touches or gestures. He was more familiar with repressing that particular fury.
Leif expected the Stallion to draw away entirely, but he didn’t. When Leif tilted his head to see Kirin’s face, he found him struggling to keep his eyes open despite the jolt nearly falling must have given him. “...You haven’t been sleeping at all lately, have you?” Kirin didn’t reply, but the question answered itself. That explained why he’d nearly collapsed, at least.
“We need to get you back to bed, Kirin.” Kirin tensed slightly, but Leif didn’t rescind the statement. He hated riding roughshod over Kirin’s wants; ordinarily, Leif left as many decisions up to the Stallion as he could, even if they were just little ones like what food to eat or where in a room he wanted to sit. Yet every so often, there was a point where Leif couldn’t budge for the sake of Kirin’s health.
Still, he tried to give Kirin some piece of the situation he could still control. “I’ll stay with you, if you want. If you start having another bad dream, I can wake you up.” Leif waited a moment; a nodding-based system of answering questions meant only one question went up at a time, or things became too confusing.
Just before Leif was about to assume Kirin’s lack of any movement was a no, the Stallion nodded. “All right then. Should we just stay in here?” Leif hoped he would agree to that. Escorting Kirin down the hall would be tricky, especially if he were edgy about being physically supported… Luckily, Kirin nodded to this suggestion as well.
Leif let Kirin have the bed, of course, and dragged his desk chair to the side of the bed for himself. There was probably a couch in one of the other rooms, but Leif wasn’t going to leave to get it. Theoretically, he could summon a servant, but they had more important tasks to do these days and Leif didn’t want to stress Kirin by bringing a stranger into an already tremulous situation.
Leif wished he could sit with Kirin, holding him close and making sure the Stallion felt protected while he slept, but the touch was more likely to disturb him than help. What had happened at the doorway...it had been a moment of desperation, nothing more. As he turned the lantern down - though not off, a bit of light would probably do some good - Leif reached out to put a hand on Kirin’s shoulder. Kirin tensed, as Leif had predicted; he withdrew his hand well before making contact. He’d known what to expect...but it was still painful to see.
“I’ll be right here, Kirin,” Leif said, settling into the chair. He picked up the book on Courdonian spells, and was suddenly possessed by the violent urge to hurl it through the window. Instead, he set it on his knee and half-heartedly thumbed through the page corners.
His thoughts were eons away from Courdonian magic. He was remembering the quiet of a long-ago afternoon, sitting on a blanket under the shade of a festival-decorated tree.
Leif had given the painted owl back to Kirin as soon as the Stallion had been able to wear the leather cord - not because Leif didn’t want the owl, but because he’d wanted to give Kirin something to own, something Kirin could control, what with his own life so far out of his hands. Something that was purely decorative and therefore a sort of luxury...and something that might hold some better memories.
Even though he didn’t own the trinket anymore, Leif could recall it in perfect detail. He had spent months wearing it and countless long nights running his fingers over the little patterns in the wood carving, despairing at the wear and chipping of the paint. Almost as clear was the memory of the owl when it had been freshly carved and even more freshly painted. He remembered Kirin explaining the inspiration for it - something he’d seen in his dreams. ”Imagination with the striking form of an owl.”
The Courdonians had taken everything from Kirin. His freedom, his sanity, his health, his art, his dreams, his smile and his hair and his laughter and his curiosity and his voice and his passion and his courage…
Well, no, Leif amended. They had not taken his courage. Dealt it heavy blows, yes, but...even if it had taken him night upon night to do it, he’d come to Leif eventually. And though every day must be a toll on him, Kirin still woke up, still got out of bed, still did what he could. He was getting better - slowly, so slowly it ached, but...when Leif had first found him, Kirin would never have let Leif hold him the way he had.
Kirin would get better. He had to get better.
“It…” the whispered words stuck briefly in Leif’s throat. “It’ll be okay, Kirin.”
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Post by Tiger on Nov 15, 2014 21:34:29 GMT -5
Medieval - Unholy I finally wrote another fic! \ o / Some Leif backstory, taking place when he's around sixteen or seventeen. ((Warning for very brief mention of suicide? No details, nothing too serious, but it's mentioned.))
Night had fallen, and it was quiet. Or as quiet as things ever were. By now Leif had learned that nowhere and nothing was completely silent. There was always noise, if you knew where to search for it. Or if you had no choice but to hear everything.
It was like that now. He stood in the small church garden, between a row of aloe and a row of yarrow, and there was plenty to listen to. Wind rushing through the trees. Night insects chirping and the distant whine of cicadas. Frogs croaking from near the river. The water in the well slightly lapping against the stones. Somewhere, an owl hooted, though of course that more pleasant sound didn’t last long.
The bigger food garden was around the opposite side of Our Woo of Charity. Usually that was where Leif went if he had to leave the building. The fence there was high and the gaps between the planks were thin, and there weren’t so many trees on that side of the building to be buffeted by wind..
Leif pulled his thoughts away from the trees and the vegetable garden, with no small amount of effort. He didn’t really want to think about what he was doing. Staring at the gate, the simple gate with the simple lock he didn’t even need magic to unlock. A simple gate with a simple lock leading to a very big and very complicated city. Iscaria wasn’t the biggest city in Corvus - far from it. Logically, he knew that. He’d looked at maps and read in books that it wasn’t the biggest or most populated city in Corvus. But it was still big. Big enough to be on maps, to be in books. Big enough to have a church like Our Woo of Charity.
He didn’t want to go out there. The other seminarians went into the city sometimes, he’d seen them. Out on errands, usually, buying things from the marketplace for the priests. Or sending letters home. It had been a very long time since Leif had even attempted to open the gate. He didn’t want to go.
But he had to try and leave. The idea had lodged itself in his head, and unlike a lot of his other thoughts, it didn’t scatter away. Leif hated that - his thoughts running away from him. He used to be a lot better at keeping his head together. Or maybe that was the problem - now his head was so good at keeping together that it was trying to fuse shut, and it hurt.
And that was why he had to try and leave - to see if the pressure would stop. Or ease - that was probably the most he could hope for. It had always been there, that pressure. Always. It just hadn’t hurt so much.
Leif wrapped his arms around himself a little more tightly. The night wasn’t cold, of course; it was Corvus, and it wasn’t even raining. The constant pressure of his arms was just a distraction. And it was a shield. Not a very good shield, but it was all he had, and with this agonizing pressure he couldn’t be picky about how he protected himself. That’s right, he told himself. You can’t be picky. You have to go.
He didn’t want to go out there.
He told himself that there wouldn’t be anyone out tonight. That even if someone was there, they wouldn’t bother him. He was just a seminarian. Just running a late-night errand. The streets would be quiet. There wouldn’t be anyone to bother. No crowds to fight. No shouting merchants. No wagon wheels on stone, no smell of horses and sweaty people and spices.
And - and if he was right, if this terrible thing he was thinking was true, then he would be better once he was out there.
Moving was so hard these days. It made no sense, he didn’t understand it; it just felt better to not move. Sit still, not bring anything upon himself. Stay still, stay quiet, and if something bad was coming, then get out of its way. Maybe he hoped he could just disappear if he stayed still long enough. It wasn’t an unappealing thought.
Leif looked down at his feet. No. He wasn’t supposed to think like that. Not wanting your own life - there were entire pages in the Books about how that was wrong.
But Leif was starting to think he might not be the kind of person those pages were meant for. Lord Woo didn’t like suicide because he loved his children and wanted them to be happy and only come to his wings when they had done everything on the mortal plane that was good and meaningful.
But there were things the Lord Woo didn’t like - like unrepentant sinners, or demons, or monsters. And what would happen to those people or - or things when they stepped on church ground? What if it was this holy ground that made the pressure feel so much worse?
He took a step toward the gate. The ground depressed a little underfoot, but it had been a few hours since the rains and most of the water had soaked into the ground or flowed downhill by now. There wasn’t much of a squelching sound. Leif had tied the rope-belt around his waist so that there was no hanging cord to hit him as he moved, or to distract him by swinging at the edge of his vision. A little reassured by the first step, he could take the second, the third. Getting moving was always the tricky part - once he started, it was easier. Usually.
There was the trouble, of course, of movement making his heart go faster, and tonight was one of those nights where he felt the change in his pulse and the blood pounding a little harder at his veins. Normal people could only feel something like that when they were surprised. Or if they had been running or working hard for a long time. Even when he was younger, Leif had never felt that for something simple as taking a couple steps.
He faltered again at the gate, staring down at the latch. The high, nearly-full moon made the lock glow in the night. Leif pulled an arm out of his self-hug. His hand hovered over the latch. The metal wasn’t going to be cold, he told himself, not like some of the locks in the depths of the church. But it wasn’t just the sharp chill on his oversensitive fingers that Leif feared - it was what was beyond.
Leif’s hand drifted to the pendant at his neck. Like all the seminarians, he wore a wooden token in the shape of a single feather. Unlike the others’, Leif’s pendant was on a thin chain of very smooth cord, not rope. The rough texture that occasionally made some of his peers itch had been a constant distraction for Leif.
He wasn’t sure why the priests had replaced the cord for him, and then said nothing more about it. They were men and women of the Woo, why hadn’t they considered the same possibility Leif had? Sometimes they treated him like one of the patients they brought in - and Leif didn’t understand it. They’d talked to the Lord and Lady Accipiter, Leif knew they had, so they must know that it was something about the church that had done it. Wasn’t it an obvious conclusion that Leif might not be meant for holy ground?
His fingers curled around the pendant and he stroked the raised vein patterning with his thumb. Running it over the familiar rises and valleys smoothed by constant touch was a strange sort of anchor, but it was one of the only ones Leif had. A familiar pattern, a familiar and soft yet steady texture. The same thing over and over again, something he could expect and predict, something he could narrow his focus to without it assaulting him with anything harsh or strange. Leif felt his breathing ease slightly, his thoughts clear a little.
Still stroking the pendant with one hand, Leif managed to reach out his other arm and unlatch the gate. He wasn’t wrong about the temperature; at night, metal outside in the Corvus air really felt about the same temperature as wood. Nothing else felt the same about the two, of course. Metal was all smooth except for the many-faced chinks or the keyholes. Wood had all sorts of bumps and grains and soft pores, and... No. Don’t think about that.
The path was dirt for a little ways before it became proper cobblestone. Back in Raylier, when it rained, Leif’s siblings sometimes went out onto the cobblestone paths in bare feet. Some of the seminarians did that here, too, on really hot days. Leif didn’t know how they stood it - the stones weren’t uneven enough to throw wagons, maybe, but they were definitely different heights and textures and shapes.
Even watching the path while he walked could sometimes agitate Leif’s head. That had never happened in Raylier, or even when he’d first come to Iscaria, but now, when things were especially uneven, like the cobblestone paths… It shouldn’t matter. They were just stupid stones in the street. But maybe demons didn’t like asymmetry. Or maybe that was a weakness some kind of human-impersonating monster had. Someone had told Leif a story once, about vampires being compulsive counters, and that one way to escape or trap one was to throw a bag of rice or seeds or salt at it so it spilled all over the ground, and the vampire would be forced to stop and count all the grains.
Unlike a vampire, though, Leif could just look straight up ahead at the buildings, instead of compulsively rearranging all the stones or something equally ridiculous. He ran his thumb over the pendant a few more times, looking out at the night, before taking his first step beyond the gate.
It didn’t feel any different yet. But he was still on church ground.
Leif kept his steps slow and careful as he went. The slowness wasn’t hard to do, he was so frightened of crossing the church border - the pressure vanishing or remaining were both menacing to consider. The care took a bit more conscious effort. Maybe because he was so sensitive to everything, from the way the fabric of his robe and the clothes under it shifted against his skin to the smell of distant smoke from someone’s chimney to the sounds of another group of cicadas starting up another round of long, bitter whining, Leif found it a lot easier to get caught up in his own feet these days.
Despite his slow pace, he reached the border of dirt and cobblestone much faster than he’d really wanted to. This was it, his chance to find out one way or the other - unholy, or just cursed? Or crazy - that was a possibility, too. Leif stopped, unable to put his boot across the line.
A warm wind blew across him as he stared at the border of the paths. Leif grimaced at the flapping of his cloak against his legs and arms, and momentarily he had to hold his breath when he caught the too-sweet smell of some kind of flower. He wished it were the scent of coming rain instead. Even if rain left the outside feeling disconcertingly spongy underfoot, the smell of it coming wasn’t so offensive, the rain itself washed a lot of smell away, and the droplets pounding on the windows and church roof was rhythmic enough that it didn’t agitate Leif so much.
When the wind stopped, he looked back at the church. A few lights glowed from inside. There was flickering candlelight in the main hall. Some of the rooms with long-term patients in them were lit, too, and of course, so was the large infirmary, where the priests placed people with injuries. Despite the plentiful light, nobody seemed to notice or care that Leif had gone missing. Maybe the other seminarians noticed, but it wasn’t as if this was the first time Leif had been late getting to bed. It would be far from the first time he’d never gone to his bed in the seminarian quarters. He only shared the space with two other boys, and they weren’t actively annoying, but something as simple as the sound of them breathing in their sleep could keep Leif awake the entire night. A lof ot the time it was easier to just sleep in one of the classrooms. He would sleep in the mews if he could, but he wasn’t supposed to be up there even during the day.
The mews. He could just barely make out the window around the decorative curves of the church roof and the gargoyles that decorated it. The birds were probably all sleeping, but he had an irrational hope that maybe Lunari was watching him. He didn’t know exactly why that would be so reassuring. She was a raptor, a species not exactly known for its compassion. But just about everything to do with the white Veluzian eagle was comforting.
Taking a deep breath, Leif turned back to the border between cobblestones and dirt. He lifted his foot, and with utmost deliberation...set his toes down on the other side. Aside from the slight rise of the stone under his boot, he felt no change. Of course not - he was still mostly on church ground. All on, or all off.
Lifting the same foot again, Leif edged it forward until the whole boot, from toe to heel, rested on the cobbled pathway. His heart was already beating hard again. Leif shut his eyes and ran his fingers over the feather patterns, even more rapidly than before. Not too quick - or he’d run into his own fingers on their repeat passes and throw off the pattern.
It wasn’t helping. Maybe he should have brought the little sand bag, although it usually didn’t help. Too floppy and shifting in his grasp, the wrinkles and weight never in the same place. He could feel the overload beginning, like a whine in his ears except not something he could actually describe with any of his outward senses. This would be a terrible place to break down - this whole thing had been a terrible idea - what had he expected to happen?
Leif brought his foot back to the dirt side of the path - with his eyes closed he couldn’t see where it was going, and he kicked the toes of his other foot before getting it in the right place. He almost bit his lip, but managed to resist for fear he would bite too hard and flood his mouth with the taste of blood. Taste was usually one thing that didn’t overflood him, but this close to the brink, just about anything could push him over the edge.
He went as still as he could, except for his fingers still passing over the wooden pendant in smooth sequence, his arms up and pressed to his chest, the way he sometimes had seen nervous women stand while fretting with the ends of their hair. The feeling of breakdown swelled and receded, over and over, like water in a bath when you pushed at it from one side. If it hit now...if it hit him outside, a place full of things that were unpredictable and loud and textured and odorous...
The owl Leif had heard before hooted again. Raptors - yes, raptors, he could think about raptors. They were a safe topic. Familiar like the shape of his necklace, and calming despite the sharp beaks and the wickedly curved talons…
What kind of owl was it? Well - there were a lot of barred owls here. Screech owls, too, though it was rarer to see them. It didn’t sound like either one of those species, though. The books said barred owls made a hoot with a sort of upward-pitched warble at the end. Screech owls definitely had a different noise, a long, trilling sort of hoot. This hoot at been a deeper sound. The sort of hoot people tried to imitate - poorly - when they made an owl noise.
...Great Horned Owl. Yes, that was it. Great Horned Owl, up to five pounds and a nearly five-foot wingspan. Mixed brown and black and orange plumage. An orange ‘mask’ around bright yellow eyes, under a sternly-shaped brow. And of course, the ‘horns’, the little tufts of raised feathers on the sides of a Great Horned Owl’s head.
Leif opened his eyes, slowly. The feeling of breakdown had abated slightly in the intensity of his focus and the comfort of identifying a raptor. He was still dangerously close to pushing himself over the edge. But - maybe it would be okay. He had an idea. A way to convince himself to step off the church grounds.
There was an owl in the forest. He could go try and find it.
In the back of his mind, Leif knew he would never get into the forest. He was honestly unlikely to make it even to the border. Although, if he was right, about holy ground, he might need a place like a forest to hide.
Leif couldn’t focus too hard on that rational part of his mind, though. Not with another wind kicking up and distracting him by rusting the trees and stirring up the flower scent again. I’m going to find the owl, Leif told himself when the breeze had settled.
He lifted his foot, and without looking at the cobblestones, placed it on the path. Deep breath, a stroke of the feather pendant, I’m going to go see an owl . Leif leaned forward and brought his other foot off of the dirt.
...He’d done it. He was off church grounds.
Leif waited, both hoping for and dreading a change. All his senses turned inward, to that constant pressure. He strained to feel the slightest budge, the most incremental ease… Leif’s senses were easily overpowered, but they were keen, and the pressure and the oversensitivity were so awful that even the slightest improvement would be amazing.
He did not feel anything.
Leif’s gut contracted, even as he felt a wash of relief. But - but maybe he hadn’t proven anything yet. Had he gotten far enough from the church grounds? What if he was still on holy ground? What if the church had once owned more land, and even though it now belong to Iscaria, it was still holy ground? Or - he’d heard stories where demons were reluctant to even go near churches - where they pulled back and stopped pursuit just because a church came into sight. The protections might extend further outward than just the ground the church was built on.
He had to keep moving. He hadn’t proven anything yet. If Leif found the owl, that would be far enough to be sure, one way or the other. The forest, then. He would get to the forest.
He started off, at a lurching pace, toward the town proper. How many people lived in these houses? he wondered almost dazedly. Were any of them looking at him? ‘Woo he hoped not - that was the last thing he needed right now. The pressure of their eyes. The reminder that he couldn’t read expressions properly. The pressure to look and make eye contact and that awkward, hated staring. And if they tried to talk to him… Leif didn’t want to talk to any strangers. Especially not right now. The priests and the seminarians, at least knew not to talk too loud or too fast or to touch him. But if somebody saw a priest stumbling through the city -
He hoped nobody saw him.
Despite the fear of an Iscarian stumbling upon him, Leif forced himself to keep going, to ignore the cobblestones and the wind ruffling and shifting his robes and rustling the trees and the growing smell of a tannery and the sound of a dog barking…
Great Horned Owl. Five pounds. Five-foot wingspan.
Leif reached the marketplace. All the stands were empty now and most of the colorful awnings tucked away for the night. From a hook on one of the awning-posts hung something that shifted in and out of the moonlight. As he got closer, Leif realized it was a set of wooden windchimes. They rattled together in a fierce wind with a sound like clattering bones. Leif flinched from it - too loud, too chaotic, no rhythm to be found in the clunking. Someone might as well have been slamming pots together right beside his ear.
He had to retreat - but he couldn’t go back to the church - his eyes darted around the abandoned marketplace, ears full of the sound of the windchimes. There - a sidestreet - he took it without considering the possible danger.
The noise faded, though his ears rang with memories of the sound. Leif paused to lean against a wall, only to draw back when he could feel the texture of the bricks through his robe, and squeezed shut his eyes and covered his ears to try and regain his equilibrium - or what passed for it. Great Horned Owl. Eats - eats - uhm - mice. Rabbits. Uh. Ducks. Smaller birds…
Under the pressure of his hands and the barrage of memorized facts, the echo faded, replaced by the sound of his own pulse - fast and loud but at least even. Slowly, Leif pulled his hands away and opened his eyes. A cloud had come off the moon and let it spill light onto the street. Cautiously, Leif ventured to the end of the street, running his fingers over the feather pendant again. He looked left, then right - nobody there. So he could go...go...
...Which way did he go to get to the forest?
Leif looked left, right, straight ahead...he didn’t know. It had been so long since he’d actually left the church grounds that he didn’t remember the way. He didn’t even remember the streets and how they were laid out. Had he even been able to learn them before the pressure set in? ...No, he didn’t think so. Iscaria was a big city. Such a big city. Such an inescapably big city.
He tried to listen for the owl, but if it was hooting, Leif couldn’t hear it over the dog barking, or through the thick buildings in which he felt lost as an ant in a castle. He squeezed his eyes closed again, trying to bring to mind a map. He’d seen a map of Iscaria before. The buildings just little white squares - the church a bigger white square surrounded by green. The forest...on the city’s...north side?
The church was to the east of the marketplace...so...so he’d gone west. And then, to get out of the market and away from the wind chimes, he’d gone - he’d gone north. He was already headed the right way. Leif opened his eyes with a quiet huff. He should have known that already. If not for the pressure, Leif would have gone to the forest on his own many times already.
The owl, he reminded himself. He looked left and right again, and then headed across the moonlit path, onto another side street. More houses now. More chances for anyone up late to see him. Nests in trees, stumps, or other animals’ abandoned nests…
The houses started to spread apart the farther toward the edge of the city Leif went. That was good. He could breath a little easier once he’d noticed. Leif started seeing trees above the houses; still distant, but there, a sign he was going the right way. Maybe he would actually make it - and maybe the pressure would stop, maybe it was all of Iscaria that was holy ground. Of course - that made so much sense. It was a Corvid city, it would be holy. He didn’t notice the obvious hole in his logic - the fact that Raylier was just as Corvid a city as Iscaria.
But he might make it out to the forest. He might find the owl. The pressure might stop.
And suddenly, he heard a door open behind him - a loud scrape of wood on the stone, the thunk as it reached the limits of his hinges and stopped. Leif didn’t look back as he quickened his pace, but then a woman called, “Er - Brother?”
Leif’s heartbeat, already quick, accelerated with all the force of an eagle upon a rabbit. He didn’t even think - just bolted, as much as he was able. The wind lashed his face, his pendant bounced smacked hard against his chest, the sleeves of his robes were up his arms and down his arms and striking the back and then tops and then back again of his wrists - the woman shouted. Her tone was angry. Despite or maybe because of the feeling of breakdown swelling up inside him like a stormcloud, Leif picked up speed.
The forest - get to the forest!
He felt sick in a way no magic or potion could cure. There was a growing whine in his ears, he could almost hear the wooden chimes smacking against each other. Footsteps sounded briefly after him as the woman gave chase, but she quickly gave up. Instead it was her yelling that pursued him down the streets.
Finally, Leif saw it - the archway marking the city entrance. Just a glimpse between two buildings, but that was enough. He veered toward it, just barely managing to stay on his feet as he made a sharp turn to get closer. Instead he smacked his shoulder, hard, into the side of what turned out to be a very solidly-constructed house. The pain rattled all across his body and Leif staggered to a stop, gripping his shoulder and trying not to clench his jaw. It was just a bump - the worst it might do was bruise - but the pain battered him in uneven waves - like the wind chimes, like voices, like the wind, like his clothes against his skin. Except this time it was coming from inside, and it was all touch. He could practically feel the memory of the wall’s outline in his shoulder - an illusion, he told himself, just his imagination. Go - get to the forest - there’s an owl -
And looking up at the end of the street, he could see the tall brick wall that surrounded the city. He was at the border. The gate must practically be around the corner. Leif staggered to the end of the alley; the pain was throwing off his sense of balance even more than usual. More than once he had to touch his fingers to the wall to keep himself from staggering into it again. Poking his head around the corner of the house on his right, Leif saw the gate, and through the bars, the forest…
Through the bars, because the gate was closed. And it wasn’t something Leif could just walk up to and open; two city guards flanked the gate.
No owl. No forest. No test.
Except, there was probably no point in a test. He was off church grounds. If the whole city was holy ground and poisonous to a demon, he should’ve felt this pressure from the moment he’d gotten here. So probably he wasn’t a demon, or a monster.
But he was still broken.
Leif retreated back into the side street, his ears whining again. Without the forest or the owl, he couldn’t distract himself with anything anymore. Leif reached for the pendant, but he could barely feel the wood beneath his fingertips - instead it was the pain from his shoulder, the slight pressure of the belt at his waist, the sick-sweet smell of the flowers and the trees, all close by now, rolling their leaves in a fresh wind and the cobblestones under his feet and his heart racing and racing and pounding blood through his veins…
He sank to the ground, pressed his face into his knees and his hands to his ears. There was still the smell and feel of the cloth on Leif’s face, the pressure of his hands to the sides of his face and the little shifting noises his hands made as they shook. Not perfect cover, but he couldn’t bear the city any longer. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have left the church. Regret didn’t help, though, it never helped. It seemed like nothing ever did.
Please - if I’m not a monster or a demon, please, make it stop!
Praying never helped, either.
All he wanted was for it to stop - ‘Pit, he would settle for things going back to the way they’d been in Raylier. At least he could function there, at least he could walk through a city, a nearly empty city at that. At least if he’d wanted to go see an owl, he could have gone to see an owl!
This...Leif couldn’t do this. He physically couldn’t do this. Trying to imagine spending the rest of his life this way, when already it had been barely a year and it felt completely unbearable...it was impossible. Even Lord Woo couldn’t possibly expect him to stay strong in the face of a lifetime of this exhausting pressure-turning-pain....
He could feel his breathing start to hitch as frustration and misery finally gave way to tears.
Leif didn’t know how long it was until Father Bryer showed up. He didn’t dare look up even when he heard the familiar voice, muffled by the hands still clasped to his ears. His muscles hurt and his shaking had stopped, so it had been a few hours at least. Leif dared to uncover his ears, just a little; there were songbirds chirping. No light was trying to pry into his eyes, but it was probably close to dawn.
Father Bryer was talking to somebody. Leif didn’t recognize that voice, and afraid of freshly overloading himself, covered his ears again. He wasn’t quite in time to avoid hearing a snatch of the other man’s words. “ - something wrong with him - “
Yes. Leif knew that already.
Another few moments passed, and then Leif heard Father Bryer’s voice, still a little muffled but close enough that he could understand the words. “Leif, come on now - we need to get back to the church.” The priest didn’t touch him - all the people in the church knew better than that.
Leif wanted to follow him. Just get up and go back to the church. It should have been simple. The worst of the overload was gone, Leif could tell that much. But what it that was just because he was here, curled up and shut off from the world as much as he could be? It was dawn - the streets were going to start filling with people. He didn’t want to be caught in that.
...Which meant he had to get out while the city was still mostly empty. Get up, Leif told himself. His legs wouldn’t move. His eyes didn’t even want to open.
“Leif, come along,” Father Bryer urged.
Come on. Get up. Get out of here! But it was safe in this little corner, if only for the moment. It was like being on the other side of the gate and on the border of the path all over again, when he’d had to bribe himself with the owl to keep moving. So - find a bribe - something - before the streets get full of people!
It was easy for Leif to think of something that would lure him to the church. Lunari. The mews.
It wasn’t instantaneous, not by any stretch of the word’s definition. But eventually, Leif lifted his head. The frustrated tears had dried at some point, but he could feel their dried trails down his face. His eyes hurt, too. Even in the little light of not-quite-daybreak, Leif squinted. He forced himself not to think about that discomfort. Think about Lunari instead. Veluzian eagle. Ten to eighteen pounds…
Watching Leif get to his feet must have been like watching a child struggle to get a puppet standing. The blood rushed into his head and Leif stood frozen for a moment, shoulders tensing at the harsh slamming of his pulse in his ears. His fingers drifted to the patterns of his pendant. At least he could feel the wood grain again.
Native to the Veluz jungle in Tengiz. Eats monkeys, bats, snakes, civets, small deer...
He and Father Bryer managed to get back to the church before the sun had properly risen. The priest after closing the gate, and turned to face Leif, whose eyes automatically dropped to the ground. “Leif. You cannot go sneaking off like that.”
“I know,” Leif whispered, his voice slightly bitter. Yes, he’d figured that out on his own.
“What were you doing near on the opposite side of town?”
Leif clenched his jaw. He couldn’t explain it. Especially, he realized, since he’d been wrong about holy ground. There was no point now.
Father Bryer sighed. Leif guessed the priest was frustrated, but he couldn’t be sure. It was hard to tell, with people. But he was probably frustrated. Leif would be, in the same situation. The priest didn’t press Leif for answers, another thing the clergy here had learned. “I know it must be hard being confined to the church, Leif, but unless there’s a way to fix this, it’s too dangerous. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
“I’ll stay here,” Leif muttered.
It took a moment, but Father Bryer said, “Good.” His tone was difficult to read. Leif waited until he heard Father Bryer’s footsteps go past him before he looked back up. They re-entered the church, still gloomy at this hour except for the light poking in from the infirmary.
“Go get some sleep, Leif,” Father Bryer ordered. “You can make up for your missed lessons later.”
Leif nodded, and started slowly off in the direction of the seminarians’ rooms. He heard Father Bryer heading the opposite direction, and carefully watched the man out of the corner of his eye. When Father Bryer had disappeared from sight, Leif paused, waited until the footfalls had faded, too, and then abruptly changed direction. Past the pews, up toward the pulpit, tucked into the small alcove - there was the ladder to the mews. A long climb, but always worth it. Always. The birds didn’t seem to care what he was - sick or a shell worn by a monster or just a madman. If nothing else, if nothing else in the whole world...there were the birds.
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Post by Tiger on Dec 24, 2014 21:21:21 GMT -5
Medieval - The Twelve Days of Woomas
From the Book of Heart Many centuries ago, a strange autumn came to Kyth. Though no harsher than autumns previous - no food unexpectedly froze on the vine, nor did early snows strike, nor did the temperature plummet below what could be endured - the people of the land were struck by a harsh and strange misery, like a plague of mood. It left them tired and irate and hopeless. The mages were oddly deprived of their usual strength, finding themselves pulling much more often and much more quickly than usual, and those with nonmagical gifts - cleverness, skilled hands, diplomacy - found themselves similarly drained.
Lord Woo was puzzled by this strange affliction, and very concerned for the people of Kyth. It might be an underhanded attack by another god, he thought, or perhaps a very strong magical attack from a mortal enemy. Even if it was just a strange but perfectly natural fluke, the Lord Woo did not like seeing his children unhappy, and worried about what would happen as the weather continued to grow colder and sharper.
The Woo watched for a while, hoping to pinpoint the source of this unusual frustration and sadness, but could see nothing except that the people were growing more and more embittered and depressed. Finally, as the shortest day of the year crept closer, Lord Woo decided there was nothing for it - if he was going to find answers, he was going to have to go to Kyth and find them there.
Gods must be very careful when stepping onto mortal worlds, lest they hurt the land or its people, or offend another god. The Lord Woo of course wished to be very careful, and needed to spread his sight very wide - so he did not come to ground as a great bird, but as hundreds, thousands, of small white lights in the lanterns that lit the dark and crisp late-autumn night. The lanterns burned steadily throughout the night, and those who followed Lord Woo and bathed in the lights felt some comfort from whatever strange toll the autumn had taken upon them. Meanwhile, the god himself sought some sign of the malignant force, but even after the night spent searching, he had found nothing to explain it.
Lord Woo decided to spend the day watching the people - perhaps there was some clue he could find in their daily routines to explain what brought this harm to them. Still cautious of disturbing the mortal world too greatly, he called upon his loyal emissaries the birds to be his eyes and ears over the land. Their eagerness was more than he had intended; birds everywhere, from the doves in the churches of Corvus to the pigeons in the coops of Bern and the many exoic species from the Ascension aviaries in between, flooded from their homes and spread out over their countrysides to help watch the Kythians.
Unfortunately, the sight of so many birds carousing over their cities and towns and farms so disturbed the people that they did not act as normal. Some feared that it was a sign of fire, or even an omen of disaster. The day went on, and their behavior was still tainted by the weariness and irritation that had colored them all autumn long, only now it was worsened by the continually swirling flocks of birds. Lord Woo knew something must be done - but his usual godly tricks would not work here on Kyth.
Night came, and the god again became the glowing of the lanterns. Some of these lanterns glowed in barns, painting light over the backs of animals as they gathered to feed from their troughs. This gave Lord Woo an idea, and as the night went on, the Lord Woo stretched his godly influence into and over the land of Kyth. He pulled seeds from unplanted fruit and discarded grain and oats to the surface of the ground, blew tiny, forgotten treats that birds would like out of the cover of leaf litter with great but precise winds, and brought waves from rivers lapping ashore, carrying drowned plants and their seeds. Daybreak came, and the birds found the seeds and oats and grains waiting beside their coops and aviaries, and in the yards of the churches and manors which they had abandoned. After feasting, the birds returned to their roosts, sleepy and content; the Kythians were confused, but at least it seemed no doom was about to befall them.
Since the birds were now too sleepy to prove good ears for him, the Lord Woo instead extended his essence into the land - into the fields of Kine, the hills of Bern, the forests of Rindfell, the swamps of Corvus - and through the towns, too, along cobblestone roads and well-worn dirt paths and over wooden and iron bridges. Everywhere the Woo looked, people were tired and angry, and many of them quit their work early. Still, the Lord Woo did not understand what was causing this - what had brought his people such misery?
As he pondered, still nestled in the earth and the things that grew from and settled into it, however, the Lord Woo felt something - something strange, and cold, but not in the way autumn and winter were cold…rather, the sort of coldness used to describe the eyes of a compassionless person or an indifferent predator. Carefully, Lord Woo extended his awareness deeper into the earth, leaving imprints of feathers on the stones scattered through the fields and the streets.
And there, he found it - on the underbelly of Kyth, where it could hide from the sight of the gods above the mortal plane. It was a creature of the ‘Pit, attached to Kyth like some sort of vampire. Lord Woo had seen its kind before; they were attracted by misery, even in small quantities, though usually the power of gods and the faith of those who followed them were powerful enough to keep these beasts away.
But, the Lord Woo realized, the autumn must have been just harsh enough to push the Kythians over some edge, a delicate balance between the power of their faith and the weight of their unhappiness. And they had, his people, been very anxious about the coming autumn and winter, hadn’t they? In fact, they seemed to grow more and more nervous and sullen at every fall…
Lord Woo realized that he must do something about this, but first - the creature had to be repelled. Lord Woo could not do it himself - he had the strength, but to intervene so directly could cause great collateral damage, and that would do much more harm than good. His followers would need to do the fighting - but they would not do it unprepared, nor alone.
The god returned to the surface of Kyth to find that the night had passed and another morning was beginning. Springing from the grasses and the trees and the waters and the mud and the roads, he took the form of a great white weewoo, and wherever he flew, large, soft, white feathers drifted to the ground. The people below picked them up - though many were simply perplexed, others realized this was a sign from the Lord Woo, and quickly, the word spread. Some of the people’s miasma lifted, if only a little. But it was not enough - though the creature was disgruntled, it was not dislodged, having sunk its grip too far into the land and its people to be so easily dispatched.
But this was only Lord Woo’s first step; he knew this battle would not be easy, but he knew that it would be won. His next goal was clear - the mages must be returned to their proper strength. Before the day was through, he sent the message to his followers - prepare as much bread and glaze and sweet-syrup and honey and fruit as possible. The food was prepared and the people, exhausted, went to their beds - and while they slept, Lord Woo gave his blessings to the food, so that it would bring even more energy to the people and the mages particularly.
Morning came, and the people breakfasted on the glazed breads and candied fruits and ginger and honey cakes and pastries and cookies. Lord Woo watched from the lanterns, and found that indeed, the sugar was helping the mages and the people regain some of their strength. Somewhere below the earth, the vampire squirmed and snarled, but did not relinquish its hold - and indeed, as the day went on, Lord Woo could see the gloom setting in again.
Well, what now? The people could not prepare such elaborate sugar and honey breakfasts every single day, and they needed a solution that would last more than a few hours. Lord Woo reflected, for the rest of the day and through the night. He could hear the people’s prayers for answers and some relief from the misery that plagued them, and though at first, Lord Woo was only frustrated that he could not fulfill their hopes, he soon realized that the people were not praying for an end or ease of the weather, no more so than usual. The loudest cries were those from people feeling sorrowful and lonely, not those beleaguered by the cold winds.
Of course. For mortals, who had to rely so heavily on the earth for survival, the winter was a time of great stress and great fear, and in the north especially, isolation. Apart from one another, whether by great snows or great strife, how could these communal creatures truly be happy? And when every coming autumn meant not only the return of winter but the return of those sorrowful feelings...well, it was no wonder a misery-drinker had been attracted to this place.
The creature would need to be stamped out - but in its place, Lord Woo vowed as the sun began to rise, he would leave something to look forward to and something to enjoy, so that the people would not be robbed of each other and of peace.
Lord Woo had seen the previous morning how much conversation had accompanied the fine meal, and so he bade that that day, the people divide into groups of hunters, pickers, and cookers. They did so, and Lord Woo ensured that large bucks, boars, and fish fell to hunters’ arrows and nets; he made the fruit hanging from the trees and bushes fat and flavorful and the stinging and biting insects who guarded them feel lazy and peaceful; the hens all laid large eggs and the cows gave sweet and plentiful milk. All the food was brought to the cooks’ kitchens, where Lord Woo restored spoiled ingredients and ensured the spices were all to flavor. It was more help than he could usually give all at once, and by day’s end, both the people of Kyth and Lord Woo needed to rest.
They held the feast the next day, from sunup until sundown. There was food and drink in good supply, and the people gathered together in the churches or inns or village squares, where it was warm enough, and talked and told stories and, in good time, laughed as well. Lord Woo was pleased - and all the more so because he could tell that the monster under the continent was furious and losing some of its supply of sorrow.
One feast would not be enough to drive it away, when it had grown so fat off of this autumn’s misery already. However, Lord Woo had gained one very large victory - the mages had recovered a great deal.
The next day, his ninth on the mortal world, Lord Woo began instructing the mages in what they would need to do to defeat the creature. They thought at first they would need to get through the earth to reach it, but the Lord Woo quickly stopped them - their spell would be one of channeling. A difficult spell, to be sure, but not one that made sense to them. Lord Woo assured the mages it would make sense in due time.
While the mages studied, Lord Woo watched the non-magical people of Kyth, who had returned to their work. Though bolstered by the feast, he could tell the work would drain some of that energy, and make it easier for the gloominess to take hold again. Reminded of many similar scenes of work he had seen, though often in happier times, Lord Woo borrowed the voices of several songbirds, and with their voices, he started the melody of working songs that he had heard the people sing while working the fields and at the ovens and making their rounds. Through the day, the people sang - they sang old songs, and created new ones, and learned new ones from their neighbors, and below the ground, the creature of the ‘Pit thrashed in agitation.
The next day was a rest from work for much of Kyth, a day many reserved for the church. Lord Woo told the people to rest; the mages would finish learning the spell today, and tomorrow, they would need all their energy for helping them drive the beast plaguing them away. The people tried to do so, but with such a weight on their shoulders, it was difficult to simply relax. Instead, remembering the times they’d shared at the breakfast, and at the feast, and in the fields, they came together wherever they could find, and spoke in quiet voices about their greatest fears and greatest hopes - the things they hoped would end with the banishment of the creature, the things they hoped would come to pass when it was gone.
The creature lurking below the land seemed...confused. This was not merriment, it knew that, but this was not something it could feed upon, either. Lord Woo watched it carefully, but the creature remained unsure what to do about this new emotion.
By nightfall, the mages had learned the spell. Lord Woo bid them and their fellows to rest, that tomorrow they would fight the creature and remove its plague on Kyth once and for all. From the glow of the lanterns, now hanging from doors and posts all over the towns of Kyth, Lord Woo could see snow quietly falling in Bern and Rindfell, while phoenixes wheeled through a still, crisp sky in Corvus, and soft breezes rippled the fields of Kine like the waves of Albion’s oceans.
Morning came, and Lord Woo bid the people to gather in a holy place, alongside their mages, if they had them. Even if they had no mages, or no holy place, they were to gather together, and wait. They would know when the deed had been done.
Lord Woo told the people that he had seen in them incredible spirit, and that spirit would not allow the creature of the ‘Pit to win. The trick, Lord Woo explained, was turning that strength of will into a weapon - and now, through the mages and his own godly power, they would do just that.
He instructed the people to remember the happiness they’d felt with their loved ones - not just in the midst of the feasts and the songs, but in the whole year through, and the years beyond that - and to concentrate on it, to let it build like a magical force. They were hesitant at first, and the vampire froze with anticipation - but the people remembered, and those memories reminded them of others, and as the mages began their spell, they now understood what it was for.
When it was ready, when the magic had channeled all of the emotion into a great bolt of colorful light, Lord Woo, in all the places he was, reached out with his own magic and created a hole through Kyth that was actually a hundred holes - and through each one, the mages fired the bolt of light. The magical shots struck the ‘Pit-creature violently, and it lost its last grip on Kyth. The creature plunged away - back to the ‘Pit, no doubt.
Lord Woo closed the holes, and the people looked around, finding the air feeling somehow cleaner and that their clothes had all been turned white by the nearby blast of magic from Lord Woo.
This reminded the Lord Woo that, unfortunately, he could not stay among his people. A god was too powerful, too dangerous, to walk the world of mortals. One more day he would spend here, the told the people. It would be a day of celebration, a day whose happiness they should carry with them into the coming winter. And they must, the Lord Woo reminded them, find some way to keep their happiness in the face of autumn and winter, or else creatures like the misery-drinker would return.
Lord Woo stayed one day more, as promised, watching the people celebrate and pleased to see them happy and content once more. Many of the gods whom he shared the godly plane with were most pleased when their followers gave them great tribute or cowered in fear or did their petty bidding - but Lord Woo doubted any of them felt as happy as he did, being among his followers in this time of merriment and celebration.
Despite the temptation to remain in Kyth, Lord Woo slipped quietly back to the realm of the gods as the sun set and the lanterns were lit. Though the people knew Lord Woo had gone by the natural orange their lantern flames burned, they also knew now that their god was watching over them. 12 Days of Woomas By Day The level of adherence to twelve days of ceremony, as well as the ceremonies themselves, vary between regions, individual belief systems, and social classes. Some might celebrate all twelve days, others only Woomas Day (day twelve). Broadly and as initially intended, the twelve days of Woomas are celebrated thusly: Day 1 - Preparation for the 12 Days, in particular getting lanterns sprinkled with holy water Night 1 - First lantern lightning (often an evening church ceremony, and then the congregation walks home to hang the lantern on their door), start of sugar fast 1Day 2 - Releasing birds from the church Day 3 - Scattering seeds for the birds Day 4 - Many variations on this one - communities with lots of children might hunt for rocks painted or etched with feathers (which can be exchanged for some sort of reward); other churches might have a ‘paint a rock and reflect’ session. Day 5 - Another heavily-varied celebration; some smaller communities with enough birds to provide may have their congregation hold feathers during sermon; others use day four to prepare and hide the feather-stones/carvings/etc. and use this day to find them Day 6 - Breaking the sugar fast, generally with a large breakfast including sugar-glazed breads, candied fruits, ginger candy, honeycakes, and all manner of sweets. Day 7 2 - Preparing for a big meal on Day 8, though nobility may not have to fuss with this step and so often instead spend it as a day dedicated to praying or studying theology. Some regions of Kyth, particularly areas without local nobles, combine the feast preparation and feast into one day, spending the morning and afternoon preparing food to bring to a large, communal feast in the evening. Day 8 - Large, communal feast, held with as much of the town as possible Day 9 - Caroling day; singing of traditional hymns and Woomas songs, and unveiling of new ones Day 10 - Expressing appreciation for family and friends; essentially, Kyth does Warm Fuzzies Day 11 - Wearing white, and through magic, technology, or clever construction and showmanship, turning something from many colors into white. In Corvus especially, churches may be painted early in the day, and turned to white later. Candy, sculptures, etc. may also be constructed or enchanted to turn to white, either at a specific action or simply as the day goes on. Day 12 - Woomas Day, on which presents are exchanged with family and friends! Though there may be a short church service in some communities, the day is meant to be spent with loved ones. ------- 1 - “Sugar” being somewhat up to interpretation, and liable to exceptions. Generally interpreted as avoiding sugary treats, like pies, cake, candy, cookies, and the like; some food items just have sugar in ‘em and that’s the way they are. Exceptions are made for health conditions (assuming they can tell such a thing exists), and pulled mages - though Wooist mages are expected to avoid frivolous magic use leading up to and during the sugar fast to avoid having to break it. 2 - Day 7 and 8 might be where the Nid’aigle elves’ hunt and all-night vigil were tied into Woomas celebrations to appease the missionaries working to convert the elves to Wooism. |
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Post by Tiger on Jan 3, 2015 17:08:49 GMT -5
Medieval - Bad End AU - The Knight and the ArchmageWritten with Shinko
It was hard for the half-elf known as Sieg Braham to believe that a full year had passed since the disastrous events of King Starmey’s funeral and Princess Destiney’s failed coronation. Sometimes it felt like it had been no time at all- others it felt like decades had gone by. Certainly anyone who’d known him before the start of the war with Courdon would have thought he’d just emerged from a time-warp to look twenty years older. His amber eyes, though they still glimmered in the light as all elven eyes did, were sunken and hollow, dull with grief and the traumas of war. He was painfully skinny after weeks of illness that had stemmed from a terribly infected injury- and that same infection had cost him his right arm, which was now nothing more than a stump just past his shoulder. He was recovering from the illness, finally, but there was still a slight flush to his face that suggested a lingering low-grade fever.
Regardless, he couldn’t stand being made to lie abed all day now that he’d gotten at least some of his energy back. After checking on Rosalie- she was asleep- he pulled on the cloak that had been loaned to him by the knights who’d rescued him (pinning up the long empty sleeve so that it wasn’t in his way) and set off down the hallways.
The castle was jam-packed with nobles and military leaders who’d come to Destrier as refugees after Courdon destroyed their home regions. Somewhere in the castle Sieg knew his own commander, Anri Hasek, was aiding in the battle plans. But the half-elf would have no part in them. Not with his arm the way it was- he’d been a knight since he was twenty-two, and had trained to be one since he was eleven. Now he’d never be allowed to don his armor again.
Desperate for some fresh air, Sieg finally emerged out into the castle gardens. Here, at least, it was somewhat quiet. It even reminded him of his now-destroyed hometown of Nid’aigle, which had always been lush and beautiful with plant growth. Without much of a destination, he ambled along the paths through the gardens, enjoying at least the brief illusion of peace and normalcy.
Leif didn’t think he would ever get used to the weight of a sword at his side. Almost all his life, it had been a wand holster - light, almost negligible weight that he nevertheless had noticed missing when he finally gave up wearing it. The sword felt all wrong - too heavy, misbalanced, hitting against his leg as he walked in a way that agitated his oversensitivity to arrhythmic sensations. And it was no better out of the sheath. Lifting birds was one thing - lifting a solid block of steel as long as his arm was entirely different. And it turned out that being fast with a wand meant absolutely nothing when that skill was transferred to swordfighting.
But he’d needed to do something. He had let other people protect Kirin before, and they’d failed.
So he’d taken to walks with the blasted hunk of dangling metal whenever he had some spare time. It felt like it wasn’t helping much - the sword felt as awkward as ever and Leif was fairly certain he couldn’t build any more strength in his legs after the long trek from Corvus to Bern. Most of the time, Leif stuck to the castle, wary of being too far from Kirin should the Stallion need him. But lately the halls had been flooded with even more people than usual - a fresh batch of refugees, from what he understood. They didn’t tell him very much, which galled Leif to no end. They called on him for magical advice from time to time - all of the former archmage’s knowledge was still there and intact in his head, even if he couldn’t make use of any of it - but that was about all Leif ever saw of strategy or planning for for Courdonians.
Refugees or war commanders or fresh troops - it was too many people for him to handle right now. He’d retreated to the outer garden, despite that it was cold enough outside that he’d had to wear his battered, travel-worn, green cloak. It wouldn’t be long now before he had to exchange the cloak for something warmer, and almost definitely in Stallion colors if anyone bothered to dye it at all - but he was going to cling to what he could of Corvus while he was still able.
Eyes downcast, Leif was making a third pass along the garden path when he rounded a corner, and realized he was inches from bumping into someone. He drew back with a sharp hiss of startled breath. “‘Woo! I - sorry,” he said automatically, anticipating that the stranger would have heard Leif’s boots scuffling as he hastily backtracked, if nothing else.
Sieg, startled by the sudden presence of the stranger directly in his peripheral vision, jerked back on impulse and promptly lost his balance, flailing a bit with his good arm as he tried to regain his center of gravity- badly thrown off by his newfound asymmetry. He stumbled a bit but managed to avoid falling by grabbing on to the low-hanging branch of a tree, and sighed.
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, his voice still carrying traces of the elvish accent that he’d grown up with despite everything else about him that had changed. “No harm done, my lord.”
He glanced up, surprised to see the stranger in a worn, tattered cloak in Jade colors. He’d not encountered any Jades in a long time, and had heard Solis was destroyed not long after Nid’aigle was. Looking up still further, he realized that there was something familiar about the stranger’s face- he had an odd squiggly line under his eye that Sieg was certain he’d seen somewhere before.
Frowning a bit as he tried to place the vague, distant recollection, he held out his hand to the fellow. “Sieg Braham- formerly Sir Sieg Braham but I get the impression I’ll probably be discharged soon, so might as well dispense with that.”
Oh, ‘Woo - a knight, he had nearly knocked over a knight, whose missing arm was more likely than not from a battle against the Courdonians. Leif could have punched himself in the face. Maybe with the sword pommel.
“I - still, I’m sorry, Sir.” He hesitated, but reached out and shook the man’s hand. ...Well. No, not man - not with the pointed ears and the accent. The accent could have been from anywhere, as bad as Leif was with things like voices, but it sounded familiar. And the ears - he was obviously an elf. Braham...why does that sound familiar?
Realizing he’d half-forgotten his manners - not really an unusual occurrence, in fairness - he added his name. “Leif Jade. ...Though I suppose if we’re disposing of lost parts of names...“ He couldn’t quite finish the thought, even meant as a joke.
...And probably that wasn’t a good comment to make to an elf, who might very well be from Nid’Aigle, a city that had probably fallen even before Solis. ...Wait, Nid’Aigle - that’s the accent, I think. And he knew that because - at the Coronation -
“Oh, ‘Woo - you - you were at the Coronation!” Leif stared at the knight, feeling a strange sort of mental lurch, as he remembered what felt like an entirely different lifetime, back when the war wasn’t yet a war, just an attack by a mad Courdonian king. “We were fighting together - you saved my life…What happened, how did you - how did you wind up here, too?”
The half-elf’s eyes widened- that’s where he remembered this man from. With a lopsided smile he remarked, “I could argue that you saved my life first, Lord Jade, but… yes I remember now.”
His expression turned bleak, “As to how I ended up here… that’s rather a long story, and it involved quite a few detours. I don’t suppose you’d object if we found somewhere to sit? It’s… difficult for me to keep my balance, I’m still adjusting to being heavier on one side than the other.”
“Oh - of course. There’s a bench just down that way.” He motioned in the direction Sieg had already been heading. “I certainly wouldn’t mind getting this blighted thing off,” he grumbled, scowling at the sword. ...Though he probably shouldn’t be complaining about it. At least he still had two arms to swing it.
Two useless arms if they can’t channel any magic, he couldn’t help thinking bitterly.
Leif kept close to Sieg as they headed for the bench, in case he needed any support to keep his balance. It was a motivation he barely paused to consider the source of, though obviously the two incredibly long trips on foot with Kirin, the first while Kirin was still weak and badly hurt, were where it had started. The knight would probably be all right, though; he had made it out of the castle and to the garden all right, after all.
The bench was placed to catch as much sunlight as possible, no doubt a necessity in a place as cold as this one. Most of the benches were by little streams and fountains, but this one had only a solitary birdbath nearby; it would be a little quieter. Once Sieg had sat, Leif joined him, fumbling with the straps of the sword scabbard before finally getting the thing off. He set it aside with a fresh scowl, but cleared his expression before looking back to Sieg.
Sieg didn’t comment on Leif’s indignation at his sword- he remembered when he was still training as a page, getting used to having a weapon thumping his leg almost constantly. As an adult he’d usually carried a sword with him at all times, and no longer noticed it at all- having left it behind in his room as useless, he felt almost naked without it’s familiar weight by his hip. All he had now was the dagger secured to the back of his belt. It was intended as a reserve weapon, but with only one arm it was all he could manage.
Turning his mind back to Leif’s question, he said softly, “After you lost consciousness, to took you back to some others from your house and rejoined the fighting. By that point the battle had spread from the Keep and into the city, and I… I was afraid for my mother and her partner. I went as fast as I could, but that ‘Pit cursed cliff…”
He clenched his hand into his pant leg. “You might remember that when you first found me, I was hanging off the cliff- that’s because one of the Courdonian royals, a man named Prince Cornelio, ordered me pushed off after I almost managed to take him captive. I was looking for him in particular because he… he wanted to take my mother’s partner as his personal slave. Because he thought she was pretty- I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what’s implied by that.”
Leif stiffened. “No. I - I understand.” His hands tightened into fists.
The half-elf closed his eyes, seeming lost in memory. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, and emotionless, though the faint trembling in his shoulders betrayed the emotion he was trying to suppress. “By the time I got back to the lock shop, he’d already been there before me. Rosalie, my mother’s partner, was gone. My mother… she was alive when I got there, b-but barely. He’d stabbed her through the middle. Even if by some fluke I managed to s-stop the bleeding, there was…”
Leif’s expression had grown more horrified as Sieg continued, and his hands started to shake. “I - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” His gut twisted and wrenched in sympathy for Sieg’s loss...and with guilt. If Leif had stayed conscious, if Sieg hadn’t had to waste time dragging him back to the Jades, he might have caught up to Cornelio - if Leif could have gone with the knight to save them - if Sieg’s mother had still been alive despite being stabbed in such a way, it couldn’t have been long after Cornelio had been there...
Sieg shook his head. “I’m hardly the only person who’s suffered losses in this war. But thank you for your sympathy regardless.” He sighed. “I don’t really remember much of the immediate aftermath of that. I was just… so angry, so despairing, I don’t know if I was really thinking much. Certainly I wasn’t registering anything going on around me. But I fixated on one thought, and that got me going again- somehow, I had to save Rosalie. I failed my mother, but before the coronation I promised Rosie I’d protect her, and I had to keep that promise. So I found my horse, and… I rode south.”
“Into Courdon? That must - “ Leif blinked. Cornelio - Prince Cornelio - would have been in Rakine, more specifically, the palace. “You killed him, Prince Cornelio? There’s - there’ve been stories going around, saying an elven knight got into the palace and killed a prince - we were pretty sure the prince had been killed, but...’Woo, I thought they were just making things up!” He couldn’t mask the awe in his voice - getting into the palace couldn’t have been an easy task for one lone knight to pull off, especially an elf, who wouldn’t exactly able to walk around without drawing notice. Managing to kill a prince on top of it, someone who would have numerous guards at his disposal… Leif managed a dry noise that could be interpreted as a laugh. “I - I guess you would have handled the gryphon on your own just fine! I probably stole your thunder, didn’t I?” The joking tone sounded…wrong, not just inappropriate - though it was that, too - but..it edged more toward hysteria than any actual mirth. Leif pressed his face into his hands for a moment. “I - I’m sorry, I don’t - it’s been a long time since I’ve heard anything that sounded like the Courdonians were getting some of what they deserve.”
The half elf actually smirked a bit, “I guess people have been spreading stories in Kyth as well as Courdon- I know I saw enough wanted posters up on the escape trip north. Yes, that was me- though probably the story’s gotten somewhat exaggerated in it’s retelling.”
He leaned back a bit and sighed. “I got that… monster that was masquerading as a human, but by the time I found Rosalie she wasn’t really recognizable as herself anymore. She was so bright, cheerful, energetic… now she’s just afraid of everything, she doesn’t even want anyone to touch her. I’m the only person she’s not afraid of.”
Leif grimaced, looking down at his hands as he let them drop back to his knees. That was something Leif knew all too-well, how it felt to see someone once so full of life just...broken, and terrified, and robbed of their own personality. His hands started to shake again. “I’m sorry...that poor girl...it’s - it’s good she has you, though.” Leif’s vision went watery and he blinked quickly, trying to quell them and ignore the fact that his throat felt like it had swollen up. ’Woo, come on, pull yourself together. Kirin’s...he’s doing a lot better these days. Telling himself that didn’t really help - it certainly didn’t make it any better that Kirin had been so hurt in the first place.
With forced calm that wasn’t very calm at all, Leif said, “It takes a while for them to feel safe. At least when you’re not around. I - I don’t know how much help it’ll be, for her, or if you’ve already figured things out, but, I can try and help you figure out how to help her.”
Sieg was surprised by how strongly Leif reacted- as far as the half-elf knew, this man wasn’t acquainted with Rosalie. Then again, there was no telling what he’d endured during the course of the war. Certainly the sword he was carrying hadn’t been there at the time of the coronation. The way he talked about it implied he had some sort of personal experience.
The half-elf bowed his head a bit. “Thank you. I’ve been doing the best I can, but sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever be… even a little bit like she was.” He put his hand up to the stump of his right arm. “This happening didn’t really help that. It wasn’t even that bad of a wound at first, just a minor laceration I got in the process of our escape from Courdon. But we didn’t have the resources to look after it properly and there was obviously no one in Courdon we could turn to for help, so it got infected.” His eyes narrowed. “Badly infected. I honestly don’t remember anything of the trip back north from Courdon past the first few days, I was delirious and it took everything in me just to keep us going. Rosalie was terrified, and constantly begged me not to die, not to pass out, insisting that I had to protect her. Which she was right, of course, but…”
He gritted his teeth. “By the time we got back, Courdon had taken most of Corvus, and so we had to go even further than we anticipated to get to safe territory. My arm was so putrid the only way to keep me alive was to have it off.”
The half-elf shrugged. “After that, I was unconscious for a while, recovering from the infection. I’ve still a bit of lingering fever, but they decided it was safe to move me and Rosalie somewhere more secure- that ended up being here.” He tilted his head at Leif. “And that’s the long and the short of it. What about you? I heard about… about what happened to Solis.”
Leif let out a long, shaky breath. “Yes. I - half the time I wonder if I should have stayed and helped fight, but. I don’t think it would’ve made any difference.” Realizing that might not make sense on its own, Leif added, “Lord Everett sent a few of us out of the city before the wards fell, so we could get to Destrier. Lord Joffery’s here as well, and Joffery’s cousin. We had two Stallions staying with us already, Lord Ambrose and Kirin. Lord Kirin,” he corrected almost absently, “and they came with us, too.” Fiddling with the hilt of his sword again, Leif said, “I was sent along to keep them safe.”
He almost refrained from explaining the rest. But...what point was there? Sieg was going to ask sooner or later. “And I was supposed to be some actual help to Bern. Lord Everett thought they should have an archmage.”
The half-elf’s head whipped around. “Wait, you’re an archmage? I didn’t think archmages still existed, I’ve heard stories but nothing recent…”
Leif cringed. He hadn’t even been thinking about that. “I…was an archmage. That’s a story in of itself, but the gist of it is I didn’t know until a few years ago myself. And then Lord Everett was keeping it a secret from people outside our House. Just, on the way north…” He tried to come up with a way to explain, but eventually just shook his head. “Something happened and now I can’t...I can’t use my magic anymore. Or it’s gone, maybe. I don’t know. All I can do now is tell the generals what spells the Courdonians are likely to use, how to break through their shields, what their mages can do - or the very few they have, anyway.” He squeezed the hilt of his sword in frustration. “It’s just lucky Lady Jenniver - Lord Joffery’s cousin - is a mage, and I could talk her through some of the ward spells, or we probably wouldn’t have made it here.”
Sieg winced. “I see…” He gestured at the stump of his arm, his expression bitter. “If it’s any consolation, Lord Jade, I understand. I’ve been barred from any further fighting, and I imagine as soon as there aren’t… other priorities, I’ll probably be officially discharged. It’s maddening because I can still fight a little, but with this injury I’m more of a liability than a real help.”
The half-elf indicated Leif’s sword. “I suppose you picked that up after your magic failed you then? It’s good to see you’ve still something to contribute.”
“You can just call me Leif. Hard to be a lord of a House that barely exists.” With a brief, tired half-smile, he added, “It was always ‘Lord Leif’, anyway, and I hated the alliteration.”
Frowning at the sword, he answered Sieg’s question. “Yes, I’m trying to learn how to use it. But it’s nothing I can actually contribute - I have lessons, but not very often, there’re more important uses for swordfighters right now than training flailing ex-archmages. I’m not going to see any battlefield combat - if I’m allowed out there at all, it would only be as triage.” He wasn’t even sure he would be doing that - if it came to battle in Bern, in Destrier...Leif needed to be ready to get Kirin out. He had promised Kirin that the Courdonians would never take him back.
“I’m sorry about your loss, too. I take it elven knights train from childhood, too? ...You were probably just as attached to the idea of being a knight as I was to being a mage.” Leif leaned back on the bench, tilting his head back to look up at the tangle of the canopied plants and the bits of sky visible between them. “You can still fight some, I can sort of pick this thing up...doesn’t feel like enough, does it?”
Sieg sighed. “No. I don’t regret saving Rosalie, but sometimes I feel like… it was selfish of me, spending all that time rescuing one person when there are so many others the Courdonians have taken I couldn’t save. And while I was gone, Nid’aigle, the city I’d swoarn an oath to protect when I was knighted, fell- the last city of the elves, just gone.” He laughed bitterly. “Supposedly the higher-ups on the war council keep me around because it’s good for morale. That knight who infiltrated the Courdonian capital, assassinated a royal and made it out alive. But in the end, what did it contribute to the war effort? All I really got out of it was my own peace of mind, and I can’t even pretend I really have that. I shouldn’t have let her get taken in the first place.”
He put a hand to his right shoulder and squeezed it, his jaw clenching with frustration.
Leif nodded in understanding - in the end Lord Everett’s orders had made the choice unnecessary, but in the time before the final attack on Solis, Leif had been torn between doing his duty for the people of Corvus and staying to fight the Courdonians, or doing everything he could for Kirin, not just sending the Stallion out of the city but going with him to be his support.
And Leif shouldn’t have let Kirin be captured in the first place, either. He shouldn’t have believed it when he’d been told Kirin was dead - he should have torn Courdon apart looking for him. But it didn’t do any good to regret that now, did it?
Well, he might be able to help Sieg feel a little better, at least. “The morale is good. People need to hear that the Courdonians aren’t untouchable. And if nothing else - they took some of our nobility from us.” His tone grew fierce as the names flashed through his head - Kirin, Lord Everett, Lord Charles and Lady Helena and the rest of House Jade, the Grand Duke, Princess Destiney… “It’s only fair someone returns the favor.”
Sieg glanced at Leif, feeling sympathy swamp him. Of course, he was a Jade. He’d have lost friends and family when Solis fell- he’d already admitted that he had. The half-elf looked down at his hand- only one, where once there’d been two. He wasn’t permitted to fight, even though he still could a little, but maybe…
The knight pointed at Leif’s sword. “You know… I’m not being kept especially busy. I could help you with that, if you want.”
Leif sat up straight. “You - are you sure?” He squeezed the sword tightly. “If you’re sure - please. I would be…immensely grateful.” Leif forced himself to take a deep breath, realizing he probably sounded a little crazy. “I just...I can’t protect anyone without my magic, and. I need to be able to do that.” He hesitated, but admitted, “I...sort of have my own Rosalie, I guess you could say. Except I got away with only killing some lone soldiers in a field to get him back.” Using the killing curse had been stupid in that it had been a huge drain on his magic supply - but the death itself, Leif did not regret. “He trusts me not to let them ever get their hands on him again, and - and I need to be able to do that.”
Sieg smiled gently, for a fleeting moment looking not unlike he had before the war. “I figured as much after what you said when I mentioned Rosie before. Leif, of course I’ll help. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t done before, teaching local peasantry how to defend themselves is one of the many things a knight has to know how to do- usually we don’t recommend swords to bare beginners, they take a lot of skill to use, a spear or knife is easier, but-” he shrugged. “I’ll help as best I can. I can’t really wield a two-handed blade myself anymore, for obvious reasons, but I can show you the basic techniques with a shortsword and I can probably spar with you with my dagger to help you get some practice in.”
The half-elf gave Leif a wink. “Besides, I never got the chance to thank you for saving me when I fell over the cliff. It’s the least I can do.”
Leif admitted, “Well, I didn’t exactly ask what weapons were best for beginners….I may have gone to the armorer and asked for a sword...and I might not have been in a very good mood or very polite about it.” He managed to make himself meet Sieg’s eyes, and smiled a little, more genuinely than he had yet during this conversation. “Thank you.”
At Sieg’s comment about Leif saving him, though, Leif snorted. “You dragged me back to triage after I’d knocked myself out - and I’d spent the past few days indulging in too many pies, I’ll add. At the very least, we’re even. More likely, I still owe you.”
Sieg quirked an eyebrow. “I sense this is a conversation where we’re unlikely to reach an agreement. But… all the same, I’m glad to have run into you again. And if I can help you protect your friend, that’s more than recompense for whatever you think you owe me.”
He waved a hand. “Besides, as you pointed out by this juncture we’re more or less in the same boat, regardless of social standing. We’ve both lost so much…” he hesitated, and very softly went on, “I can’t speak for you, but I think I at least could use a friend that isn’t… completely shattered.”
Leif looked down, swallowing thickly and nodding. “I think - I think that would be good, yes.” He loved Kirin, with all his heart, but if Leif had nobody else to turn to and talk about things, especially the things he couldn’t talk about with Kirin, Leif wasn’t going to be much help to him. “I’m glad we ran into each other, too. Er. I wish I hadn’t almost done it literally, but. You know.”
The half-elf actually laughed at that. “I walked into that one. Both possible interpretations on that statement may apply. It’s fine, honestly, accidents happen. And knowing how distracted I’ve been lately if you hadn’t I might not have stopped.”
He looked up again, his expression bleak. “You’re from Corvus too, so maybe you’ll be familiar with this…”
He closed his eyes, and very softly began to sing- it was a very, very old Wooist hymn- a eulogy really. It wasn’t used much outside the chapels of Corvus because of it’s age, but growing up in a society of elves that lived for centuries, Sieg had access to some very long memories even if he didn’t have access to the inner areas of a church or monastery. He seldom felt like singing much nowadays, but sometimes he didn’t really have a better way to express what he was feeling.
Leif nodded as the first few notes wove into something familiar. He was once supposed to be a priest, after all; hymns came with the territory. Leif had never been a very good singer, but he had learned all the words and melodies. Quietly, so he didn’t clash with Sieg’s much better sound and to avoid it becoming too noticeable if his voice started shaking, Leif joined in on the next verse.
Together in the gardens of Destrier Castle in Bern, the two Corvids mourned the loss of their homes, their families, and their livelihoods- but took solace in the familiarity of the old traditions, and each other’s company.
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Post by Tiger on Mar 4, 2015 20:42:31 GMT -5
Medieval - Little Bird
Have some more Leif backstory! So much to do and so little time to do it - Cateline Accipiter was already feeling stressed as the grumble of thunder heralding the usual evening storm marked that the day was nearing an end, and still she had a pile of work to deal with - correspondences to reply to, requests from the Raylish people to review so she could properly discuss them with Richard, a few stray delegated tasks to follow-up on, a few appointments with members of the House staff to set up, including one with an accountant to see how feasible hiring another tutor would be…
It might all have been doable in one day, if Cateline hadn’t spent a good chunk of the morning and early afternoon helping Henry prepare for his first trip to Nid’aigle with his father, attending a meeting in Richard’s stead, and then trying to find Richard’s brother to ask that the House mage start preparing a solution for the issue discussed at that meeting. All of that ought to have been work enough for one day - but managing House Accipiter’s land was no small task.
So when she heard the long creak of the door being slowly opened and a tentative, “Mother?”, her immediate reaction was not a very kind one. Oh, Woo, Leif, I don’t need this right now…
Shooing the frazzled thought away, Cateline looked over her shoulder at the six-year-old. His eyes were downcast, fixed on his hands, which he held cupped and close to his chest. “What is it, Leif?” When he hesitated to answer, though his blue eyes flicked up to meet his mother’s for a fraction of a second, Cateline asked, “Is it important?”
Leif nodded. “I was gonna tell Father, but he ‘n’ Henry are busy.”
“What is it, then?”
“A - a bird got hurt in the aviary...” He winced a little, probably anticipating the irate sigh from his mother.
“Leif, you’re not supposed to be in there alone - you know that.”
“I didn’t hurt him!” Leif insisted. “I found him trying to fly and he couldn’t do it. I think his wing’s broke - look.” To Cateline’s surprise - though she really ought to have known the second he came into the room - Leif held out his cupped hands to show her a small brown-feathered songbird. “I picked him up so he could go to the bird-doctor, but - “
“Leif, you brought a bird into the house?! It’s going to get feathers and mess everywhere - and what if it tries to fly away?”
Leif drew the bird close to his chest again and hunched his shoulders at his mother’s scolding. Cateline sighed again; she hoped someday Leif would be less timid, and not in the “sneaking out to the aviary” way. They had been over that a hundred times…
“Can we take him to the bird-doctor?” Leif asked shakily after a moment. He suddenly sounded close to crying. “I’ll put him back right after. But his wing’s broke...”
“Broken,” Cateline corrected, enunciating the ‘n’. “And yes, I suppose we have to take it to Mister Bertran.” She got up from the desk, hurriedly shuffling papers around - she didn’t want to take too long or the bird was going to make a mess, but she needed to leave things in some sort of order for when she got back. Woo grant me patience, why did he have to bring it into the house?
“And we’ll let Mister Bertran put the bird back in the aviary. I think you’ve been in there more than enough today.”
Leif didn’t reply to that, but Cateline hoped he was clear on the situation this time. She doubted it, but she could hope. Cateline considered taking the bird from Leif, but she wasn’t particularly sure about holding a feathery little animal with a sharp beak and sharp talons, while Leif seemed to be just fine that idea. She was worried that it might panic and try to get away, and that Leif might hurt it trying to keep it in his hands - but the two of them had made it here from the aviary all right, and wasn’t there a bigger risk of upsetting the bird by trying to move it from one pair of hands to another?
And the talons were probably not actually hurting Leif - he was wearing gloves, despite the warm weather. It had been just chilly enough in Raylier the past winter that Richard and Cateline had decided to give the children gloves and hats in addition to their thicker cloaks - and Leif had wanted to wear a pair of gloves indoors and out ever since. At first, Cateline had assumed it was just a phase, albeit an odd one - she was starting to wonder now, but where was she going to go to look for answers to questions like that? Not to mention there just wasn’t enough time.
Of course, Leif had plenty of odd habits already; this might not mean anything except that he’d found another eccentricity. It didn’t seem to be hurting anything, except the gloves themselves, and they weren’t that expensive to replace when he inevitably wore them threadbare from constant use.
Cateline and Leif headed down the hall for Bertran’s office. Leif was fixated on the bird and kept his steps as slow and steady as a six-year-old could manage. Cateline had to check her pace several times so as not to leave him behind.
Despite the boy’s care to keep steady, the little bird suddenly twittered and flapped one of its wings. Leif froze and carefully pushed against the wing’s edge until the bird closed it. He gently pet its back with the edge of his thumb. “It’s okay, Milo - you gotta see the doctor, but then you can go back home.”
“...Milo? Did you name the bird?”
Leif glanced up at her and away again. “Mmhm. It’s - it’s from the Book of Woo...”
Cateline sighed. “I’m not upset about the name, just - Leif, you understand they aren’t pets, right?”
He glanced at her again, brow slightly furrowed, but nodded.
“...Good,” Cateline replied after a moment. “I don’t want you bringing birds into the house anymore. Or picking them up at all, they could peck or claw you - they’re wild animals.”
Leif nodded slightly, but it was clear his attention was still primarily on the bird. After a few more steps, though, he asked, “What if a bird gets hurt again?”
“You get Mister Bertran. He’ll come and take care of it.”
“But then it’s all alone…”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be in the aviary without your father or I, or Henry or Stefan if they aren’t busy. One of them can stay behind while you go get Mister Bertran.”
“But…”
“No buts, Leif. When you’re older - and when you stop this sneaking off - you can go in by yourself. Not right now.”
Leif didn’t reply to this, nor did he attempt to make any further conversation until they reached Bertran’s office. Cateline knocked and, to her relief, got an answer. She forced a smile as she entered the room. “Mister Bertran - I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”
The aviary-keeper, a tall, brown-haired man with a heavy tan, turned away from a bird cage with a smile. “Not at all, Lady Accipiter - what can I do for you?”
From behind Cateline, Leif whispered, “Mother…I - ”
“Leif, come on, didn’t you want Mister Bertran to see your bird?” She tried to usher Leif in with a hand on his shoulder, but as usual, the boy edged away from her touch. At the very least, he was chased into the room rather than back into the hallway.
“What’ve you got there, Lord Leif?” Bertran asked,
“A bird,” Leif muttered, staring down at the songbird.. “I found him in the aviary. He’s got a broke wing.” He held his hands out to the aviary-keeper.
“Hmm. Well, something must be wrong if he’s letting you hold him instead of flying away.” Bertran reached into a pouch on his belt, pulled out a large pinch of birdseed and set it in his palm, and cupped his hands out like Leif’s. The bird lifted its head, and shakily stood upright to step over Leif’s fingers and into the aviary-keeper’s hands.
“There we go,” Bertran said, taking the bird to a table near the window. The light was probably good there by day, but with the storm coming on, Bertran was quick to draw his wand and cast an orb of hovering light over the table once he’d set the bird down. Leif edged closer to the table; he was barely tall enough to see over the table’s edge, but he stood on his tiptoes to try his best to see anyway.
Bertran studied the songbird as it pecked at the last of the seeds. “...Hmm. You’re sure you found this one in the aviary, Lord Leif?”
“Mmhm.” He suddenly sounded near the verge of tears again, and Cateline frowned.
“Leif, are you telling the truth?”
“Yes! I found it in the aviary!”
Bertran carefully explained, “I just don’t recognize this species.”
Leif dropped down to the flat of his feet. “It‘s a cer-you-lan warbler,” he mumbled.
“Cer- a cerulean warbler? But they’re - well, cerulean - blue,” Bertran explained. “This bird’s solid brown - even the females have yellow-ish bellies. ...The markings do look like a cerulean, but...”
“It‘s a cer-you-lan warbler,” Leif insisted, his eyes on his boots. “And it was blue, and - and I picked it up, and when I touched it, it turned brown!” The boy’s voice was shaking again.
Cateline looked up at Bertran. “That’s - that’s not some sort of natural defence mechanism, is it?”
“No, it’s not, Lady Accipiter. I think - “
“I - I can try to fix it!” Leif insisted. Cautiously he stepped up to the table, pushing himself up on his tiptoes again and stretching a his whole arm out so he could place a finger on the bird’s head. He took an almost exaggeratedly deep breath and stared at the bird, brow furrowed in intense concentration.
Cateline watched him, crossing her arms. If Leif was telling the truth, that meant another child with magic - color-changing was one of the most common first signs of the gift, at least as common as the little glowing orbs of light, like the one Cateline herself had summoned as a small child. But she was doubtful that was the case here - not only was Leif a little older than she would expect a child to show his first signs of magical ability, but neither Markus nor Ingrid, the two children Cateline had had just before Leif, possessed any magic at all. Magic could skip children, of course, but with two in a row born magicless and the general fading of the gift that was plaguing Corvus, Cateline had thought that perhaps three was as many mages as she and Richard could reasonably expect.
After a moment, Leif took another deep breath, this one much slower and calmer - and when he breathed out, the songbird’s drab brown feathers began to change color, brightening to blue and white as if being painted by an invisible brush that started at Leif’s fingertip.
“There y’go,” Leif whispered to the bird, lightly stroking its head. “Fixed it. I’m sorry.” He pulled his arm back and glanced up nervously at Bertan. “Can you fix his wing?”
“...Leif,” Cateline said, “Leif, you just cast magic.”
Leif actually met his mother’s eyes for a full few seconds - then he looked away again, setting his chin on his arms where they rested against the table. “Mmhm.”
“You already knew? So why didn’t you tell me?” Cateline demanded. She felt a pang of sadness at the realization that it had been a bird who had gotten to see Leif’s first act of magic, not her or Richard or one of Leif’s siblings. Where was the fairness in that? Why did he constantly have to be wandering off to the aviary or hiding in his room instead of spending time with his family?
Leif didn’t look at his mother as he answered. “I tried. You were mad ‘cause I brought a bird into the house.”
Oh, ‘Woo, Leif, you’re going to spin this around so it’s my fault? Catline tried to keep a patient tone as she explained, “I thought you were trying to argue about not being allowed into the aviary alone, Leif. When there’s something important, you have to keep trying to tell me. I can’t read your mind, you know.”
Leif hunched his shoulders a little. “But....”
“...But what, Leif?” Cateline wished they were having this conversation elsewhere; this was not a discussion the House staff needed to be listening in on.
Fortunately, though, Leif either lost his nerve or couldn’t get words together to express what he wanted to say. “Nothin’,” he muttered, watching as Bertran examined the bird.
After a moment, the aviary-keeper broke the silence. “Looks like you were right, Lord Leif - a broken wing. Where did you find him, exactly, do you remember?”
Leif nodded. “Kinda by the stones stacked up in a circle, with the flowers inside. The one by the fountain that’s got a bit of the Book of Woo written on it.”
“Ah, all right, I think I know which one you mean. I’ll take a look around there tomorrow and make sure there’s nothing he hurt himself on, but it was probably just an accident.”
“Poor bird,” Leif said.
“Poor bird indeed. But I’ll fix him up now.” Bertran picked up his wand from the table and carefully spread the broken wing out a little. “I’m not hurting him, don’t worry - the seeds he ate made him sleepy and numb for a little while.” He pointed his wand at the joint. “Ossis Emendo!”
Leif’s face glowed briefly in the light from the mage’s spell. It wasn’t often he looked truly interested in something. But as soon as the glow died, he bit his lip and asked, “He’s okay now, right?”
“Good as new, Lord Leif,” the aviary-keeper assured him. He spread the wing all the way out. “See? just the way it’s supposed to stretch. I’ll keep him here overnight and bring him back to the aviary in the morning, but he should be just fine”
Leif examined the wing critically before nodding in agreement. “Mmhm. Looks right.”
“Leif, what do we say?”
Leif looked over at Cateline, clearly puzzled. After a moment, Cateline prompted, “Mister Bertran just used some of his valuable time to help the bird you brought in here. What do we say?”
“Uh...Oh. Uhm. Thank you, Mister Bertran.” Leif stepped back from the table to bow. He didn’t really need to bow to the House staff, but tonight Cateline decided not to bother correcting it. She had enough to deal with as it was, and Leif being too polite was better than the other way around.
Scooping up the sleeping songbird, Bertran bowed back and said, “My pleasure, Lord Leif - I’m glad you let me know he needed help, even if it got you into some trouble.”
Leif’s eyes had dropped to the ground and he nodded after a moment’s hesitation. Cateline wanted to sigh again, but didn’t. She had just reminded him that saying “thank you” was good manners, it didn’t seem to be that much of a stretch that when someone complimented or implied they were proud of you, you thanked them for it.
“Thank you very much, Mister Bertran,” Cateline said with a wide smile, stepping forward to collect her son. He didn’t let her hold his hand, of course, but she barely needed to touch his shoulders to get him to move. “Obviously we need to go discuss a few things with his father!”
“Of course - congratulations, by the way,” the aviary-keeper added with a smile in Cateline’s direction, then in Leif’s, though it faded slightly when he saw the boy’s attention remained on the ground. “Good evening, Lady Cateline, Lord Leif.”
“G’bye,” Leif said quietly as his mother ushered him out of the room. Cateline suspected he might be talking more to the bird than the aviary-keeper.
When they’d gotten a few paces down the hallway, Cateline pushed some more cheer into her voice and said, “All right, Leif - we’re going to go tell your father about your magic! We’ll have to get you set up with - “
A girl’s cry of anger suddenly sounded from down the hallway. Leif winced; it was strange to see such a pained expression on a six-year-old’s face. Quickly following the shout was the sound of a door slamming open - then another one, and Regina’s furious yelling filled the remaining silent space the way lightning flooded a dark room - for a ten-year-old, she had a powerful voice.
“STEFAN, YOU CREEP! I OUGHTA PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE AND THEN TELL FATHER ON YOU! AND THEN PUNCH YOU AGAIN!”
“Oh, ‘Woo, what are they fighting about now?” Cateline pressed her fingers to her temples as Stefan’s voice joined the bombardment of noise.
To her surprise, Leif muttered, “Stefan got mad at Regina ‘cause she got better marks than he did in their lessons. Stefan said some mean things and he keeps using magic on her stuff. I think Regina’s really gonna punch him.”
“...How long has this been going on?”
Leif looked down. “A couple days.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or your father? Or Regina, for that matter, why didn’t she come to us?”
Folding his arms tightly over his chest and staring at the floor, Leif shrugged.
“Leif.”
“...Probably ‘cause you and Father are all busy with Henry’s trip.”
“That doesn’t mean - “ A yelp from Stefan and the cacophony of something being knocked over - books on a shelf, it sounded like - reminded Cateline that there was a more urgent matter to attend to right now - before they drew wands on each other. “Okay, Leif - why don’t you go find Henry or Ingrid, and go play with them for a little while? Then we’ll go talk to your father, all right?”
“Okay.” Leif glanced uneasily down the hallway in the direction of the yelling, then hurried off in the opposite direction, arms still crossed. Cateline suspected he was not off in search of his siblings, but would retreat instead to his own room. Sometimes she had half a mind to put the Accipiter boys all in the same room, but given that Leif and his older brothers got along about as well as Corvids and Bernians, Cateline knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.
She put the matter from her mind for now, and hurried off to mediate the argument between Regina and Stefan. Eight children - ‘Woo only knew how she and Richard managed. |
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Post by Tiger on Apr 12, 2015 9:47:33 GMT -5
Birds of a FeatherHuge thanks to Shinko and Killix for help on this <3 Two years after the Bloody Coronation (and a few months after Party Capital), Leif's long-estranged family comes to town! Surely only good can come of this! Be warned before strapping in, this a long one. Even by my standards. Yes, be afraid. Very afraid. Part One It had started out as an incredibly nice day. Even Leif Jade, often cynical and probably better known to most of Medieville by his scowl than his smile, hadn’t expected anything to go wrong. In fact, he’d been looking forward to it, a peaceful, quiet day of enjoying the summer’s warmth. It was Leif’s third summer here, counting the summer of the Coronation; he found he appreciated the heat even more after the cold and snowy winters of Medieville. He was mulling over plans for the day - he needed to fly Ayleth and Hadrian, and was hoping to spend time with Kirin, and maybe work a bit more on a new spell - when a servant delivered the letter. Leif took it, curious when he felt the weight of a thick seal on the other side. Strange - usually when Lord Everett or one of the Jades needed to contact Leif, they used the magic scrollcases. Leif idly flipped the letter over, expecting to find a green seal stamped with the sigil of a phoenix. Instead, he found black wax, and the sigil was of a stomach-lurchingly familiar grasping talon, and a narrow swoop in the lower right that was supposed to represent the curve of a phoenix’s tail feathers. This - this has to be a joke - or a - I don’t know, a misunderstanding? He didn’t see how it would be a misunderstanding - no other Kythian House, major or minor, had an emblem so similar that one could mistake it for any other Houses. And Leif had grown up seeing this sigil everywhere. For most of his life, in fact, he had worn it - the crest of House Accipiter. Slowly, Leif turned the letter over and took a look at the name of the addressee for the first time. It should have caught his attention immediately - they’d used his full, legal name. Leif Accipiter-Jade. Leif hadn’t heard from his family in a long, long time. Seven years, or close to it; twelve, if a single day didn’t count as having really seen them. He already wanted to throw up. What could they possibly want from him? Not to return to Raylier, the city in Corvus which were the Accipiters’ base of operations - there was no possible way they could want that, Leif had most assuredly burned that bridge a long time ago. If anything, Leif’s move to Medieville should have made it even clearer that he had no intention of returning. Forcing his hands to stillness, Leif used a spell to slice through the seal and opened the envelope. One sheet of paper inside. Seven years, and only one sheet of paper. Why doesn’t that surprise me? Of course, that was plenty of paper to make his hands start shaking again, so maybe he shouldn’t be complaining. The handwriting, what little there was, was exquisite. This would be Ingrid’s work, of course; even Leif could remember the endless praise of the Accipiter scribe-to-be’s steady lettering over the course of many uncomfortably long dinners. To Leif Accipiter-Jade, the letter began, and Leif wrinkled his nose in a grimace. Greetings and well-wishes from House Accipiter, of Raylier, Corvus. For ‘Woo’s sake, get on with it! Leif thought caustically. We are sending this correspondence as both a renewal of contact and a notice that we will be traveling north to Medieville, with the intent to arrive in the third week of - Leif’s brain caught up to his eyes and he nearly choked. What? They were coming here? Oh, ‘Woo, no - they couldn’t - and why now? It couldn’t be anything to do with Chamile’s engagement, neither she nor Reynold Jade had any reason to go further north than Solis for anything to do with their wedding, whenever they were getting around to that. So - what did his family want? He dropped the letter onto the desk and hunched over it, knotting his fingers into his hair. The third week of this month - that left exactly one week before they got here. Oh, ‘Woo… Officially we will be in town to discuss Medievillian construction at the head of the Ibis River; however, we wish to speak with you as well in an endeavor to reforge our family connections. We will arrange our own lodging, but intend to stop briefly by Marson Manor to visit. Leif groaned. Of course they would. Whatever they intended to talk about - he could think of a few things, none of which were good - it was clear they meant to do it as soon as possible. And they clearly had no concern for what Leif might be busy with. How hard would it have been to add “at your convenience” or “when possible” to the stupid letter? ...Of course, that was probably a deliberate decision. Just like sending this letter so it arrived only a week before they could get here had no doubt been a carefully-executed maneuver. “You don’t get a choice, Leif”, they might as well have written. “You’ll be where we want, when we want.” For a few minutes, Leif seriously debated the idea of leaving town. He wouldn’t need to go far, just ensure that nobody told the Accipiters just where he was. Maybe Kirin could come along, they could make a vacation of it… That was not likely a feasible plan, though. Not just that Kirin probably wouldn’t be able to join him, though that was true - Kirin was essentially running Stallion Manor, and assisting Lord Ambrose when he needed it. And if the Accipiters were coming to have anything to do with the king, Ambrose was likely going to be very busy. It also wouldn’t work because Leif’s family would track him down. If he tried to disappear, his parents would force the information out of somebody - and Leif couldn’t just run off into the night without a word to the Marsons or his friends. Even if he could, it wouldn’t be a permanent solution. If Leif didn’t talk to the Accipiters now, they would come back later. They wanted something, Leif knew that, and he was certain that they wouldn’t leave Leif be until they’d either gotten it, or been thoroughly convinced that Leif wouldn’t give it to them. Although...what if they are serious about - what was it, ‘reforging family connections’... Maybe they finally realized what they did? Leif rubbed at his eyes irately; he’d tried to explain this to his parents just what their decision not to have him tested for archmagery had done, seven years ago. Dinner had devolved into a shouting match because it had seemed pretty clear that they didn’t understand. ...Could that just have been a side-effect of growing up with blocks on his ability to socialize? They had only gone away a year or two beforehand, and it wasn’t until coming to Medieville that Leif had really found any success in getting along with people. Maybe he hadn’t read the Accipiters properly back then, or explained himself clearly, or...or something like that. It was possible,wasn’t it? Things… might turn out differently this time, if that was the case. But of course, that hinged on the Accipiters, too. Leif had definitely changed in the past seven years - but had they?------- Distressingly, the week went by quickly - by the end of it, Leif felt he’d barely had enough time to warn everybody who was coming. Some people seemed baffled by Leif’s obvious nervousness about the whole thing, sometimes to the point where Leif almost started feeling foolish. He’d told very few people about the particulars of his family, in part because he’d rather not even think about them, and also because a lot of the people he’d met here had endured much worse, and it seemed a little petty to complain about something so...trivial in comparison. Of everyone in Medieville, he had probably told the most to Kirin, which would have surprised exactly no one. Leif hadn’t shared all of the details - after all, why would he want to think about the Accipiters when he was with Kirin? - but enough that when Leif told him about the visit, the Stallion recognized right away that it was not going to be a normal sort of family reunion. “I was a little worried that they’d try this when Lord Everett and the others first went back to Solis,” Leif admitted as they walked along a quiet street. “That the rumors would get out and they would go into a panic over… everything. And then they didn’t, so...I thought maybe they just didn’t care.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why they’re doing this now. It’s like they were waiting for me to let my guard down.” Kirin suggested, “Maybe...they only just recently heard enough to make them curious?” “Maybe...I guess I’ll find out when I see them.” Leif’s jaw clenched a little. “They want to meet in one of the town squares. Of course it has to be as public an affair as possible.” “Do you want me to come with you?” Leif blinked. “I... I wish I could say yes with a clear conscience.” Sighing, he elaborated, “I don’t know how they’ll react to...to us being a couple. Like you said, they might not even know about it yet. But if they do know, or when they find out...I don’t think they’ll approve. They take the Jade and Stallion rivalry very seriously. Maybe more than Lord Everett or the Grand Duke do, now that I’ve met both of them. ...They might not treat you very nicely.” Leif felt awful for admitting that, even if it wasn’t something he had control over. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” “But…they’re not going to be happy with you either, are they?” “Oh, I’m sure not,” Leif agreed. “But I don’t know exactly how they’ll act on it. They said they wanted to rebuild connections, or something like that, so they might keep it toned down...but that assumes they’re telling the truth about wanting to make amends, and I really don’t know if I can trust their word on that.” Leif’s nose wrinkled briefly in a grimace, but his expression softened as he looked back to Kirin. “I don’t know - I want you there, but at the same time, I don’t want you in trouble...I guess I should leave the decision to you, you know what you can and can’t handle.” Kirin put an arm around Leif’s shoulders. “I’ll be there,” he promised. “If I was able to put up with a few years living with Garrick, I can certainly manage a few hours with your family.” Leif finally managed a smile, gratitude and relief rushing through him, and put his arm around Kirin, too. “Thank you - you’re a saint..Although...who knows, maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it’ll be fine.” The archmage’s tone grew more severe as he added, “But if they do start making comments - I’ll find some choice ones to make right back.” ------- The day of the Accipiters’ arrival came even faster than Leif had been dreading. He barely slept the night before, but he couldn’t manage to feel tired over the nervousness that poured through him as much as his blood. For almost a full minute after he’d gotten dressed, Leif stared at the chest at the end of his bed. Buried somewhere in there was a clasp with the Accipiter symbol. It would be easy to magically fasten it to his halfcloak and pretend he always wore it. It irked him that he was even considering wearing the blasted thing. And it was infuriating that it took him so long to decide not to. He was not bowing to his parents’ wishes, he was not going to meekly accept being in trouble this time, if he even was in trouble - he wasn’t a child with a crippling vulnerability to being shouted at anymore. But even as Leif marched out of Marson Manor and to the town square within sight of the city gates - not the same place where the King Malik and his entourage had made their first appearance, which was a small relief since that place clearly was not a bastion of good luck - he felt the anxiety growing stronger and more turbulent in his gut, tying his innards into knots and triggering a cold sweat down his back. Kirin arrived a few minutes after Leif; they stood together quietly, waiting for the gates to open. Leif could feel his hand shaking in Kirin’s, and no matter how many times he tried he couldn’t get it to still. He felt like a mouse waiting for a hawk to swoop down on it; had he been this terrified even at the Coronation? Leif didn’t think so. Probably because at least there he’d known what to do - throw spells at things until they stopped attacking. But this...he had no choice except to endure this. “Leif...are you sure you need to meet them right now?” Kirin asked as he looked over at Leif with obvious concern. “They could come to Marson Manor later, couldn’t they?” “I - they could but - but they’ll be expecting me here. If I’m not - I don’t want them to have another thing to lecture me about. And they didn’t say who’s coming. I need to know. Just...so I know how many of them I have to deal with.” And which ones in particular, though Leif didn’t say so aloud. Please not Stefan, or Henry… At least either Mother or Father must have stayed home; someone has to manage Raylier. Kirin looked as though he wanted to object, but before he could, the gate started to open. Leif’s heart felt like it was simultaneously trying to beat its way out of his ribcage and escape through his ears. He had the fleeting, desperate hope that it wouldn’t be the Accipiters, that it would be a messenger coming ahead with the news that something had happened and they’d had to turn around and go back... There were a million reasons that couldn’t possibly be the case - paramount among them were the two tall caravan wagons already see passing through the gates. At a glance, the wagons weren’t too dissimilar to those Leif and House Jade had arrived in - aside from the color of the tarp, black instead of the Jades’ green - but Leif could tell the differences. The cheaper material of the wood and the canvas, the somewhat lesser quality of the horses pulling the carts, Leif’s strong suspicion that the wagons were enchanted to be larger on the inside - a complex bit of spellwork, but certainly cheaper than staying in an inn. Less prestigious than having a manor house to stay at, though - even a manor owned by your House patriarch’s cousin. Leif forced himself to breathe. It would be...well, it wouldn’t be fine, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. One week, he told himself as the carriages pulled to a halt. That’s all, I can make it through a week. They’re not even staying at the Manor, it could be a lot worse. Leif couldn’t help but think that it would be a lot better if the Accipiters weren’t here at all. His stomach seized as the first Accipiter exited the nearer carriage - a blond-haired man whose nose, eyes, and general face shape matched Leif’s to an eerily close degree. Also reminiscent of Leif was his glower. Well, Leif had expected his father, Richard Accipiter, but at least that probably meant - Before he could even complete the thought in his head, however, a woman exited the carriage right behind Richard. Her brown hair - the same texture as Leif’s even if it was far neater and much more styled - was graying slightly, but there was no mistaking her identity, even if it had been years since Leif had felt the need to dodge her eyes. Cateline Accipiter, Leif’s mother, had come to Medieville, too? Oh, ’Woo he was in trouble…
Before Leif could analyze their expressions too closely, he caught sight of the first person exiting the second caravan, and felt yet-another nasty jolt of horrified shock. But - but he should be in Raylier! If Father and Mother are here, Henry should be in Raylier!
But where Leif’s eldest brother should be was rather irrelevant - where he was was here. Lord Richard, Lady Cateline, and their heir - all here in Medieville.
Henry didn’t look to have changed much, at least not physically - he still almost a replicant of their father a few decades younger. The minute differences were in hair and eye color - much to Leif’s loathing, Henry instead had dirty-blond hair and blue eyes. Which meant Leif looked even more like his brother than his father, though at least Henry kept a short beard that made him more apt to be compared to Lord Accipiter than Leif. Sometimes. His dress was also much more reminiscent of their father’s than of Leif’s; a white shirt with long black cuffs, dark gray pants tucked into black boots and secured by a black belt carrying a dark-leather sword scabbard, and an Accipiter-sigil pendant. Three small white feathers forming a woocifix hung from a smaller, slightly shorter chain over the sigil.
Behind Henry came another one of Leif’s older brothers. Not Stefan, thankfully, just Markus. Admittedly, Leif didn’t know Markus well; he’d been away from the Accipiter home most of the time, initially training to be and then serving as a knight for another House, but that meant there wasn’t much to hold against him, at least. Markus didn’t look much different from Leif’s memories of him, either. Markus had always been a bit distinctive, being the only one of the Accipiter sons to take much more strongly after his mother’s looks than his fathers, even lacking the hooked nose that otherwise stubbornly persisted in all the other Accipiter children besides Regina. His attire was much simpler - a padded garment that Leif couldn’t quite remember the name of, but that he was pretty sure was the same basic concept as what Sieg had been wearing during the fight at the Bloody Coronation.
And last to emerge from the caravan were Chamile and Jonathon - twins, and Leif’s only younger siblings. They had been only seventeen the last time Leif had seen them, and even that had not been a particularly long reunion. Surprise and a bit of guilt swelled in Leif’s stomach as he did the mental calculations - they had barely been teenagers when he’d left for the church, and they were twenty-four now. Adults - it was hard to wrap his head around that.
Leif didn’t have much time to even try, however, before panic seized his attention again. His parents and Henry were here - he hadn’t planned for this scenario at all. He hadn’t had to deal with the three eldest Accipiters tag-teaming him since - since over seven years ago, there hadn’t been time for a second lecture from Henry after Leif’s blowup at the dinner table. But when Leif had been younger, before he’d left for the church...
If Stefan winds up coming out of the wagon next, Leif thought, I swear to ‘Woo I’m making a run for it. He wasn’t so sure the thought was entirely hyperbole - he felt too panicked to be making exaggerations. Feeling like a cornered prey animal, Leif glanced back at his parents and the first wagon. Their eyes met across what suddenly seemed a vast distance of cobblestone.
Leif looked away again automatically. He always had, that was just habit, but now he was also discomforted by how much of his own features he saw in their faces before he’d quite broken the contact. The family resemblance, especially to his father, was something that had been pointed out to Leif countless times during his childhood, and they weren’t wrong. Yes, his father’s eyes were gray rather than blue, and a short beard changed the shape of his face a little, and true, his mother’s face was too classically pretty to have played any obvious part in Leif’s sharp, hawkish features, but it wasn’t enough difference, he still looked too much like them...
With some effort, Leif pulled himself away from those thoughts, and with an even greater struggle, uncurled his fingers from Kirin’s so he didn’t literally drag the Stallion along with him as he stepped forward to meet the Accipiters. Every step echoed in Leif’s ears as he approached his parents, his eyes unwilling to drift higher than their shoulders. He could hear Kirin following just behind him. ’Woo, if I’d known everyone was going to be here... They had better treat Kirin nicely.
He was even less optimistic about that than before. This wasn’t about bonding or apologizing or whatever nonsense they had asked Ingrid to write - Leif was not very good at politics, but he knew how the Accipiters operated. If the Lord, Lady, and heir to House Accipiter were here...then it was not a social visit.
The gap between them closed, and Leif forced himself to look up, at least look at his parents if not meet their eyes directly. The thought of faking a smile never even occurred to him. Lord and Lady Accipiter’s faces were not reminders of that particular social grace at the moment; they wore rather similar stiff expressions, lips drawn tight and heads tilted slightly upward so their eyes were difficult to read exactly. Whether this expression of barely-concealed distaste was directed at Leif or Kirin or both, Leif couldn’t say; they were looking at him now, though. His father, expression completely unchanging, held out his hand to be shaken.
Irritation sizzled away some of Leif’s fear. His father and his insistence on handshakes as the proper method of greeting nobility. Nevermind that Leif had told him the first dozen or so times he’d gotten in trouble for refusing a handshake or not offering one of his own that they made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t quite been able to articulate how the warmth and sense of another hand on his lingered for far too long on his palm - his father didn’t allow him to wear gloves at formal occasions, after all - or explain why he couldn’t stop himself from focusing on it and entirely missing several minutes of anything that followed the handshake…though even if he had been able to explain, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. Handshakes were proper, and that was the end of the discussion.
Though Leif very much wanted to refuse sheerly on principle...there were more important battles to be fought. He was wearing gloves now, it wouldn’t cripple him. Leif resisted the urge to clench his jaw, and accepted the offered handshake.
“Leif.”
“Father.” Leif bowed his head slightly, instinctively. Lord Accipiter released his hand and Leif quickly drew it behind his back. Stressful as the situation was, even through the glove he could sense the lingering pressure of the contact. Leif bowed stiffly in Cateline’s direction. “Mother.” She nodded in acknowledgment.
...He should say something else. Should he welcome them to Medieville? Well, they’d already gotten inside, it would sound stupid. And he didn’t want them to feel welcome, not really. Should he introduce them to Kirin? He wasn’t sure how safe that was yet. Ask about the journey here, how it had been? Or maybe Leif could ask who was running Raylier, with all three qualified individuals here instead…
“What, Leif, are you just going to ignore us?”
Apparently Leif’s long pause had been just the cue Henry was waiting for. Leif looked over to see his brother leading the rest of their siblings forward. Henry had a smile on his face, though it seemed oddly tight. “How’ve you been? ‘Woo, I swear you still managed to grow a little more since we last saw you!”
Markus edged around the Accipiter heir. “Henry, you sound like one of our great-aunts, relax. Hullo, Leif - sorry it’s been so long.” Markus held out his hand. “Glad we’ll get to see you again, though.”
Leif shook Markus’ hand, too, though it was more of a brief squeeze and slight pull downward than a real shake. He caught a glimpse of a scar on the knight’s palm, and wondered how many of those he had accumulated over the years. “Uh - thanks. ...That’s all right, I mean. And thanks.” Markus isn’t going to be looking forward to this for very long…
Chamile and Jonathon came forward, the former curtsying and the later bowing a little. Leif wasn’t sure how to respond to this; since when did younger siblings bow to older ones? He was almost relieved when Jonathon, with a glance between Markus and Henry, put a hand out for Leif to shake as well.
“Jonathon...” Henry warned in a familiar tone. Glancing at Henry’s face, Leif saw the Accipiter heir’s equally-recognizable, signature stern expression. In particular, there was the eyebrow raised in that infuriating way that made it look like he was questioning the intelligence of someone dumb enough to ignore one of his rules or lectures.
Leif had been victim of that often enough, and with a sharp, “He’s fine, Henry,” extended his own hand. Jonathon had already started to draw back, but after a second’s hesitation, Jonathon accepted Leif’s handshake.
It occurred to Leif that for the first time ever, Henry might have been trying to be considerate of Leif’s touch-sensitivity. ...But he’d never really cared before, and even if he cared now - he didn’t need to do it at Jonathon’s expense.
Forcing his attention away from his older brother and back to his younger siblings, Leif managed a small smile and asked, “How have you two been?”
Chamile and Jonathon glanced at each other, and Chamile said, “We’ve been fine. Busy, but fine.”
Jonathon nodded. “I’m to pick a church for seminarian training soon.” That surprised Leif, considering his own seminarian training had begun much, much earlier...but then again, Jonathon wasn’t in priest’s clothes, either.
Smoothing her skirts, Chamile said, “And I’m...well, Henry and Father say you know about the engagement already?”
“I do, yes.” The Accipiters hadn’t told Leif about Chamile’s engagement to Reynold Jade, but since the betrothal had been made after Leif’s adoption into groom’s House, he’d heard the news from the Jades instead. “Is that why you’re here? Or - part of it, anyway?” Leif wasn’t sure what Medieville would have to do with the marriage, but it honestly made more sense as an Accipiter motivation than repairing relations, and was much more pleasant to think about than other reasons they might be here.
It was not likely, though, and Chamile confirmed, “Ah, no, it isn’t.” Her glance - and those of her siblings’ - toward Kirin did not go unnoticed by Leif. Quickly, though, Chamile’s blue-gray eyes flicked back to Leif and she said, “But, while we’re here, I would really like to - “
They were interrupted by Lord Accipiter. “Leif. Are you planning to make introductions?” The words were a hinted reprimand, too frosted and slick to be genuine. Again, Leif’s nerves instinctively rattled - that condescending scolding again.
“I will,” Leif said stiffly, glancing at his father for a brief second, still not making eye contact. “I didn’t think I should interrupt Chamile to do it.”
He saw Henry’s face abruptly go blank in surprise, and practically felt the air move when his father stiffened. Leif was a little startled by their surprise...but of course, he hadn’t talked back much as a child. It had all been in his head, but actually saying it was just...not done. It would only have prolonged the arguments and lectures, anyway.
“It’s all right,” Chamile said with sudden calm. “I can talk with you about it later. Father’s right, we’re supposed to be catching up with your life, not dwelling on things we both already know about.” She managed a surprisingly genuine-looking smile, one that didn’t fit at all with the urgency that had been in her tone mere moments ago.
Catching up with my life? That’s not what Father was implying, was it? ...No, he just wants to hear about Kirin. Otherwise he could’ve interrupted with...I don’t know. Something else.
“...If you’re sure,” he said reluctantly. Chamile nodded and backed up to rejoin her twin, gathering her white, black-bottomed skirts to avoid treading on them. She wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, and Leif found himself now very worried about Chamile on top of everything else. Whatever she’d been about to ask hadn’t been a simple question, that was for certain.
But Chamile had given her evasion, and Henry was giving Leif a look so pointed that he could practically feel it stabbing at his face. Leif turned a little so he could face everyone at once, and reached back to put his hand on Kirin’s arm. “Kirin - these are my parents - Lord Richard and Lady Cateline of House Accipiter - and some of my brothers - Henry, Father’s heir; Markus - uh, Sir Markus, I suppose, technically. Also, Jonathon and Chamile - they’re my younger siblings. And uh, Regina and Stefan and Ingrid aren’t here, but…they’re my other older siblings, so I guess - anyway. This is my family.” He forced his tongue to stop running before it found even more awkward tangents.
Kirin, of course, handled the situation with utmost politeness, smiling - a touch nervously, granted, but still smiling - and nodding respectfully to each present Accipiter as they were introduced. “It’s nice to meet all of you.” Leif wished he had family it would actually be nice to meet.
Well, that was the easy part out of the way - now the moment he wasn’t so sure would go well. The fingers of the hand he’d set on Kirin’s arm tensed slightly, as if Leif were preparing to guide the bookkeeper to take cover behind him. Leif’s heart was beating fast and his brain was a mess from the fear of it all, the dread of an oncoming storm of objections; he mentally fumbled for a moment just to figure out how to address the whole clan of Accipiters.
Painfully aware of their sharp, impatient stares, Leif finally managed to start, still staggering over his words. “I - uhm, everyone; this is Lord Kirin.” That part, at least, he got out as intended; Leif’s rationale had been that the title of “Lord” would keep the Accipiters from trying to pull rank on or just order Kirin about - and that he should try to avoid a public confrontation by not sharing Kirin’s House just yet. The combination felt strange; “of House Stallion” just wanted to roll off of Leif’s tongue to join the title. “He and I - we’re - he’s - “ Come on, get your words together - you sound like you’re embarrassed about it! Leif squared his shoulders. “He’s my boyfriend.”
None of the Accipiters looked surprised, though Chamile and Jonathon exchanged a quick, nervous glance. By and large, the expressions were politely blank, carefully neutral - an expression even Leif had no trouble seeing right through.
If that hadn’t been enough, Lord Accipiter’s curt, “Yes, we’d heard something to that effect,” made it obvious how they felt about about that effect.
Leif’s temper spiked again. “Is there a problem?” he asked in a voice barely kept even. “I’m not a priest, I was never ordained, I don’t have any vows to keep.” Glaring, he added, “And certainly word didn’t just reach Raylier?”
“We’ll discuss this later, Leif,” his mother said.
Leif thought snidely, I’m sure we will.
Before he could say anything, though, Henry stepped forward, giving Kirin a critical look. Leif, though he’d thought his muscles couldn’t be any stiffer, instantly tensed. Henry held out his hand to Kirin - what was he up to?
“Lord Kirin.” Henry pronounced the name with the same sort of caution Leif had seen others use when sampling Albion’s bug-like “crustaceans” at Destiney’s pre-Coronation feast. “A bookkeeper, we’ve heard? Well, we’ve heard a few things about you - you two, rather - in Raylier. It will be interesting to see what’s true and what isn’t.”
“I’m...certain it will be,” Kirin agreed, accepting the handshake. He was holding his composure much better than Leif would have. It was admirable, but Leif had no idea how it was possible - maybe it was just because Leif himself felt like he was going to be physically ill, and Kirin probably didn’t.
Leif was distracted from his nausea by the brief twitch of a frown that appeared on the bookkeeper’s face. It was gone in an instant, but Leif knew what he had seen - what was wrong? His gaze snapped to Henry, and happened to jump to the handshake. Henry’s grip looked tight. The words that instantly came to Leif’s mind to describe his brother in that moment were ones a priest, even a former priest, had no business knowing.
They ended the handshake at that moment, both drawing their hands back slowly. Leif, though he knew it would only give the Accipiters more to complain about, reached around to take Kirin’s hand - lightly, but hopefully still reassuringly.
The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Henry - Leif saw his eyes flick briefly toward it - but all the Accipiter heir said was, “I’ve heard you’re an archer.”
Kirin nodded, and Henry said, “Hm. I prefer the sword myself.” He put a hand to the hilt of the blade at his waist.
Rage snapped to life like a fire in Leif’s chest, and he interrupted, “Well, I prefer a wand, and if you came here to threaten Kirin, I’ll be happy to demonstrate why!”
“I’m not threatening anyone, Leif - just making conversation. I don’t remember you being so jumpy; is it living in this city? Maybe you should have come back to Corvus after the Coronation; it must be hard living in a place with all those memories attached to it.”
“Henry,” Markus warned, but he was too late - Lord Accipiter had already stepped in, forcing his heir and his former priest back from each other with a firm hand on each shoulder. Leif wiggled out of the grip as soon as he could - his skin felt like it was bristling from the uninvited contact.
“Enough. We’re here to pull everyone together again, not start arguments. Act like lords instead of peasants’ children.”
Leif practically snarled, “He’s the one who - “
Markus, who had stepped up to join Henry, spoke over Leif. “Maybe we should go and get the wagons settled and the horses tended to, Father? We’re drawing a lot of attention here. And I think some tempers need to cool first.”
Leif scowled - had they considered it might be easier for Leif to keep his temper if the Accipiters weren’t insulting and outright threatening his boyfriend within minutes of entering the city? No, of course not, Leif was supposed to keep his temper as always, how dare he get angry with his parents or perfect Henry...
“Perhaps that would be best,” Cateline agreed, stepping forward to join her husband. She already sounded annoyed, and Leif did not miss that her sweeping glare included him and Kirin more than Henry. Which only made Leif angrier - Henry had started it, and Kirin hadn’t done anything.
Lord Accipiter glanced at his wife, and nodded. “Leif, give us an hour or so to settle the wagons and tidy up from the road - then we’d like to have a…” Richard’s eyes flicked to Kirin. “A private discussion with you.”
“Perhaps, if Lord and Lady Marson don’t mind, a room in their manor?” Cateline suggested. Just before Leif could say that there was no way he was allowing them into his place of dwelling, his mother added, “Or we could use one of the carriages.”
“I’ll speak to Lord Marson,” Leif said stiffly. Fine - he would request permission to allow them into the Manor if the alternative was going into the Accipiters’ domicile like a particularly stupid rabbit walking into a wolf’s den. “I’ll send someone with a message when it’s arranged.”
“Thank you,” Richard said with an annoyed sort of relief. He turned sharply back toward the carriages, pausing to ensure Henry was coming along. The eldest Accipiter child already seemed to have regained his composure, and walked calmly off with the rest of his family. Markus’s expression had gone completely blank, and Chamile and Jonathon traded another nervous glance. Well, at least everyone was uncomfortable.
When the Accipiters had boarded the wagons and started off for the part of town in which they’d be staying, Leif turned to Kirin. “I’m - I’m so sorry. About all of that - and Henry especially, I had no idea he would...what in the ‘Pit did he think he was doing?”
Kirin shrugged. “It could have been worse,” he pointed out.
“Could have been more - theatrically bad, maybe, but - ‘Woo, I can’t believe he actually…”
“He might only have been asking to try and find common ground...”
“After trying to break your hand?” Leif paused to take a breath, and the sharp anger in his voice had muted a great deal when he asked, “How is it - your hand?”
“It’s fine.” Kirin flexed his fingers to demonstrate. With a glance in the direction the Accipiters had gone, Kirin asked, “Are you going to be all right alone with them?”
Leif raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll have to be. They were pretty clear that they only want me there - and even if they weren’t, I’m not going to drag you through that again. I really thought they could manage five minutes of tact.”
Reluctantly, Leif sighed and grumbled, “I had better get this meeting arranged. I’ll find out what they want, tell them they’re not getting it - and maybe they’ll leave faster.” That was probably a futile hope, but Leif needed to hold onto something.
Kirin nodded, looking a little glum. “All right. I’ll let you get it taken care of.”
“I’ll find you when it’s all over,” Leif promised. “Hopefully with some good news. And...Kirin…” He clasped the Stallion’s shoulder with one hand, and gently touched the side of his face with the other. “I don’t care what they think or do or say - I’m staying with you.”Part Two Fortunately, or perhaps not, Baron Marson was willing to let the Accipiters use a room of the Manor for their meeting. Leif asked that the room be as far from the dwelling places of the Manor’s residents as possible, though he didn’t explain that it was because the likelihood of shouting was far too great. Marson agreed to this as well, though with obvious confusion, and Leif sent a messenger to the Accipiter caravan. Now he had to spend an hour trying not to panic. Wonderful. Leif did attempt to actually prepare for the coming storm, but it was hard to plan out what he was going to say without knowing exactly what issue they would take with the relationship. The Jade and Stallion part he could reasonably guess would play a big part in the fight, and Leif had a decent, logical argument to explain why they shouldn’t protest - it was a sort of peace treaty between the two Houses, a way to keep the feud between the two very powerful foes in check. That may not hold enough weight to convince them, though...it wasn’t an agreement Lord Everett or the Grand Duke arranged or ordered or even signed on. And Houses don’t make alliances that important on dating couples - they make it on engagements. Marriages. And while Leif was definitely in favor of his and Kirin’s relationship moving to that level, he had absolutely no intention of doing so for political reasons. Well - the worst they can do is refuse to approve. I’m an adult, and an archmage, it’s not as if they can really punish me if I don’t give in, even if they were completely insane and wanted to go that route. A very grim part of his mind reminded Leif that there were ways to nullify an archmage’s abilities, if only temporarily - the pull, a broken or stolen wand, magesbane, if they were truly desperate and could afford it… Or if they took a different angle - Kirin didn’t have any magical powers to work around… ...Okay, Leif was definitely losing his head. His family might be cold, controlling, rigid, and obsessed with image over substance - but they weren’t assassins, or even the types who would hire assassins. It was ridiculous that the idea had even entered his head. All the same, he was more comforted by remembering that Kirin still regularly wore the shield-charm bracelet Leif had given him. Not that he’s going to need it - nothing like that is going to happen. Leif paused in pacing the room, leaning his head against the smooth glass of a window for a moment. They just got here - and I’m already going mad. The end of the week could not come soon enough. ------- Leif felt little more prepared but plenty worked-up by the time a servant came to tell him Lord and Lady Accipiter had arrived. Leif was surprised they hadn’t brought anyone else along, not even Henry - but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about Henry’s absence. The room they had been allotted was small but elegant, furnished with a long, narrow table of a dark wood and seats padded in a deep green. A single tall window stood across from the door; its thick drapes of green, accented with golden stitching, had been pulled aside to allow the spring light in. A display of unused painted plates sat on one side-wall, and a tapestry of two wheeling phoenixes hung from the other. The Accipiters had taken seats with their backs to the plates, and Leif slowly perched on the edge of a chair across from them. “So,” he began, trying to keep his tone neutral. “This private conversation - this is the real reason you came here, I’m guessing?” “We are here to repair relations,” Richard said, putting the tips of his fingers together. “But this is a matter we cannot simply leave unaddressed.” Determined not to make this easy for them, Leif asked, “And what matter is that?” Richard frowned. “You know precisely what I’m talking about.” “I might, if you hadn’t waited this long to do something about it. Anything noteworthy I’ve done happened two summers ago.” Cateline put a hand on her husband’s arm, presumably to hold him from speaking. “Leif, for the most part, we’ve only heard rumors about that summer’s events - or at least, the ones you played a part in.” “In fact, we hadn’t even realized you were with the Jade delegation until well after the Houses had come here,” Richard added. There was unconcealed reproach in his tone - for what? Coming to Medieville? That hadn’t been Leif’s choice, it had been Lord Everett’s, and Leif couldn’t ignore orders from his current House patriarch and the Lord of all of Corvus. “We had a good deal of trouble pulling facts from the rumors,” Richard continued, still an irate tone, as if it were somehow Leif’s fault the rumors hadn’t been all true or entirely clear. When Leif hadn’t said anything after a few long, awkward seconds, Cateline sighed and clarified, “You ought to have written to us.” ...Oh. That was what his father had been implying. “But…I haven’t written to you in years. Not since...my magical problems at Our Woo of Charity.” Even before that, Leif had only written because his parents had demanded it - for reasons that were beyond Leif - though he decided not to mention that bit. “Why would I have spontaneously started when I came to Medieville?” The two Accipiters glanced at one another, then slowly turned their gazes back to Leif in unnerving near-synchronization. Richard said sternly, “For one thing, there was the Bloody Coronation - you could have been badly hurt, or worse.” Not really sure what else to say, Leif reminded them, “Well, I’m Lord Everett’s archmage. I’m supposed to handle dangerous situations.” “But at least when you were in Corvus, we knew we’d hear if anything happened to you!” Cateline snapped. Leif stared at her in surprise. On some abstract level, he knew his family didn’t want him dead or anything. It just felt more like the way people he passed on the street didn’t want him dead; they weren’t wishing for it, but it wouldn’t much affect them if he happened to disappear from their lives. Unfortunately, Richard took advantage of Leif’s baffled silence to regain the reigns of the conversation. “We also heard rumors about this Lord Kirin.” Leif’s father put his hands together, intertwining his fingers. “You neglected to mention what exactly he’s a lord of in the square.” “Was there a point?” Leif asked bluntly. “You wouldn’t have come up here if you didn’t already know he was a Stallion.” His father’s lip twitched and his mother sighed. Fury slammed against Leif’s chest like the rebound of a storm-tossed tree into a window - they had no right to disapprove of Leif’s choices, not after what their negligence had done! And to disapprove of Kirin, no less, when choosing to be with him was arguably the best decision Leif had ever made...! Leif clenched his jaw. He had to keep his temper in check. Just get through this conversation - in a week, it won’t matter, it doesn’t matter now ... “We don’t understand, Leif,” Cateline said. “House Jade and House Stallion are - “ “Are supposed to be enemies, I know.” Leif waved a hand in what was supposed to be a dismissive gesture; it wound up being too sharp for such a careless emotion. “But - I think a lot of that is based on misunderstanding. Corvids aren’t all stuffy, conservative, religious zealots who can’t get out of the past, right? So not all Benians are chaotically reckless magic-haters with no sense of where they come from. Kirin knows what I am - why would he be in a relationship with me if he had qualms about magic?” Richard scowled. “If he knows about your magical potential, then he just might understand the situation better than you do.” “...What?” Trying to make eye contact with Leif, Lord Accipiter continued, “Perhaps we weren’t clear with you when your archmagery came to light. But you have to understand the importance of your bloodline, and of your match, to House Accipiter, and House Jade, and to future mages of Corvus.” Leif looked between his parents, utterly baffled. He hadn’t expected the discussion to turn into...whatever this was. With a glance at her husband, Cateline asked in a voice forced to gentleness - a tone Leif had rarely ever heard from her - “Leif, what if the Grand Duke know about this?” “About Kirin and I? Or me being an archmage? ...I mean, he knows both.” Whether Alain had known Leif was an archmage at the time he’d made plain he knew about and approved of the relationship, Leif didn’t know - but he’d told Lord Ambrose that fact a long time ago, and no doubt that information had made it back to Ambrose’s brother. “...Pardon me?” Richard said with a raised eyebrow. “He...knows I’m an archmage and that Kirin and I are together,” Leif repeated, not sure how to phrase it more clearly - then he realized what his father was getting at. “I didn’t go up to him and ask, we were trying to keep it from him, he just...found out. Before the Coronation, even.“ Leif decided not to mention that it had been in part his own fumbling that had confirmed it. “He said he approved...I’m not entirely sure why, he said something about a bond between the Houses, which, to be fair, we probably needed...we were at each others’ throats since the funeral and - it could have gone very badly.” Before they could pick at that, Leif added, ”And if he’d intended to do anything about it, wouldn’t he have by now?” Lord Accipiter’s expression had become grim, “Oh, I agree, he doesn’t intend to stop you. Of course the Grand Duke would approve - we ought to have seen it before.” Though he knew he probably didn’t want to know the answer, Leif asked, “What are you talking about?” “Were I a leader of an anti-magical land such as Bern I’m sure I would find the idea of pairing an archmage with someone incompatible for children quite favorable. Particularly if that someone were a person under my employ.” Richard tilted his head to glare down his nose at Leif. “How convenient that something so perfectly advantageous for the Duke would just happen to fall into place.” Leif shot to his feet, the chair teetering dangerously behind him. “ Excuse me?” The scalding anger thrashing at his chest felt nearly solid, and Leif’s fingers curled into claws against the tabletop. “This isn’t some - some concocted plot! Kirin didn’t know I was an archmage back when this started, House Stallion didn’t know I was an archmage - Lord Everett was keeping that a secret, remember?” “ Sit down,” his father ordered. Leif did not sit. “You honestly came to my city to tell me that you think my boyfriend is - is what, only pretending to like me? You’ve barely met him, you didn’t even know his name, did you? And ’Woo forbid you actually, oh, I don’t know, get to know him before you -” “ Leif!” Cateline interrupted sharply. “The lords’ approval or not, gambit or not - you have your lineage to think of!” “My lineage? What does - ” Quite suddenly, it all made sense - the talk of bloodlines and matches and responsibility to future Corvid mages. “I - no - listen, I’m not having children.” “You have to,” Richard said. “You’re the most powerful Accipiter mage born in generations. By ‘Woo, you’re one of the most powerful mages in Corvus. You have to pass that potential on!” “No,” Leif retorted. “Kirin and I can’t, and I - ” “There’s a very simple way around that; it’s called a wife.” “I’m not leaving Kirin!” Leif said fiercely. “And even if...something happened, and we split up - I’m - I don’t...“ Leif felt almost as flustered as he was enraged; he had never talked about love or courtship or romantic preferences or - or anything like this with his parents. They had left all vital conversations on those subjects - the very few that were really necessary for a future priest, anyway - to the tutors. It was always an awkward topic for Leif to discuss, but it was downright alien talking about it to his parents...He forced the words out anyway. “I’m not… interested in women. I don’t really...find them attractive - I mean, objectively, I know that some of them are, it’s just - I don’t - it’s not a courting kind of attractive. For me.” Crossing his arms defensively, Leif added with a huff, “Besides, even if I were...inclined toward a wife - I can’t raise children. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to - “ “Everyone’s worried about how well they’ll raise their first child,” Richard said dismissively. The retort was out of Leif’s mouth before he could even think to hold it back. “Pity that concern dies off by the sixth one, isn’t it?” Some part of him wanted his parents to flinch at that, to look guilty and ashamed, but the most Leif got was Cateline glancing briefly toward the window. That might not even have been guilt, it could have been that a movement of the curtain caught her eye. Richard just crossed his arms right back and said, “We aren’t discussing the past right now - we need to discuss the future, because your mother is right - you have a lineage to maintain.” “...Did you not hear a word I said?” Leif tried to ignore the prickle of hurt at the casual dismissal of everything his parents had done - or rather, hadn’t done - as just “the past”; he shouldn’t have expected anything more from them. Richard raised an eyebrow. “You have a duty to Lord Woo to ensure that the next generation of mages actually exists.” “Oh, well, if that’s what Lord Woo wanted, maybe he ought to have made my preference women!” Leif shot back. “Maybe I’m not supposed to have children - maybe I would mess things up. Maybe they wouldn’t have magic. Maybe somewhere down the line, I’d have an evil archmage descendant.” Dropping his snide tone, Leif snarled, “You don’t know Lord Woo’s plans any better than anyone else, and your plans have never turned out well for me!” “Leif - “ He was abruptly, thoroughly, cataclysmically done with this conversation. “You didn’t seem to have any duty to Lord Woo to check all your children for archmage abilities! You didn’t have any duty to make sure you weren’t sending an antisocial child to a huge church - no, that was my job, and thank ‘Woo I did it properly, because you didn’t have any great plans for dealing with the blocks when they were hurting me, did you? And you wanted me to stay in Raylier and be your archmage? So I could be shown off at parties - and apparently used like a breeding dog?” He felt his lip curling. “Here’s my plan - I’ll stay here, with Kirin, with out children - that’s the opposite of what you want, so that ought to do me some good!” Leif turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He wondered for a split-second why neither Accipiter had tried to lock the door with a spell, but fury consumed those thoughts before he could give them any serious consideration. Leif found the nearest door to leave the manor, and took it at full-speed. ------- His anger hadn’t calmed much by the time he reached Stallion Manor, but it had been somewhat eclipsed by a rush of stress over what he had done. He’d just yelled at his parents - they were going to be furious with him, Accipiter children didn’t talk back to their parents, they certainly didn’t shout. Any hope he’d had of reasoning with them, calmly talking them out of it - he’d probably ruined it. And Henry was going to find out about it, too, Leif had no doubt of that. ...Markus as well, probably, and Markus was an unknown quantity - but he’d been allowed to come along, so his parents and Henry must have assumed he would be on their side... Yes, Leif had shouted at his parents last time he’d seen them, too but there was no ready escape to Jade Manor this time. And his parents wouldn’t just give up on this, not after one conversation, not if they had Leif pinned for an entire week. They’d barely been here a few hours and this was a mess already. By now he was familiar enough to the Stallion servants that one of them tending to the greenery around the courtyard told him that Kirin was in the gardens without Leif even having to ask. The archmage found Kirin waiting on a bench not too far down the path; Kirin stood up quickly as Leif approached and asked, “How did it go?” Leif shook his head. “Not well. Lots of yelling, very little listening. And - ‘Woo, Kirin, it’s so stupid - they think…” ...He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Maybe in a few weeks, the idea of Kirin being some sort of evil seducer sent by the Stallions to stop Leif from having mage children would be the funny sort of stupid - but right now, it just made Leif’s insides writhe with anger. “...Nevermind. It’s - it’s beyond idiotic.” “I’m sorry. ...Will they at least leave you alone now?” “I wish, but probably not. And I might have made things worse by yelling, too - I know I should’ve reined in my temper and just been calm and logical, but - they know exactly how to drive me absolutely insane.” Leif tried to force himself to calm down. “But it’ll only be a week - then they’ll be gone. It’s just...going to be a long week, I guess.” He tried to smile, to force at least some kind of humor out of the situation, but his heart wasn’t in it and his attempted smirk felt shaky and hollow. Not surprisingly, Kirin saw right through the fake expression and just wrapped his arms around Leif, pulling him close. Leif leaned into Kirin and hugged him back, resting the side of his face against the Stallion’s shoulder. He shut his eyes a moment to let everything soak in - the pressure of Kirin’s arms around his back, the steady rise and fall of his chest against Leif’s shorter, still-agitated breaths, the feel of the coat fabric on the side of his face, the scents of Kirin’s skin and hair, tinted with the faintest hint of paint... The barrage of sensations, things Leif noticed automatically because he had spent most of his life unable to ignore them - from anyone else, it would have made Leif uncomfortable at best. With Kirin, however, it was different - with Kirin, he felt safe even from overload, and so all those little details just told him he was close to the person he loved and trusted most in the world. At least for just a few moments, he could pretend the Accipiters weren’t here at all. Eventually, though, Leif’s nagging thoughts pushed their way back to the fore of his mind. “They’re not splitting us up,” Leif promised again, quiet but determined. “Even if that means I have to - to chase them out of this city with a summoned dragon to get them to leave at the end of the week, I will.” “Only if I actually get to see the dragon this time.” That startled a sort of choked laugh out of Leif. “That sounds fair. Maybe in my fit of rage, I’ll make some harnesses, and then we can ride it, too. I can’t think of a better way to see them go.” ------- “Well," Cateline said, closing the door of her and her husband's room in their enchanted wagon, "that could have gone better.” “It certainly couldn’t have gone worse.” Richard sat stiffly on the bed and started to unlace his boots with sharp, almost slicing movements. “I didn’t entirely believe it until I saw it - what in ‘Woo’s name is he thinking?” Cateline shook her head. “I don’t know. But I think it’s clear he hasn’t considered the consequences of this relationship.” “I disagree.” Richard yanked off a boot and dropped it with a loud thud. “You heard him admit he tried to hide it, that he knew Lord Everett and Alain Stallion wouldn’t - or shouldn’t - approve! I cannot believe he’s done this - the impression he’s given of House Accipiter and House Jade - he could have cost Chamile her betrothal! Lord Everett would be well-within his right to - ” “But he hasn’t,” Cateline interrupted, though her own stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought of that possibility. “We still have time to fix this.” “Do we?” Richard retorted. “It’s possible Lord Everett thinks they’re rumors - but if the Stallions know...I don’t like that, Cateline.” “Nor do I. Especially considering that you’re right - Alain’s likely doing it to block off the lineage. Though that would be of little use if Leif wasn’t already attracted to men over women.” Cateline frowned. “I do wonder how the Duke figured that out.” She almost added that she and Richard had no idea about Leif’s preferences - but suddenly she could picture his expression that night at dinner seven years ago, and the angry and hurt ”Of course not,” that had gone with it. She pushed those feelings away. This would really be only a little less of a problem if Leif were courting a Stallion girl, and attention to detail would not have predicted that, either. Besides, Leif would be hurt a lot more if he continued on this track; parents couldn’t always afford to be gentle. Richard scowled as he undid the laces of his other boot. “I don’t understand - why didn’t Lord Everett contact us? I assumed it was a secret affair - or at least discrete! I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be brought to meet us - was that intentional? He knew we’d disapprove, so bringing the one in question to forestall it?” “I don’t know - Leif’s never had enough understanding of social situations to manipulate them. Perhaps it was Mao’s idea.” “...Possibly.” Richard yanked off his second boot and threw it beside the first. “There must be some sort of manipulations going on. Leif must have looked the perfect target, too; he has no experience with these things, not when we raised him to be a priest, and he certainly never listened to his brothers…or his sisters. And he never even had strong family bonds or friendships; he wouldn’t know how to tell the difference between a genuine relationship and someone playing to his - his emotions. Perhaps he’d have been better off if we’d sent him to St. Seraphina’s like we’d planned; they actually teach their priests about not falling to temptation there.” Cateline shook her head. “You know as well as I do that it’s better he went to Iscaria.” Richard sighed, but they had indeed discussed this before, and Cateline knew he agreed. If Leif’s problems with his archmage blocks had intensified at a church as large as St. Seraphina’s, and without the sympathies and medical knowledge of the priests of Our Woo of Charity… Leif had been right in his rant earlier, in saying it had been a good thing he had fought to overrule the decision to send him to a larger church. I do wish he’d find a way to deal with his anger over that. Cateline thought. It isn’t as if we could have foreseen his problems getting worse. Cateline didn’t have much time to dwell on that, however, as Richard began speaking again. His voice was low and cold. “So. How are we to get through to Leif if Mao is plying his affections? I wonder if we’re going about this the wrong way - maybe we ought to be having a discussion with Lord Mao, and see how long he can hold onto a facade with us.” “Richard, no,” Cateline protested, seizing her husband’s shoulder. “You saw how protective Leif was in the square - misplaced or not, his affections are wound tight around the Stallion boy. If we go around Leif’s back and try to talk to Mao…” Richard nodded grimly. “He’ll see it as an attack. And I’ll not deny,” the Accipiter added with a scowl, “that it might become one. Leif is not the only one who can be protective.” “No, but...we may need to consider this more diplomatically, rather than as concerned parents. If we go directly to the Stallion, we would be showing our hand. It might be wise to let him think we’re only objecting for reasons of heritage for now.” They had other reasons for concern, of course - they had come all the way to Medieville, after all, and persistent letters might have sufficed for convincing Leif to trade out his inappropriate choice of partner. ...Or so they might have thought, before coming here and finding out that Leif was not only as stubborn about following rules as ever, but just how attached he was. “Of course, at this point, it’s too late to try a true diplomatic approach and keep our negative opinions private.” “ Far too late,” Richard agreed. “At this point we might do well changing the face of our...diplomatic party, if that’s how we’re going to think of this. I wonder if we could send in Henry…” Cateline warned, “I don’t think that will go well - Leif never really liked Henry.” “Well, we can’t send Markus,” Richard said bluntly. “...I see your reasoning, but Leif and Henry never got along as children.” “It’s been years - almost a decade. Henry makes friends much more easily now, some of Leif’s bitterness could have worn off, and Henry’s technique has improved a great deal since he was young. Besides, we don’t have other options - it isn’t fair to send Chamile and Jonathon into such a volatile situation - and Markus cannot go. “And,” Richard added, after a moment where Cateline said nothing, “we need someone good at getting information out of people. Because I want to know how Alain Stallion’s approval was given, precisely.” “...Why?” “Because I’m thinking if he did it with enough fanfare and the right phrasing, Lord Everett wouldn’t be able to object - not without looking as if he opposed peace.” “It still doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t have told us.” “He may have assumed there was nothing we could do. Or perhaps he did try to warn us, but the message was lost on the road. Or removed, perhaps.” Cateline gave him a skeptical look, and Richard sighed. “Perhaps we ought to have gone to Solis for details first. Maybe I’ll send you and the children on to Raylier while I go to Solis and try to speak with Lord Everett once we’ve - “ There was a knock at the door. Richard, frowning slightly, called that the knocker could enter. Henry stepped into the room with a respectful nod to his mother and father. “I hope I’m not interrupting?” “We can resume in a minute. What is it, Henry?” “...I understand the meeting didn’t go very well?” Cateline frowned. “No, it did not. Who told you?” “Nobody; I happened to be going the same way as Leif after he left the Manor, and I couldn’t help but notice he looked.... particularly irritated.” Richard crossed his arms. “I see.” Henry’s usual slight smile slipped away from his face. “He went straight to a manor house with Stallion colors. I don’t know if he went inside or not, but odds are…” “Odds are, he went to Mao,” Richard summarized. “So what we told him didn’t sink in a bit.” “What did you tell him?” Henry asked carefully. “That his duty as an archmage is to continue the line and ensure Corvus’s magical future,” Richard said tartly. “And that a male Stallion doesn’t make a good partner in that endeavor.” Resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead against tented fingers, the Accipiter lord went on, “He countered that Alain Stallion approved, Lord Everett never disapproved, and...well, it’s...not well-founded.” Henry, however, was not so easily diverted. “And what?” he asked suspiciously. When Richard didn’t answer, Henry turned to his mother. Cateline smoothed a wrinkle out of her dress as she explained simply, “He said we didn’t have a right to express our points because of everything that happened to him in his childhood.” “Oh.” Henry looked between his parents, a hint of discomfort in his expression. “Well - perhaps I ought to talk to him? A brother-to-brother suggestion may be taken better than an order from our parents,” he added with a brief, wry grin. “Besides, Leif and I need to start somewhere if we’re ever going to have a sibling relationship a little more solid than what we had as children.” “True,” Richard said. Cateline glanced at him, but kept her expression impassive. Her husband continued, “We probably ought to give you the full scope of the argument, so you know what you’re walking into.” “The entire thing? ...Are you sure?” “Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” Cateline asked with a slight frown. She didn’t really think it was the best idea to send Henry, but it was certainly worse to send him in unprepared when they could easily arm him with more information. After a second’s pause, Henry nodded. “All right. Are we sharing this with Markus as well? Because he isn’t here.” Cateline tensed, and someone might as well have shocked Richard with a lightning spell. “Where is he?” Cateline demanded. “Out about town, apparently. I wasn’t here when he made the decision - he left a note in the other wagon. ...I think it’ll be alright; even if he thinks to go to the Stallion’s manor to try talking to Leif, they have no reason to let him in.” “I suppose not,” Richard muttered. “No, we are not intending to share this with Markus. For now, we need to keep him and the twins out of this situation. Do you understand?” Henry nodded once. “So...the Grand Duke approved? That makes our argument a bit stronger, I suppose…not that I would really mind being proven wrong, in this case.” “I don’t know how much better it is if we were wrong,” Richard said dubiously. “We still have to break it off.” “Well, yes, of course - he’s already left one House, we certainly don’t need him leaving another,” Henry agreed. “All the same - at least we could be a touch less aggressive about it.” “Maybe that’s what you can do, Henry,” Richard said, motioning for his son to take a seat in the desk chair. “See if you can communicate the seriousness of this more… gently.” Part Three Leif was trying to work - trying being the operative word. He hadn’t slept well at all the previous night, haunted by the arguments he and the Accipiters had already had and the dread of all the fights that were no doubt to come. Tired as well as distracted, he wasn’t making nearly as much progress on these rune chains and spells as he wanted. Staring down at a sheet of parchment covered in jagged notes and sketchy diagrams, trying for at least the fourth time to actually memorize a particular patch of runes instead of remember snatches of things his parents had said yesterday, Leif was jolted out of his scattered thoughts by a sharp knock on his door. He looked up with a huff, reaching for his cup of tea. “Yes?” He regretted trying to take a drink almost instantly. Leif had expected a servant - finding Henry there instead, Leif nearly choked on the drink. Managing to restrain his spluttering to a single loud cough, Leif demanded, “What are you doing here?” How did he - a servant should’ve announced - ach, he probably talked his way past them…“Good morning to you, too,” Henry said dryly. “I was thinking you might know a place that sells good breakfast?” “Breakfast?” Leif repeated, dumbfounded. “...I don’t know, I usually don’t eat breakfast at the inns or taverns. Try the King’s Arms. Or the Lyre, if you feel like a walk.” He tried to turn back to his work, but Henry stepped into the room. Leif all but cringed. Pointedly, Henry said, “I was thinking we could get breakfast together, actually.” “I have work to do, Henry.” “Work? I thought you were just studying.” Henry came over to the table, leaning forward to see the paper. Leif felt the muscles in his back tensing, as if he were going to arch his spine the way he’d seen Morgaine’s cats do when they were angry or scared. Apparently totally ignorant of Leif’s discomfort, Henry gestured to the runes and asked, “What’s all this?” Leif sighed, setting down his tea. “There’s a bakery in town that has fireproofing spells on the building - in case the oven flames ever get out of hand. It was put there about twenty years ago, and now it’s starting to devolve. I need to put a new set of spells on it, but first I have to untangle the mess of this old one.” Henry was still studying the runes, and Leif felt the need to add, “Apparently it was a mage-in-training who set it up, so they used a lot of over-complicated and… weird cheats to make it work. The fact that it’s devolving doesn't help, either.” “I see.” Henry pointed to a patch of runes. “Did you try - “ “Reattaching the runes there, and using a three-Dov chain to break it? I considered that, but as I said, the spell’s devolved a little. It’s missing the usual chain here - “ He motioned to a blank section of the page. “And I’d rather not set the spell collapsing.” “Ah. I see.” Leif wasn’t so sure Henry really did see. The Accipiter heir was a mage, too - he wore a wand holster opposite his sword’s scabbard - but he wasn’t a very strong one, and hadn’t invested much time in learning the more complex parts of runes. “So this is what you do these days?” Henry asked, looking around at the materials scattered over Leif’s desk. It was an eccentric collection - notes and scattered pages relating to the devolving spells and some of the particular runes Leif was working with, a relatively new volume on spell-building theory (Leif was with the author up until the fourth section; some of the arguments and proofs he had against it were lying nearby as well), an old and rather poor sketch of a falconry jess Leif had made to guide him during repairs alongside a much cleaner version Kirin had drawn for him and which Leif still needed to finish labeling when he had time to check Ayleth’s measurements again, a large carnivore’s tooth, some rune-inscribed stones, a lockbox full of interesting feathers, a volume of intermediate spells and magic study… Henry picked up the last item, frowning. “This isn’t for you...” he guessed. “No.” “...Did you pick up an apprentice?” Cautiously, the muscles in his back tensing again, Leif answered, “More or less. House Jade recruited a mage - two, actually - during the Coronation.” “A mage who’s still on these spells? Two years later?” Leif’s jaw clenched - it wasn’t Xavier’s fault his magic had been bound and, until he and Leif had broken through some of the Courdonian conditioning, painful to use. But that wasn’t Henry’s business; Leif instead said, “He was originally recruited for other talents. And it’s harder to learn magic as an adult than as a child.” “I suppose so.” Henry set the book back down. Deciding to head Henry off before he started prying for more details, Leif asked, “Speaking of magic - why did you leave Stefan behind?” “Somebody has to manage Raylier while Father, Mother and I are all gone,” Henry pointed out. “You left Stefan in charge of Raylier?” Henry looked disapproving, probably of Leif’s aghast tone. Right - Stefan followed so closely in Henry’s shadow that the Accipiter heir couldn’t quite see the various…unpleasantnesses Stefan was known for amongst his younger siblings. “Ingrid is assisting him, and I’m sure Regina will be on hand if anything goes direly wrong.” “Good.” Regina was bossy, but certainly effective, and she had no patience for Stefan. Ingrid, while much quieter, was the kind of person who could work around an inept leader and keep the city on track. “Oh, come on,” Henry said cheerfully. “Raylier will be in one piece when we get back. And so will these runes. Now, about breakfast?” “I’m fine. I’ll eat something here.“ “I insist. It’ll be my treat. And I hear you’ve already flown your hawks, so don’t give me that excuse.” Leif scowled at his brother, but Henry’s grin remained intact. He wasn’t going to let Leif wiggle out of this. Fine. Leif would go. But there was one thing he couldn’t leave uncorrected. “Ayleth and Hadrian are kites,” Leif informed Henry. Henry blinked. “And Forthwind is very obviously an owl.” “All right, all right, ease up - I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a kite-bird.” Leif had to resist the urge to throw something very large and heavy at Henry - preferably a compendium of raptor species. “Let’s just go.” Leif scribbled a note to mark his place and reluctantly got up from the table. Henry smiled indulgently and headed for the door, glancing back to make sure Leif was following him. The archmage’s stomach was already starting to hurt; Henry could be as cheerful and charismatic as he wanted, but Leif had the feeling this conversation wasn’t going to go any better than the previous day’s talk with their parents. ------- Leif led the way to the Yellow Rose. The Rose had once been an inn, brand new and probably hoping to compete with the King’s Arms. Unfortunately, the four founders of the inn had never gotten much of a chance to do business; extremely dramatic differences of opinion drove them apart, and three of them had left the city for other ventures. Only Mervin Angelo now remained, and though he’d been quite thoroughly put off the business of inns, he was a very good cook with a rather sizeable room for serving meals. The Yellow Rose was now a curious dine-in bakery - somewhat expensive, which was to be expected as not many Medievillians had schedules that allowed for long, leisurely breakfasts - but the food was delicious, and the loaves of bread Angelo sold in the afternoon and early evening went for much more affordable prices. The Yellow Rose was farther from Marson Manor than someplace like the King’s Arms. It might have been nice to go somewhere closer to home so he wouldn’t have to take such a long walk with Henry, but Leif knew his luck far too well; if he took his brother into the King’s Arms, today would be the day Xavier chose to visit his former employer. After the fiasco in the town square with Kirin, Leif was not eager to put anyone else in the Accipiters’ warparth. Henry was annoyingly cheerful the entire way there. He asked Leif about some of the places they passed - the King’s Arms, the Cathedral - and about life in the city in general. He was trying, Leif thought, to ease the tension. Leif wasn’t going to fall for it. He answered as monosyllabically as possible, and didn’t volunteer extra details, even when they felt like they were crowding his tongue. Leif had grown to like teaching people things, but if he started talking to Henry the way he talked to people here...that was how Henry got people on his side. The Yellow Rose was not bustling at this hour, but some of the tables still had patrons. A few of them were even familiar, people Leif had seen around town or helped with various magical problems. Some did a doubletake at Leif’s brother; there would be no missing the family resemblance. Henry chattered cheerfully with Mervin about the menu while Leif waited silently, both bored and nervous. Finally, Henry took the cook’s recommendation of some sausage and egg dish. Leif asked for honeycakes. Angelo must have given some sign that this was not an unusual order for Leif; as the brothers sat down, Henry chided, “Making up for missed dessert as a kid now that Mother and Father aren’t here to supervise you?” “Are you going to nag me about everything?” “Depends, are you going to be hypersensitive to everything? I’m only teasing, calm down.” Henry rested his chin on interlaced fingers and frowned. “Are you still angry about yesterday?” “Why wouldn’t I be? There was no reason for you to - “ “Look, I’m your big brother, I had to do that. I wasn’t trying to make you angry.” Leif blinked. What does him being older have to do with…? Because he’s my brother, he had to…? ...Am I missing something?“When did you become such a guard dog, by the way?” Henry asked with a chuckle. “I mean, you’ve always been a bit temperamental, but this is the first I’ve seen you puff up like an angry cat on someone else’s behalf. Or is there some bird I should compare you to instead?” Leif’s fist clenched where it rested on his knee under the table. Part of him knew that if any of his Medievillian friends had said the exact same thing, he would have taken it in stride and joked back, probably told them any owl worth its salt could puff up to look threatening - except, Henry wasn’t one of Leif’s friends. Leif had always been temperamental, but as a child, he’d had good reason - and Henry ought to know that. Henry was responsible for that, in part, by constantly dragging Leif into social functions or playing with his loud siblings or trying to talk him into getting drunk just to see what it was like or lecturing him on the same points his parents had already gone over a hundred times, as if Leif needed to hear it any more...yes, Leif had been irritable and angry, but he’d had good reason for it. Besides, this felt so manipulative - as if he knew Leif’s friends joked with him, so he was going to do that, too. However, Leif had the sense that his friends, despite their snarking comments about his temper and his raptors and his obsession with magic or infatuation with Kirin, actually still liked him for something. Henry, however...Leif knew Henry didn’t think very much of him. Nearly all of their interactions that Leif could remember involved Henry criticizing something, and he had obviously only come along on this trip because he thought Leif’s choice of romantic partner was also something to be corrected. Being teased was only funny when Leif wasn’t convinced the negative comments were all the other person honestly thought of him. Before Leif could tell Henry to drop the joking act because he wasn’t falling for it, the Accipiter heir changed the topic. “So - this apprentice you’ve picked up.” “Oh, ‘Woo, what now?” Leif groaned. “...What?” Henry gave him a puzzled look, which just irritated Leif because he knew Henry wasn’t so stupid he didn’t get why Leif was on his guard. “You’ve already decided you don’t like Kirin, I don’t want to hear you picking on - on my apprentice, too.” It felt odd, calling Xavier his apprentice instead of just using his name. “That’s an entirely different situation. Your student isn’t a Stallion, so what do I have to complain about?” “You already complained that I wasn’t teaching him fast enough - or that he wasn’t learning fast enough, or both.” Leif scowled. “All right, all right - take it easy, no need to get in a temper. I only meant it as a question, and as you said, it takes time to learn magic when you get older. All I wanted to ask was how you wound up teaching him.” “...Why does it matter?” “For ‘Woo’s sake,” Henry said with a laugh, “I’m just making conversation! And come on - you’ve never seemed to be the sort who would want to teach. I’m curious as to why Lord Everett didn’t sponsor study at Saint Nephrite’s - which reminds me, I need to ask you something else later - or another academy.” Slowly, Leif answered, “Lord Everett might have considered it. But he ultimately decided that he should stay here, so he didn’t have to uproot his entire life to move to Solis.” “Girlfriend?” Henry asked. “...Pardon?” “A girlfriend, does he have one? And that’s why he stayed, I’m guessing?” “In part...” There were a host of other reasons, too - perhaps most importantly, the fact that going south, closer to Courdon, could be dangerous for an escaped slave, even one protected by House Jade and especially for one as valuable as Xavier. The reasons Leif actually told Henry were, “He has friends here as well, and this is the town he’s lived in for years now. And even if he wanted to go live in Solis, he couldn’t bring his girlfriend along. She has very important duties at the Keep,” Leif added, because Henry needed to be knocked down a few dozen pegs. Unfortunately, he barely blinked at the information. Leif set his jaw and finished, “Anyway, I may not be like any of our tutors, but I think I’m managing fine.” “Hmm. Well, you can teach old dogs new tricks, I guess. But if you run into trouble, you could write to Stefan.” Leif had to take a deep breath before he could quell the wild irritation at Henry’s casual assumption that Leif would want to take up regular correspondence with any Accipitier at this point. “And why,” he asked in a steely tone, “would I want to write to Stefan?” “Because he’s teaching a student, too,” Henry said with obvious pride. Leif stared. “...Why?” “Why not? He’s a good mage.” “...The words I would use to describe Stefan are probably not appropriate for me to say out loud.” “‘Woo, Leif, it’s been seven years! More than that if you count your church years. I know he was...troubled when we were kids, but he’s gotten a lot better now. We clearly trust him enough to let him take care of Raylier for a few days.” “Don’t remind me,” Leif huffed. Deciding he didn’t really want to be involved in this conversation about Stefan anymore, Leif asked, “What was the other thing you wanted to talk about? Something to do with Saint Nephrite’s?” “Oh - that. Well, when I mentioned it, I was thinking of other schools to list, and that reminded me of Khotan Academy.” Henry shifted in his seat, his smile vanishing. “We heard there was a scandal here, involving one of their students?” ...Are Henry and I both disapproving of something? Leif wondered in surprise. Aloud, he said, “Uh - yes. Unfortunately. There was a festival, some Lyellian performers were visiting...and a recent Khotan graduate decided to strengthen some alcohol, hide it in juice, magically mask the flavor, and then sell it to people at the festival. He also used a glamour to obscure anyone’s memories of the stall, and to attract people to it. It was absolute chaos.” “I can imagine. I hope you didn’t - “ “Drink any? No; I was only there to see a…” Remembering Henry’s mocking of his raptors, Leif decided not to specify that he had been in the crowd to see trained birds. “See an apothecarian about potion supplies,” he said instead...even as he hated himself for lying. “And luckily some friends found me quickly and we figured out what was going on. And stopped him, eventually, once we found him and he made a run for it.” “Hm. Must have been quite a fight for an archmage to need friends to assist him. Though I suppose if the student could cast spells of redirection, he must have been very strong.” Leif shrugged. “I don’t know how strong he was, he had to have been drained by work on the alcohol and the glamour. And whatever his strength - he panicked and was sloppy.” “Sloppy?” “Yes - wild spellcasting, stunners left and right, a smoke spell that probably caused him as much trouble as it did us, he took out a building corner - well - “ “A building? He was firing at buildings? How did you catch him while keeping the city in one piece?” “Well, he didn’t fire at the building - he threw a force spell at - “ Leif caught himself; he didn’t want to give Henry any leads to try and track to Elin, either. Trying to continue naturally, he went on, “at me, and I had to cast a shield at an odd angle. It bounced and hit a building corner.” “Well, I suppose it’s good you had backup, then.” “...It was.” Leif agreed, deciding not to mention he felt he ought not to have dragged Morgaine and Elin into the fight - though neither they nor the situations around them had really given Leif much choice. Unfortunately, Henry picked up on the hesitation. “What? You’re puffing again - did your friends get in trouble?” Leif blinked, started that Henry had read him so easily, and that he’d shown so much. It made him a little wary of lying. “Some, yes,” he said slowly. “Nothing that couldn’t be healed with magic, or by resting the next day. It could easily have been worse than hangovers, is all.” Henry winced. “They got into the juice?” “Not on purpose!” Leif snapped. “I wasn’t saying they did - I’m just trying to figure out what happened! You didn’t exactly give us anything to go on, and I suspect rumors were highly exaggerated by the time they got to Raylier.” “...Oh?” Nodding, Henry said, “Mostly of drunken feats I rather doubt anyone actually managed. Though there were quite a lot of visiting performers performing when they shouldn’t have been, from what I hear. And there was some talk about you and a Shadow councilor working together?” Leif must have looked surprised, because Henry smirked and said, “It sounded odd to me, too.” “Odd?” Leif repeated, confused. Why would it be odd? “...Yes. I suppose it was an emergency situation, you’d work with whom you could…though you specified friends, didn’t you?” ’Pit. “Well...yes. I didn’t intend to drag her into it, things just…got of hand.” “Hm. I see. How did you get to know one of them, may I ask?” Henry’s face had gone rather expressionless; Leif wasn’t sure if he was just serious, or already on his way to disapproving. ...Neither way boded particularly well, as far as Leif was concerned. “She’s my student’s girlfriend,” he said after a moment. Her magic lessons weren’t really Leif’s business to share; he’d already done a rather poor job keeping Elin’s magecraft private the night of the festival, though luckily it had only been Morgaine who’d overheard his moment of stupidity. “...So you’re friends with, and one of your House is dating, a Shadow Councilor?” “And? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Leif crossed his arms again. “She’s a rebel, isn’t she?” Henry asked in a low, quiet voice. “That seems quite dangerous for your apprentice.” “She was a rebel - and that’s not even necessarily a bad thing, sometimes - look, we’ve put all that behind us, they weren’t - “ “We’ve heard about what they did - broke into the Manor, stole your spellbook…” There was an accusing note in Henry’s tone on the mention of the spellbook that Leif felt was not entirely directed at the Shadows’ thief. In a much lower voice, Henry added, “They destroyed the Jade ring.” “I - yes, I know, we’ve already talked about how - “ “And you made friends with one of them?” Henry asked with a raised eyebrow. “What, going to start teaching them magic next?” Leif was silent for a second too long. Henry’s eyes went wide and he whispered, “You taught her magic?” Leif bared his teeth and hissed back. “It was a serious situation - she needed help, and she’s not a bad person! Besides, House Jade needed to build some good relations with the Shadows, King Galateo had just taken the throne, and - “ “Yes, yes, I understand the politics - but you became friends with this girl? Continue to train her and let your apprentice date her? Why, by the way, is he allowed to date a Shadow?” “Shadow Councilor,” Leif corrected snidely, “and I suspect it’s the same reason I’m allowed to court a Stallion. Lord Everett isn’t a - “ Leif was spared spewing an insult in the middle of a crowd of people by the arrival of their food. Henry was instantly all smiles and good cheer; he started up yet- another conversation that went on far, far too long. It was enough time for Leif to realize how awkward he must look, sitting there staring at the table instead of making eye contact, and contributing absolutely nothing to the conversation. It must be odd for the locals, watching someone who looked like Leif be so much friendlier and more personable and far better at conversation... It’s all surface, Leif reminded himself with a mental shake. Just superficial charm and saying what people want to hear. Leif took a long, deep breath as he and his brother were left alone again. He had just a few seconds before they started the argument again - maybe Leif could distract Henry, but he had to move quickly. Picking at one of the honeycakes, watching the golden syrup drip off it, he said, “So - so you haven’t told me anything about what’s going on in Raylier except that Stefan’s running it. What about your family? How’s, uh, how’s Astrid? And - your kids?” Leif was lucky he’d pulled Astrid’s name from his head - she had barely been a presence in life at the Accipiters’, outside of Henry and the Lord and Lady of the House, and Henry had only been married to her for - maybe - two years before Leif had left for the church. They’d had a daughter - presumably more kids since Leif had left...’Woo, he was an uncle, and probably to multiple batches of his siblings’ children. It felt weird. Almost to Leif’s surprise, Henry picked up the new topic, though his tone still seemed a little frigid. “They’re all well. Astrid is helping Stefan with the management of Raylier as well, though she still has her hands full with the kids oftentimes.” Feeling awkward for having to ask the question, even though this really wasn’t a failing of his memory, Leif asked, “How many do you have now?” “Three,” Henry said proudly. “You remember Runna - she was barely walking the last time you saw us, but she’s ten now. Studying very hard.” “Ah. Right.” Leif thought he might have seen Runna once, briefly, just before that horrible dinner. “Then there’s Jonas - only seven, but he’s already shown mage-talent. And Signy’s our youngest, she’ll be turning four soon.” “Well. Perfect. All set up with an heir and someone for a non-magical role - hoping your youngest will get magic so you’ll have your mage, I guess?” “Well...we’ve been discussing letting one of Stefan’s children take the mage position.” “...Why?” His voice carefully steady, Henry answered, “Because Stefan is a stronger mage than I am, and it’s more likely one of his children will have more powerful magic.” “...But what if Signy has magic? Won’t she be disappointed if she has magic, then finds out you’re giving it to one of her cousins?” “Magic is a fading talent. Stefan’s our House’s strongest mage - apart from you - and a child of his who becomes House Accipiter’s mage will have a better chance of finding a quality match when it’s time for them to marry. That would, in turn, lead to the most suitable magical lineage.” Leif bit his tongue. Oh ’Woo, he hadn’t just… “Maybe we should get to the point,” Henry said, scooping a large amount of eggs onto his fork. “We’re all worried about you, and this...affair you have going.” He had. Leif had just walked right into his brother’s lecture. “I don’t - “ “You could at least pretend to listen.” “Gee, I wonder what that must be like, talking and nobody listening!” “Leif, please - take this seriously.” Leif stared for a moment. “Take - take it - I’m sorry, do I need to yell more so that you understand just how serious I am? I can!” Henry shook his head. “You’ve done plenty of yelling. That’s why I wanted to talk here instead of at your Manor - so we could actually talk.” You manipulative son of a - Leif forced his jaw to loosen so he didn’t grind his teeth into powder. “Are you just forgetting how you treated Kirin? If I came to Raylier and acted the way all of you have to - to Astrid, let’s say, you wouldn’t be listening to me!“ “I told you I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Henry said with utter finality - as if his lack of intent was any excuse for how it had turned out. “How have you kept a partner this long with your grudge-holding?” “Easy - Kirin doesn’t do things that drive me insane, and if he did, he wouldn’t just keep doing it without so much as a fake apology!” “You could try not assuming the worst of us. It’s been seven years, isn’t it possible something’s changed? Shouldn’t you at least hear me out before deciding to shout at me?” As far as Leif was concerned, he had seen and heard enough to know that nothing had changed. But he was stuck in this crowded place with Henry, and Leif doubted he was going to get to leave unless Henry was finished or Leif stormed out - which would cause a scene that would draw even more attention to himself. “Fine. Get it over with.” “Are you going to shout at me partway through?” “Depends on what you say.” Leif almost folded his arms, but remembered he was supposed to be eating. As if he could manage anything with his stomach this lurching. Henry studied him for a moment, and perhaps came to the conclusion that this was the best he was going to get for the time being. He cut a piece off his meat and started scooping eggs on top of it as he began, ”I spoke to Father and Mother about their, ah, attempt to raise the issue. So I understand you’re well-aware - “ “That they don’t approve. Yes, that was made abundantly clear.” “You said you’d hear me out.” “...No, I didn’t.” “Leif, please. Do you really think yelling at Mother and Father did your side of the argument any favors?” Leif bit into a honeycake with far more intensity than was necessary, and felt his teeth click together. “Don’t drag this out, just get to your point!” “That’s hard to do when you interrupt me.” Henry grinned briefly; Leif almost hurled the remaining half of his honeycake at him. Luckily for the Accipiter heir, Henry’s expression quickly sobered. “Listen, I do understand that this is hard. It’s something we’ve all gone through - Mother and Father judging our choice of dates.” ...What was this? Sympathy? From Henry Accipiter? Leif was instantly suspicious. Of course, it didn’t really matter if his sympathy was genuine. “There’s judging, and there’s telling me a two-year relationship is all a hoax.” “Yes, well...maybe their presentation wasn’t the most spectacular. But it comes down to the same point - they are our parents, and it’s their right - their job, frankly - to make sure we have good matches.” “And you can stop right there,” Leif said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t need their approval. Or yours. I’m not using the Accipiter name, it’s not as if it’s easy to trace back to all of you. Or it wasn’t,” he added scathingly, “until you all showed up and made a scene.” “But you are using Lord Jade’s name. Did Lord Everett actually approve? Mother and Father said you never mentioned his approval explicitly.” Trying to sound offhand but evade a direct answer, Leif said, “Don’t you think he would have done something by now if he did care?” Henry frowned, but much to Leif’s surprise, didn’t press that particular point. “My point is, Mother and Father are trying to make sure you’re matched with the best person possible.” “Well, Kirin is the best, so that’s clearly not what they’re after.” “That’s not the kind of ‘best’ I meant, and you know it. But I do understand where you’re coming from - it’s been hard for all of us, as I said. I knew some very lovely girls when I was growing up, but Mother and Father were right - they weren’t appropriate matches for an Accipiter heir. Much as I hated letting them go, I did what I had to do. It was the same with Regina, and Stefan, and Mar - ” “Oh, Stefan was devastated when Mother and Father told him a girl wasn’t a proper match?” Leif laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, I know he so valued his girlfriends - that’s why he took care to have more than one at a time, wasn’t it?” Henry lowered the forkful of food he’d been raising to his mouth. “It happened once. He got in over his head, and he never did it again.” “That we know of. I still say he just got better at hiding it - I know he was gone a lot more often after that.” “And I say you couldn’t have known how often he was gone before, you never paid attention to that sort of thing.” Henry rubbed at his temples. “You have to learn to let people’s mistakes go.” “Maybe I would, except none of you are ever actually sorry about anything wrong you do - so what’s the point in letting it go when you’re just as likely to do the exact same thing all over again?” Leif spat. He could practically see Henry’s patience stretched thin and fraying like an old cord of rope. Henry and Leif were two very different people personality-wise despite their shared blood, but even there they had one thing in common - when their tempers snapped, they snapped. Henry was better at avoiding that point of no return, though - he always had been. The heir took a long, slow breath, scooped up another forkful of food, and chewed it longer than was strictly necessary. Leif prodded at the honeycakes with his fork. By ‘Woo he felt sick… Finally, Henry broke the silence. “We’re getting off-topic again. I was only trying to say that I sympathize. I know it’s hard to listen to criticisms of your romantic partner. The thing is...romance can blind you to a lot of important considerations.” Leif rolled his eyes. “Are you going to start badgering me about lineages, too?” “Well, you are one of a very small number of archmages.” “Shockingly, I am aware of that. And I’ll tell you what I told our father: I - “ Henry held up his hand. “I already heard.” He set down a fork of untouched food. “This is your first romantic relationship, correct?” “...Why does it matter?” “You might as well just say yes if you’re going to pause for that long. This is your first relationship, and you were raised as a priest.” “Yes, I know, I was there,” Leif snapped. Even to himself he sounded more edgy than bored or annoyed. Where was Henry going with this? “What I’m trying to say is that nobody ever discussed courting with you - or how it works for Accipiters.” “Somehow,” Leif said with a huff, “I’ve gotten the idea how you expect it to work, anyway.” “Here’s the thing about courting - you sometimes get invested in the emotions more than the...logic of the relationship. The advantages and disadvantages, to put it bluntly. A girl may be very attractive and enjoyable to be around - but does that mean she’s a proper match? I enjoyed the company of quite a few girls - but Astrid was the only woman of suitable class and intelligence and capability to be the wife of a House heir.” “...So you gave up all the women who made you happy...so Mother and Father and the other nobility would respect it?” Leif asked, suddenly unsure if he should be hating Henry or pitying him. “No - I married Astrid because she’s intelligent and diplomatic, and a valuable help in managing Raylier and raising our children. If I die before Jonas comes of age, she would be a capable ruler in my stead. And I do enjoy her company, Leif. Love can come after the match.” “So - what, you’re saying is, I should throw Kirin aside...to take the chance of finding someone...better? That’s - ‘Woo above, I’m not filing a job here!” Leif’s voice took on an edge of near-desperation. This was insanity! “People aren’t just.... they aren’t just some list of qualifications! I mean - all right, I’m sure the women you courted knew you had to marry for rank, and maybe that even makes sense if you have to prepare for when you die or something. Fine. But I don’t have to marry for rank, that’s never been an expectation, and I don’t need a wife to replace me if I die early - any other mage can - “ “No, ‘any other mage’ can not. And, while I’m sure your wife would be a powerful mage, she wouldn’t likely wouldn’t the one replacing your position - it would be your children.” Leif felt his lip curl. “I am not having children! Or a wife!” They were honestly having this conversation again - he almost couldn’t believe it. How dense were these people? “And what if you’re badly injured, or ill?” Henry pressed. “You told our parents you’re supposed to handle dangerous situations, and no doubt that especially includes the magical ones. Do you think a Stallion is going to be able to help you with magically-inflicted wounds? Or even do much about mundane but critical ones? No Sanwootur spells or Reparifors or even so much as a fever-reducing potion from a Stallion bookkeeper, are there?” “As if I’d be any more likely to get one from you?” Leif shot back. He was going after a sensitive topic with Henry and knew it - but why shouldn’t he? Nobody seemed to be taking consideration of Leif’s feelings when they made their stupid remarks and arguments. “Even if you could pull a spell like that off, it’s more likely you’d chose to just lecture me about how stupid I was for getting hurt until I bled out! At least Kirin helped me get to triage after the Coronation,” he added scathingy. “Even though he’d been hurt, too.” And he stayed with me, even after I passed out, even though that burn on his shoulder must have been hurting... Henry heaved in a breath that was far too much like a dragon preparing to breath fire. Leif tensed, unsure exactly what was coming. He realized the people at the tables around them had gone very quiet, and as soon as he noticed that, he could feel their curious and non-too-subtle glances. Hairs rose on the back of Leif’s neck. Henry said in a low voice, “All right - you want to ignore the common-sense reasons for how terrible a match a Stallion man is for you? Fine. Let me spell this out - he’s Stallion. You’re Jade. Evidently he has your loyalty over House Jade’s. I’ll not even mention House Accipiter. But did you ever think that he might be more loyal to his House than to you? That Alain Stallion might have approved for a reason, because it might be advantageous to have someone on hand to ask about confidential House Jade information?” Leif stared. “You - you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking - you don’t honestly think - “ Leif pressed his hands to his face, as if he might be able to grab the stupidity like a layer of clinging fabric and drag it away. “Kirin isn’t a spy, or - or a saboteur, or - any of these stupid things you think he is!” He glared up at Henry. “Is it really that unbelievable that somebody might - “ Henry leaned forward, practically half-across the table - Leif jerked back in his chair to get some distance between them, suddenly afraid Henry was going to grab his shoulders or something equally invasive of his personal space. Henry was wearing a scent, something coppery, and it stung at Leif’s nose. The other patrons were absolutely silent and Leif could feel them all gaping at this stupidly-public quarrel. “Leif, think about it,” Henry insisted. “What are the odds here? Centuries of rivalry, centered around magic versus technology - and the first time the Houses bring some members outside their immediate families into the same city, one of the Stallions just happens to be fine courting a mage from their rival House?” Leif pushed his chair away from the table with a violent squall of wood on wood, shooting to his feet. “We’re done here,” he snarled through clenched teeth. Sheer, red-hot fury felt like it was steaming from every pore on his skin - and underneath that pure rage was a feeling Leif knew and recognized - the scent, the threat of touch, the people staring, it was causing a strange, non-physical pressure in his head... He had to get out of here, not just because he was in serious danger of casting a hex on his older brother, but because of the threat of sensory overload. Leif scooped up the honeycakes, making a small pouch of the paper that had been placed under them. Syrup flew from one end of the pouch as he drew it away from the table, senselessly making his anger spike. “Thanks for breakfast,” he snapped to Henry - a sentence he would never have thought could be a contender for the most sarcastic thing he’d ever said. “And leave my friends alone!” He stormed out of the building and Henry, to his relief, made no move to stop him. ------ Leif made it all the way back to Marson Manor before the anger even started to wear off. The paper wrapped around the honeycakes rattled in his hands until Leif was able to set it down on an empty plate on his desk. The desk in his room, not his study - the study had already been infiltrated today. Leif slumped into the chair and over the desk, hiding his face in his arms as if he were trying to get rid of a headache. A spy. They thought Kirin was a spy for House Stallion. Nevermind that Kirin had never asked Leif for confidential information, that Leif hadn’t given him any of his own accord, or that Kirin was barely interested in the politics of his own House, or that he’d been trying to hide his feelings for Leif when they’d first been getting to know one another - something that made no sense if he’d been intending to con Leif into a relationship from the start. No, Leif thought furiously, Clearly it’s all a ruse and I’m just being played for a sap, obviously that’s the more reasonable explanation. Blighted idiots! The sound of flapping and the strike of talons on wood made Leif look up toward the window; Ayleth had just landed and was surveying her falconer with a tilted head and one red eye. “It’s okay, Ayleth,” Leif mumbled, turning away away again. He heard the flutter of wings and assumed the kite was going to her perch - until he felt a slight weight and the pressure of talons on his shoulder. Leif looked sideways at her. “What’s the matter, girl?” Almost automatically he reached for the small cold-pouch at his belt, pulling out a treat for Ayleth. The kite wolfed it down heartily; raptors were certainly a lot easier to please than people. He gave Ayleth two more strips of meat, and when the kite piped inquisitively, showed her his empty hand. To Leif’s surprise, instead of taking one look and flying off to her perch, Ayleth leaned down and started picking gently at Leif’s glove with her beak. “...You’re right, sweetheart, I didn’t preen my hands today, did I?” Leif asked. He must really be looking miserable if even Ayleth was making extra effort to be nice to him. “Maybe I should bring you along next time - I know you’ll be good and not attack anyone, but I am the one dating spies and training nefarious Shadow Councilors in magic - I’ll bet my family would believe I was carrying a half-trained kite around the city.” Ayleth piped a little, as she had taken to doing sometimes when Leif talked to her. She wasn’t even close to Ginger the kestrel’s intelligence, and likely never would be, but she was getting a lot smarter. Leif gave her a faint smile before leaning back in the chair. Well - it was clear, he needed to keep everyone far away from the Accipiters. Leif didn’t remember them being so paranoid and conspiracy-hunting, but it seemed they were on the hunt for any and all faults with Leif’s friends and loved ones, no matter how contrived and stupid those “faults” were. The last thing Leif wanted was for the Accipiters to corner someone and - he didn’t know, interrogate them? Threaten them? Leif wanted to believe that was ridiculous, even for them, but...he really didn’t know these people. That was even more true than he’d thought. At least they seemed to be intent on getting through to Leif directly - he hadn’t heard anything from the others about running into the Accipiters, though he would need to keep an eye on that situation at this point. But...he might have to do it from afar. As Henry had proved this morning, there wasn’t really anywhere safe to hide from them. And if Henry finds me with someone he wants to question, he’ll invite them along to wherever he’s dragging me... So he’d have to spend less time with...everyone. Leif grimaced - this was not exactly a great time for withdrawing from his small but valued social circle. But it wasn’t fair to drag them into this just to soothe Leif’s ruffled feelings. It’s just the rest of today, and then five more days, Leif tried to reassure himself. I survived living with them for years , I can make it five days.Part Four Markus swung his sword out in a wide, fast arc - paused - and stepped back, drawing his sword into vertical position again. Step forward, swing out quickly - stop, draw back again… Finding a field big enough to park the wagons and still leave room for Markus to keep up with his daily training had been a bit of a challenge, but the knight was glad they’d eventually found one. His commander wouldn’t approve if he found out that for over a week, Markus had not been keeping to his regimen. Besides, it was relaxing. Emotionally, anyway; physically, he was sweating what felt like a Corvus storm’s worth of water. Halfway through the next arc of his sword, Markus heard steps in the grass behind him. After finishing the swing and drawing back his sword, Markus turned to find Henry. The Accipiter heir’s arms were crossed and his eyes hard. Markus rested the point of his sword on the ground for a moment. “I take it it didn’t go well?” “Of course not,” Henry snapped. “Oh, well, pardon me - you seemed a lot more confident about it last night.” Henry snorted. His eyes drifted toward Markus’ sword, and he gestured to it, asking, “And why this so late?” Usually, of course, Markus did his sword drills early in the morning. “Because, Dad, I was up late last night.” “...Doing?” “Oh, you know. Carousing about town in a drunken revelry, visiting shady parts of town, challenging untrained men and women to swordfights.” “Markus, I’m not in the mood.” Tapping his fingers on the pommel of his sword, Markus said, “I was visiting bars. Not drinking much, just talking and seeing what I could learn.” “From drunkards in bars. I’m sure it was riveting.” Markus shrugged, not at all surprised by his brother’s opinion. “You get people talking your way, I’ll get people talking mine.” He was thinking that he’d obviously had more luck with the bar patrons than Henry had with Leif, but refrained from saying it. “So...I’m guessing you don’t really want to talk about it, but…” Henry shook his head. “There isn’t much to tell. I went to see him, commented on some of his work, offered to take him out to breakfast -” Markus held up a hand. “Wait a minute. You did this out in public?” “We needed a neutral meeting ground, Markus. Clearly the Manor was not a good place, and I didn’t want to upset the twins with an argument here.” “...Right.” Markus frowned, but let his brother continue the story. By the end of it, Markus was tempted to solidly thunk his head against the pommel of his sword. What a disaster. “I’m starting to wonder if it’ll be possible to get him to listen at all,” Henry complained. “No matter what subject we touch, he acts as if he has something personal against it and bristles up like a badger defending its den. And he will not let what happened when we got into town go. Of course, that would imply he lets anything go. By the ’Woo - he acts like nothing and none us have changed since we were children! I don’t know why he bothered agreeing to meet with us if he wasn’t going to give us a fair chance!” Markus suspected it wasn’t really good grace on Leif’s part that had brought that consent. Henry was too much like and in agreement with Lord and Lady Accipiter to really understand that saying no to them was not really an option. If Leif had told the Accipiters to stay out of Medieville...they probably would have left for the city immediately to confront him about why. “Things like this take time,” Markus said placatingly. “He’s probably still on his guard. The last time you all saw Leif...things weren’t pretty.” “Yes, but it’s been years since then. If we were still holding that against him, we wouldn’t be here!” “...Weren’t we here to deal with this whole ‘courting a Stallion’ issue?” “That as well, but - if anything, that shows why we all need to make amends.” Henry sighed, closing his eyes and clearly forcing himself to calm down. In a lower voice, he said, “Maybe Mother and Father were right, and I should have come to check in on him after we heard about the Coronation. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken this so far if he had someone around to keep him company. Someone who wasn’t a Stallion.” Markus constrained his reaction to a slight tension of the shoulders. The two brothers hadn’t even been able to have a civil breakfast together, how would they have managed living in the same city? Instead of commenting on that, however, Markus said, “Well, it’s a little late to try that.” He shifted his stance slightly. “Maybe now I should talk with him. I wasn’t around very often when he was younger; he shouldn’t have as much of a grudge with me as he does with you and our parents.” Henry’s expression turned suspicious, and Markus knew exactly why. “...Thank you, Markus, but -” Henry shook his head a little, and when it stilled, he wore his usual friendly grin. “You may be the knight, but I’m still your older brother. I don’t want to put you in Leif’s warpath.” Oh, of course. How generous. “I’ll have to talk to him sooner or later. I didn’t come all this way because Chamile and Jonathon need a babysitter. Because they don’t.” “You’ll get a chance.” Henry raked his fingers through his hair. “Just - let Mother and Father and I deal with this issue first. Speaking of, Mother and Father are still at their meeting?” Markus nodded. “I thought so. Well - I’m going to go write to Astrid and the kids in the meantime, then.” As Henry turned away, Markus asked, “What if you can’t get him to change his mind?” Henry didn’t answer, but the slamming of the door to his room in the enchanted wagon certainly implied how he felt about dealing with that possibility. Markus sighed, lifted his sword, and resumed practice. This was going to be a long week. ------- Leif returned from taking Forthwind hunting for the evening - he’d gone into the woods by Lake Plume to avoid any chance of his family seeing a snowy owl and being drawn to his location like wolves to a circling raven - and found another letter on his desk. It was a request for his assistance with a construction project. A construction project at the head of the Ibis river. The same project his family was supposedly here to confer about. His immediate thought was that the Accipiters had done this - they’d wrangled him into the committee or - or whatever was in charge of this project. Maybe they’d even written this letter themselves - it wasn’t as if Leif would be able to recognize their handwriting. But why? Why did they think it would be a good idea to nag him when they were supposed to be working? Leif dropped into his chair and pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes for a good twenty or thirty seconds. It… was possible that this was just coincidence. That there was a magical problem, and, unaware Leif was related to the Raylish nobility, they’d just invited him along out of genuine need. Though how could anyone miss the resemblance between Leif and his father, or Leif and Henry? Of course, it didn’t really matter whose idea it had been - Leif had to go. This was the sort of contract job he was likely going to be charging money for, so if they needed his help - they really did need magical help... A servant knocked on the door to announce dinner. Leif sighed. He hadn’t eaten much of breakfast, skipped lunch all-together, and he had been hungry while on the way home with Forthwind. But now his appetite was gone again; if Leif went down and tried to eat, he was barely going to pick at anything. Already his stomach was starting to ache from all of these nauseated acrobatics. Leif tried to distract himself for the next few hours with work, study, even rereading old letters - it didn’t work, and he felt no better by the time he gave up and went to bed. It was another several hours of staring at the ceiling before he could get to sleep. Even then, it was a fitful rest, broken by hazy dream-recollections of the arguments with Henry and his parents, and stirring briefly awake again at what seemed like every noise in the city. Five days, he told himself every time he flopped back down to try and get back to sleep. Five was starting to sound like an unbearably large number. ------- It was late morning when Leif left the manor the next day. His eyes felt wrinkled and rough as lizard skin and his stomach lurched despite the fact that all he’d eaten was a few nibbles of bread and a bit of fruit. He’d brought Ayleth along - only realizing halfway to the meeting place that bringing a bird who was the black and white of House Accipiter might be taken as a sign of...of something. Agreement, maybe? Leif very briefly considered that he could send Ayleth back...but he didn’t want to. If he wasn’t going to be able to see his human friends, then it seemed only fair he get to have a raptor with him, someone who didn’t care whom Leif was courting so long as he gave her treats sometimes, too. ...Red eyes and a gray tail - that’s close enough to maroon and silver, he decided finally. So if they want to point that out… They won’t even notice the colors, I’m being stupid. Still, he felt a little better as he continued his journey. That didn’t last long. Leif’s stomach plummeted when he saw his parents inside the small gazebo that was serving as an impromptu meeting spot. Along with them stood a small cluster of people Leif vaguely recognized as being in charge of city management - in charge of what buildings were to be built where, and how, and who owned what land and the like. Leif wasn’t reassured that things were going to go well by his mother’s look of disapproval in Ayleth’s direction, or his father’s stern, “You’re about twenty minutes late.” “I know - I’m sorry,” Leif said, mostly to the city management. “Shouldn’t your bird be back in its mews, Leif?” Cateline asked pointedly. Oh, here we go. “Ayleth won’t cause any trouble. If she starts getting uncomfortable, I can send her off and she’ll make her own way back to Marson.” “Surely it’s not -” “With all due respect, Lady Accipiter,” one of the city planners said, “We really need to get started and we’d like to get Master Leif’s help as soon as possible.” “We can talk later,” Leif agreed for all three of them, just wanting to get this whole thing over with as soon as possible. “What is it you need my help with?” They explained, and the project seemed simple enough - there was a broken waterwheel downstream, and a Medievillian wanted to remove the broken pieces, install a new waterwheel, and set up a mill. Evidently the Accipiters had gotten wind of the plan when it was first proposed, and protested with the argument that the area had become a spawning ground for a species of fish that Raylish fishermen caught and sold, and that disturbing the river might interfere with the irrigation systems that supplied Raylier’s vineyards. When his parents explained this argument, they sounded genuinely concerned about their city and its people’s economic welfare. Of course, with fish exports and wine being Raylier’s main source of income, and many of the city’s jobs being based around those two industries, they actually had a right to be worried. It was a little strange to see reasonable argument from them, after the fiasco of a conversation the day they had arrived, but only a little. Leif knew his family excelled at diplomacy when it came to external affairs. One of the city planners finally said, “The Lord and Lady have been assured that the new mill won’t cause problems to their irrigation systems. However, that leaves the issue of the spawning grounds. Lord and Lady Accipiter conferred with their experts, and we with ours, and we’ve concluded it isn’t the spot in the river that matters - it’s the ruined wheel that’s drawing them.” Leif nodded. “It protects them, right? The same way some fish use the cypress trees in Corvus.” Noting a few surprised expressions - his parents’ among them - Leif explained, “It makes it a little harder for birds to get to them. That’s how I know.” “We believe that if the broken pieces of the old waterwheel are moved a little downstream, in as close to the same positions relative to each other as before, the fish won’t know the difference and will spawn there instead. As an added benefit, the fish won’t be in danger from the new waterwheel, either. Lord and Lady Accipiter offered to use their magic to help get this resolved quickly as possible; however, we thought a third mage might be helpful.” Leif raised his eyebrows in his parents’ direction. “And you didn’t invite Henry?” “A third mage wasn’t our suggestion. We didn’t even know you were doing this sort of thing with your magic,” Richard argued. Leif almost asked what sort of thing, because he assumed his father didn’t approve of it - a development so shocking Leif wished he could have a heart attack and get out of this nonsense - but the city planners were looking edgy again, and Leif didn’t want to have a third public feud with the Accipiters. “Well, I’m fine with Henry not coming along. So - are we taking care of this today? No time like the present - let’s get this over with. So Lord and Lady Accipiter aren’t stuck here any longer than they have to be.” It was an oppressively silent ride on horseback to the head of the Ibis river. Leif kept his horse close to those of the city planners’, pretending to be too busy watching the treetops for interesting birds to be paying attention to the fact that he was leaving absolutely no room for his parents to intercept him. Hopefully they would just never have any discussion about ”this sort of thing”, or any discussion at all, really - Leif would be more than happy with that outcome. They arrived at the broken waterwheel, and Leif put aside his irritation for a moment to properly study the situation. Lots of stacked pieces - no wonder the city planners wanted more mages, some of these would be a puzzle to put together and would require a lot of careful coordination. They picked the wrong team for that, Leif thought grimly. “You’ll be moving them down there,” one of the city planners said, pointing to a thin pole bearing a purple and gray flag several yards in the distance. “Will you be able to get them that far?” Leif nodded as he dismounted the horse. “That won’t be a problem - it’s getting everything in the exact same place that’s going to be the challenge.” He heard others, presumably his parents, dismounting behind him as he headed to the river. “Right,” Lord Accipiter said, drawing his wand and pointing it toward the broken wood planks. “We’ll need to start at the back and bottom and work our way forward and up. Someone needs to freeze the water as someone else draws the backmost piece out, so the entire structure doesn’t collapse.” “I’ll take care of the ice,” Leif said curtly. His aim and control would be the most precise, so he would have the least chance of accidently freezing the boards in place, or missing a spot and causing the entire thing to fall inward, and he could add resistance to being melted by the warm water and rushing current without as much drain on his power. “Make whatever piece you’re moving glow or something so I know which one it is.” “Leif, please try to be civil. I know you don’t want to be here, but this isn’t our fault.” “Oh, of course it isn’t,” Leif said with mock pleasantry. “ Nothing’s ever your fault, is it?” “Leif -” “But that’s fine, I know you don’t want me here, either, so why don’t we just get this over with?” Ayleth shifted uneasily on his shoulder, probably able to feel the tension just as much as any of the humans. “Can you please just show me which piece you want to move?” He could practically feel his father’s scowl, but after a moment, one of the pieces started to glow green. Leif nodded sharply, and when the piece started to move at his father’s ” Wooguardium Leviosa!”, Leif carefully followed it with a trail of ice. Or, he started to - his father suddenly stopped moving the plank. Leif turned to him in frustration. “ What?” “You...didn’t say a spell.” ...Right. Leif had almost forgotten - the people around here were used to seeing Leif cast spells with no more than a flick of his wand. But then, most Medievillians weren’t as well-versed in incantational magic and its rules and limitations as Corvid nobility. Turning back to the water, Leif said duly, “It’s an archmage thing.” “How long have you been able to do that?” Cateline asked. Leif shrugged. “A few years. I would’ve brought it up before, but you didn’t come here to ask how the whole archmage thing is going. Are you going to pull this piece out, or not?” Richard sighed sharply, but recast his spell and pulled the piece free. Cateline pulled out the one just on top of it, and Leif filled the spaces with ice. Leif remained upstream, staring at the water, while his parents went to put the old pieces of the waterwheel in place. When he heard their footsteps returning, Leif lifted his wand to prepare another ice spell, but his father said, “Leif…” in his “we’re going to have a talk” tone. Leif closed his eyes. “ What?” “Listen to us. We did come here to see you, and to try and get...caught up.” But… Leif predicted. And sure enough, Cateline added, “But this issue with your personal life isn’t something we can just set aside and ignore.” “We would rather be discussing your archmage studies,” Richard said. “Our intent was not to turn this visit into a protracted argument.” “Then stop making it one,” Leif pleaded. “I don’t get why it’s so hard for you to believe, but - Kirin isn’t trying to use me. Can you just trust me on that?” “You don’t understand. We can’t - “ Leif’s temper snapped again. “No, of course you can’t. Sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking.” “Can we just slow down for a moment and - “ “ No - the last thing I want it to listen to you list all the reasons you don’t like Kirin slowly! Can we just get on with this, and then we can all go home?” Leif’s father sighed. “We aren’t through with this conversation. But let’s keep working so we can get as much done as possible.” “...Agreed,” Cateline said. Leif just motioned for them to pick another piece. They worked in silence for a few hours before hitting a point of complexity. “We need these three at the same time,” Cateline said, making two planks and a chunk of the wheel glow. “Leif, we’ll need you to take one.” “Fine. Move the wheel and that plank there. I’ll take the other plank after I freeze where it’s supporting.” They actually managed to work everything free, Leif clipping his freeze spell just in time to snatch the plank, move it, and then quickly freeze the water it had lain in before snatching the piece out of the water again.. As they started downriver; Leif’s mother asked, “So - you do archmage work for the townspeople?” “Generally not archmage-level. But yes. I help with magical problems.” It was something Leif was proud of doing, so he braced himself for his parents’ criticism. But to his surprise, his father said, “This is the sort of thing Stefan does in Raylier. I imagine you earn a stipend for it from the Keep?” “Er - no. I mean, if the Keep needs me, they might pay me, depending on what the situation is.” He decided it was probably not a good idea to mention that he had met the king back when the man had been Aldrich the sculptor, and so a lot of the time it felt less like he was doing a job for the king and more as if he were doing a favor for a friend - not something one charged money for. “Otherwise, it depends on what it is and who needs it. I charge if it’s a luxury and they can afford it. If it’s important but paying isn’t really feasible, I do it for free. I can afford to be charitable.” “...Interesting. Was this something you did in Solis as well?” Leif frowned. “No. There were plenty of mages who could help with magical issues in Solis, and I...couldn’t handle all the people,” he admitted. “I’m better at that now, and Medieville has a lot more...complex magical problems. So - ” “Now that you can seem to handle a city full of people - have you ever considered going back to Solis and helping people there?” Leif’s stomach clenched. “I’m still in service to Lord Everett; he can contact me anytime he needs my help in Solis,” he said defensively. “But he wouldn’t call you unless it were an emergency,” Cateline pointed out. “It’s...nice that you’re helping all these people, but surely your talents would be better-spent in Corvus, helping your own people? Lord Everett didn’t hire you to assist a completely different province.” “I - No, he didn’t but - like I said, the problems here are complicated, you can’t just throw an ordinary mage at all of them. Besides - if the king needs magical assistance, and I’m the one who can do the best job solving it, then that reflects well on House Jade.” This was not an objection he’d been expecting - the politics were blindingly clear, even to him. ‘Woo, the point was one he had raised to Lord Everett to convince him to let Leif stay in Medieville. But...maybe he’d been wrong - maybe that wasn’t a good political point, maybe that had nothing to do with why Lord Everett agreed to let him stay, maybe Leif wasn’t doing anything good by his House… Cateline, in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing but came across to Leif as patronizing, said, “It just seems that you’re starting to step away from House Jade the way you stepped away from Accipiter when you went to the church. You can’t jump from House to House; if you leave Jade, you can’t be certain another House will take you in, or at the least that they won’t do so for ulterior means.” It took Leif a moment to process that. “Don’t worry,” he said coldly. “I’m sure House Stallion doesn’t want me, either.” “I didn’t mean to imply - “ By now they had reached the site of the new fish nursery, and Leif, just wanting the conversation to move away from yet another way he’d disappointed his parents, spoke over his mother; “We’re here. Let me get my piece into place first.” His parents either didn’t catch or didn’t care that Leif was done with any and all conversation. Richard flicked his wand a touch to move his plank of wood through the air and remarked, “So, Henry told us you’re teaching magic?” Leif had to fight down a sudden urge to scream from sheer, undiluted frustration. “Yes. I am.” “To Medievillians.” “Xavier’s part of House Jade; by allegiances, he’s as Corvid as I am.” “And the rebel girl?” His father glowered at Leif. “By the sound of it, she certainly didn’t want to be Kythian, let alone Corvid.” “...What?” Leif glanced over as his wheel piece started to enter the water. “The Shadows were trying to help Kyth - their methods were....maybe not the best, but they wanted Kythians who weren’t nobility to have a voice in how they they’re governed. They got what they wanted - and Kyth is still in one piece.” “For now. You do understand you let a group of peasants who know nothing about how to rule a kingdom govern the country for two years now?” “ I let them? What did you think I was going to do? You weren’t honestly sitting in Raylier thinking you’d get a report from the capital that an archmage had gone crazy and - and attacked the Shadow Council?” “Of course not - but - “ “They’re not in charge, anyway - that’s still the king’s job,” Leif went on. “The Council’s like - almost like another noble House, politically. Sort of a House Medieville.” “A House made up of rebels,” Cateline said crossly. “And you’re training one of them in magic-use.” “I - “ Ayleth chittered, and when Leif turned to glance at her, he saw that the mill pieces were starting to wobble in the air a little. He concentrated and his wheel fragment became steady. All the anger was starting to interfere with their focus - and if they messed this up, it was going to take another age to fix it. All the same, Leif couldn’t help himself from replying to his mother’s comment. “Yes,” he said stiffly. “Yes, I’m training a former rebel to control magic because it’s dangerous to her otherwise. What?” he added scathingly, “would you rather I took your approach and just not bothered with it?” “‘Woo above, we’ve explained a thousand times - “ “Your boards are shaking!” Leif interrupted. And they were, swaying dangerously close to Leif’s wheel - which was just submerged enough that he couldn’t yank it out of the way without potentially disturbing the rest of the recreated ruins. “Would you just listen to us for a moment?” “How about you listen to me and fix your blasted planks?!” Ayleth finally tired of the noise, and took off from Leif’s shoulder. “For all that you complain about us not listening - “ Leif saw that one of the planks was about to hit his wheel - and in a burst of frustration, he spread his hovering spell out, knocking his parents’ spells aside and snatching the pieces up with his own magic. Richard and Cateline jerked as if they’d been shocked. “What are you - “ “What does it look like? Putting these in the right spot!” “You can’t do it on your own - let them go, we’ll catch them,” Cateline promised. Leif shook his head. “No - I’ll do it.” “Leif -” “No! Now just let me fix this!” Leif snapped. The simplest solution would be to let his parents take the wood back - but he was not in any mood to let them help. Unfortunately, that left him with the task of moving three separate objects at the same time and in different directions - that would have been hard enough on its own, but he didn’t have a lot of room for error. If a piece jostled, it could break, either itself or one of the other pieces or both. Leif narrowed his focus to the magic, pushing everything else aside. If he considered each movement as separate from the hovering, that might be enough separation to work. He curled his wrist a little, adding a few more runes to help separate the two. Even with that help, he would need to constantly and rapidly recite the movements in his head to keep each piece moving the way it needed to. And he would need to speed that up where everything intersected to avoid bumping them into each other. Leif took a long, slow breath, and got started. Lower the wheel...scoot the plank back...move the other plank to the left...drop the wheel, now it was in the water...move the first plank, tilt the second one...Wheel had hit the bottom, so lower the first plank, keep the second plank where it was, keep the wheel still, first plank underwater, second plank could start coming down, wheel, first plank, second plank, wheel, first plank, second plank… It took what Leif guessed to be several minutes, but finally, he had settled the waterwheel in the proper place and slotted the planks through the proper gaps one of them supporting the other. He lowered his wand, shaking some stiffness from his arms, and found his parents staring at him. His father reached out a hand for his shoulder. “Are you -” Leif drew back from the oncoming contact. “Am I what?” he snarled. His father’s face flickered to an emotion Leif didn’t have enough time to read before settling into a scowl. “I’ll tell you what I am,” Leif went on. “ Done.” Cateline hesitantly said, “It’s past noon...maybe we should go back to town for lunch?” Leif was already storming away. “Town, yes. Lunch - I’ll find my own.” He couldn’t believe they had just done that - let themselves get so lost in their criticisms that they hadn’t paid a lick of attention to their magic, and nearly ruined their own project. I didn’t realize picking at my flaws was such a distracting hobby! Leif thought with venom. Leif reached the city planners first, and started preparing his horse for riding. His parents arrived soon after, explaining the intent to break for lunch with utmost politeness and a light air to their tones, as if nothing had gone wrong downriver. As they all started off, Leif’s parents continued the conversation behind him, chattering about the city and its many impressive buildings, and all in all making themselves a thousand times more personable than Leif had or would ever be. It wasn’t long before Leif got tired of listening to them be courteous and friendly with complete strangers, and without a word of explanation, he nudged his horse to a faster pace and left them all behind. He saw Ayleth swoop into sight, changing her flight course. The kite kept with Leif until he reached the stable at the edge of town and had to pause there to return the horse. Watching Ayleth fly on in the direction of Marson Manor, Leif stopped to consider what he was going to do next. He wanted to go see Kirin. Leif’s nerves were a mess, he was exhausted, agitated, felt awful physically and emotionally - and Kirin was so calming and reassuring to be around. The Stallion was probably busy with his bookkeeping work right now, of course, but Leif could be quiet and non-distracting, just sit off to the side and listen to Kirin’s quill scratching over papers… But if Leif’s parents came looking for him, or if Henry was around town somewhere, Leif might accidently lead them right to Kirin. And he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to do that. The last thing Kirin needed or deserved were more insults and hostile suspicions from the Accipiters. It’s not fair, Leif thought sullenly. But a promise was a promise; with a sad sigh, he headed for Marson Manor. In his room, he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. He tried to calm his anger, but every time he managed to settle even a little bit, some tiny comment would enter his mind and Leif’s temper would rapidly burn down and leave him furious all over again. Leif couldn’t believe his family had the audacity to do this - to come into his city after sixteen years of neglect and then seven of complete silence only to tell Leif over and over again that everything he’d done and every decision he made was wrong, and constantly threatening that they would do something about it. And there were still four more days to go. Eventually, though, exhaustion started to outweigh the anger; naturally, that was the moment when someone knocked on the door. Leif sat up straight, all the blood rushing to his head so fast it blacked out his vision for a moment. Probably a servant coming to tell him it was time for dinner, he realized. He hadn’t eaten lunch - even though he wasn’t really hungry now, he probably should at least try to eat something. Reaching for one of his boots to pull it back on, he called out, “Yes?” The door cracked open. “Master Leif? Your brother is here to see you.” Leif gritted his teeth. “Henry?” “Yes.” “Tell him to go away.” “Er - are you sure? Do you know what he wants?” “To be a complete -” With effort, Leif held back the profanity. “Just...tell him I’m busy and can’t talk.” The servant left and Leif flopped back onto the bed. What did Henry want? To scold Leif for his behavior with their parents? More ranting about Kirin? Another round of pretend socialization? Prying for information on Xavier and Elin? A few minutes later, the servant returned and announced, “Lord Henry says he hopes your business goes well. He came to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening with the rest of the Accipiter Lords and Ladies - six o'clock, at their caravan in the field near the Lyre.” ...This has to be some kind of joke. “Well, if Henry’s still here, you can tell him from me where he can shove that invitation.” “He’s left,” the servant said carefully. “He also said that you wouldn’t want to come, but that you’re expected there.” “Well, aren’t they going to be disappointed! I’m not going!” “...As you like, Master Leif.” “What? You think I should go?” Leif snapped, sitting up again. The servant tensed, but steadily said, “It doesn’t matter to me or the staff either way. It’s your invitation, I’m only passing the message on.” “Yes, I know, I just -” Leif huffed irritably. It’s not the servants’ fault, Leif. You don’t have to be mean to everyone. “...Nevermind,” he muttered. “It’s - it’s not your problem. ...Sorry. For yelling.” Slowly, the servant nodded. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he said, before stepping out of the room again. Guilt flooded in the minute the door closed. It had been a long time since Leif had been so short-tempered with the servants, and it really wasn’t fair to them. Especially to a servant who’d already had to deal with Henry. Henry - ah, ‘Woo, they want to have dinner. Leif groaned aloud, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his palms. It was like they were trying to ensure things went as horribly as possible - had they not learned their lesson seven years ago? ...Well, obviously not, but - all the same. There was no way Leif was walking into this - it would end with someone not walking back out. And they can’t force me to come to their stupid dinner - I’m twenty-seven, I can do what I please, and… ...and he was still stuck as part of the waterwheel project with his parents. If he didn’t go, they would just say everything they’d wanted to say during that, with the added topic of “how dare you not come to dinner”. They might start bringing his siblings along. And all this in front of the city planners, and while they were messing with magic… He couldn’t deal with the consequences of not going, either. Well, he definitely wasn’t hungry now. Leif sighed and trudged to his wardrobe. Henry having come here the night before rather than the day of the dinner meant that Leif was being given time to prepare, which meant in turn that he was expected to dress nicely. Leif didn’t have much in the way of fancy clothes, aside from his white Woomas garb. He could probably cobble something together - so much wasted time, and all so he could...not even impress people he didn’t care for, but so he could avoid being scolded for dressing inappropriately for a formal occasion and as someone of his station. He could imagine it already - ”You go to the Keep dressed like you’re prepared for a hike? King Galateo must be so embarrassed. Don’t the other counselors and advisors dress much nicer than you do? You have to dress nicely or you won’t make a good impression…” Leif hurled a few shirts onto his bed, and only then realized he was getting angry about a conversation that hadn’t even happened yet. And wouldn’t, either, because he was making sure it wouldn’t right now. And yet, his blood was boiling and his skin felt hot and his stomach was knotted... He went to the window and yanked it open, leaning on the sill for a moment and letting the fresh air batter his face. Get a hold of yourself, Leif. You can’t start raging at everybody, or you’re going to find yourself out a lot of friends when this is all over. Controlling his temper had never been something he was good at, but it wasn’t usually this bad. ...It was just hard to be patient and cautious and thoughtful of where he was displacing his anger when he was feeling swallowed by it all the time. Reluctantly, Leif turned back to picking clothes after only a few minutes at the window. He found a presentable combination, and draped it over his desk chair before shoving everything else back in the wardrobe, snatching a book on birds from his desk, and curling up with it in his bed in the hopes that he could just forget some of this stupidity for a while. Maybe he’d even manage to make himself tired. While Leif did fall asleep earlier than he might have without the book - though still late - it backfired badly. All through the night, he kept waking up from dreams of birds speaking with his family’s voices - much to his panicked frustration, as he was trying to find other birds. Though Leif felt disoriented and confused when he half-woke up from them during the night, he was able to guess fairly quickly once he fully woke up around dawn what the dreams meant. It wasn’t much of a mystery. Once again, everyone else was present by the time Leif arrived at the river that morning, riding Troiss, the Marsons’ bay mare. He was exhausted and agitated and reeling between nausea and ravenous hunger, having only managed to force down a little bread and cheese before leaving the manor. Before his parents could say anything, Leif grumbled, “I know I’m late, I’m sorry. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” Cateline asked.
“Henry says I have to, so I guess so.”
“You could try not to look like you’re walking to your own hanging,” Richard said. “Are you sure you’re actually happy here? Every time we’ve seen you, you look miserable.”
“I wonder what the correlation there could be!” Leif snapped sarcastically as he got off Troiss’ back. He caught a glimpse of his parents giving each other frustrated glances.
Their work moving the pieces started off about the same as the previous day - Richard and Cateline moved a piece, Leif froze the water to keep the rest of the structure stable, and nobody spoke to each other. Richard and Cateline were probably just trying to avoid more public squabbling, or embarassing things like their son needing to take over their spellwork, and saving everything for later...but at least, Leif thought, he didn’t have to deal with their criticisms right now.
A few hours passed. Lost in his own glum thoughts and worrying over dinner, Leif didn’t think much of the sudden stop to the quiet conversation of the city planners were having - until he heard a familiar voice calling out a greeting.
Leif whirled around. He’d half-hoped he was just hearing things, but no - Henry had shown up. The heir was dismounting a horse, a piebald Leif was fairly sure had been one of the steeds pulling the Accipiters’ wagons. Certainly the black-and-white bannered reins were not from a Medievillian stable.
Leif looked frantically downriver, but his parents were still by the purple banner, placing more pieces into the water. ‘Pit, he didn’t want to have to deal with Henry alone...
“Afternoon, Leif!” Henry said cheerfully. It was like their argument at The Yellow Rose had never happened; already Leif felt angry and insulted. He hadn’t been expecting an apology or anything, but some sign that Henry was still thinking about anything Leif had said that day might have been nice.
“What are you doing here?” Leif asked. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to put proper outrage into his voice at this point. The idea of having to deal with his parents and Henry felt like a huge manacle around his neck.
“Hello to you, too - Mother and Father asked me to come by and help once Markus was ready to watch the little ones; we didn’t want the three of you stuck out here for too long with dinner to prepare for and all. You are coming to dinner?”
“Yes, I got your message - I don’t have a choice.” Leif crossed his arms and turned back to the river. “Our parents are downstream, why don’t you see if they need a hand.”
“Look, I know you’re not exactly jumping for joy over this. But you could maybe try not to look like you’d rather be scrubbing the walls of the ‘Pit? Chamile and Jonathon and Markus, they’ll be there, too. And they’ve really been looking forward to this visit.”
“Oh. Great.” Leif remembered that Chamile had wanted to ask him something - judging by the way every other Accipiter was acting, though, it was probably just some rumor she wanted to confirm the truth of.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“I don’t think we were looking forward to the same things. Just go help our parents, all right?”
He heard Henry sigh. “Okay, I get it - we got...bogged down by a lot of things. That’s the price of being a noble, you have to hold yourself - and your children - to certain standards. It doesn’t mean we hate you or anything.”
“I left you alone. I don’t use your name. You invited yourselves up here - nothing I’ve done would’ve reflected on you, except now it does because you’ve made it into such a big deal!”
“Nobody forgets who came from where in Corvus - everyone there knows who you are and what House you were born to. And even if they didn’t - you are using the Jades’ name. Like it or not, that reputation’s part of your responsibility.”
“Well, when Lord Everett tells me to stop, then I’ll consider it.”
“No,” Henry said with an irritated sigh. “I don’t think you would. You’d just drop the name and the House, and I don’t know what you’d do then. Archmage or not - what would you do on your own, as a Houseless ex-noble?”
“Just leave me alone, Henry.” ‘Woo above, what was taking their parents so long to get back?
“You can’t just ignore - “
“I’m warning you one last time. Leave me alone.”
“Fine.” Maybe Henry hadn’t entirely forgotten or forgiven their argument - it hadn’t taken him long to sound openly angry again. “Sit here and sulk. But this attitude better be gone by dinner, understand?” Leif said and did nothing. “Leif.”
For ’Woo’s sake, why wouldn’t Henry just go away? His fingers digging into his arms, Leif forced a brief nod. He had no intention of putting on a happy face for these people, but he needed Henry to shut up and leave before a fight started just upriver from their parents. An argument like that...he couldn’t handle that right now.
Henry seemed to accept that; Leif heard him walking away. Releasing a shaky breath and reaching up to run his thumb over the veins of his feather pendant, Leif glared down at the water. Sulking, as Henry put it. He didn’t really know what else they were expecting - fake smiles and acting? Leif had never been able to put up a facade like that. Why did they suddenly expect him to be able to now? Dinner’s going to be a disaster.
Eventually, the three Accipiters came back from downstream. They were chatting about something to do with Raylier, an issue with the vineyards, Leif thought. He didn’t quite understand everything they were talking about, but didn’t bother asking. As before, he kept his comments to basic instructions related to moving the broken waterwheel pieces. Of course, with his family’s constant chattering, it took about twice as long to get the pieces selected and out of the water.
It felt like an interminable amount of time had gone by before finally, finally, Cateline said, “I think we’ll be able to finish the rest of this tomorrow,” as she and the other Accipiters came back upstream.
“Agreed,” Henry said, pocketing his wand and flexing his fingers. “We still have until the end of the week, right?”
One of the city planners nodded. “Yes, and we’re actually ahead of schedule at this rate.”
“Good, then - I don’t think any of our families will mind us getting an early start to the evening?” Richard asked.
Leif got to his feet, vastly relieved - there was still a little over an hour until dinner. Not as much time as he would have liked, but any sort of escape right now would be welcome. Without bothering to wait for his parents to be free from their casual conversation with the city planners, Leif saddled Troiss and started for home.
He was a little ways down the path when he heard Henry chuckle dryly at something and then call out, “Remember, six o’clock, Leif!”
Leif nudged Troiss to a faster pace. Someone had probably remarked that it had been rude of him to leave without saying goodbye. Of course. Even though they had just seen the Accipiters jump down Leif’s throat the previous day, the city planners - just like everyone else - were probably taken in by the superficial charm.
After all this was over, Leif realized, everyone was probably going to compare him to his family, and were naturally going to find him lacking. Great. Because it wasn’t bad enough that they were going to be here for an entire week, driving Leif away from his friends and Kirin, giving him no time to rest or recover, that they disapproved of absolutely every piece of his life - no, they also had to leave behind a brand new standard for Leif to not measure up to.
...This was not helping him calm down for dinner.
Even though he tried shifting his thoughts to other things, Leif felt no better by the time he returned to Marson Manor. He lingered in the stable for a while, tending to Troiss. He’d hoped it might calm him down, but Leif knew he was only putting off the inevitable, and he felt just as miserable and frustrated when he left the mare with a brushed coat and a few more treats than were probably strictly healthy.
Both Hadrian and Ayleth were on the perch in Leif’s room when he entered. Leif swore and hurriedly checked over his dinner attire - but thankfully, Hadrian appeared not to have been interested in it. This wouldn’t have been the first time the male kite had tried to ruin something Leif had carelessly left out.
“Lucky you,” Leif told Hadrian. “This is not a good time to get in trouble with me.” The kite completely ignored Leif, wisely focusing on preening Ayleth’s feathers. Leif wished he could take at least one of them along - but if Lord Everett didn’t allow raptors at the dinner table, Lord Accipiter definitely wouldn’t. And his parents had been annoyed enough when Leif had brought Ayleth with him to the river.
With a heavy sigh, Leif closed the window and drew the curtains so he could change. No gloves tonight; he hoped there would be no need to guard himself against too much sensation. Not halfcloak, either; the garment didn’t weigh much, of course, but Leif’s shoulders still felt uncomfortably bare despite the fabric of his shirt definitely covering them.
Finally, Leif pulled on his necklace, ran a wet comb through his hair, and prayed to Lord ‘Woo that by some miracle this dinner might not be completely awful. Leif could practically see the god’s raised, skeptical eyebrow. Even miracles had their limits.
He made his way through the streets, which were fairly packed; there was still plenty of light to shop and work by at this time of year, after all. Leif hunched his shoulders against the crowd. Their noise and movement was battering at him more than usual. No surprise, given how stressed he was. At least the field wasn’t too far off.
Hanging lanterns glowed from both wagons; the glow was too steady to be firelight, but their colored glass screens made Leif think of the rainbow of paper Lyellian lamps at the disaster of a festival. He’d rather be in that drunken mess again than doing this - Morgaine and Elin might have been far from sober and nearly unmanageable at the time, but they’d still been better company than the Accipiters were likely to be.
Only one wagon had its door turned toward the street, so Leif figured that was where he was supposed to go. The bells of the Grand Woo Cathedral started tolling the hour as Leif approached; they had finished their ringing well before he finally mustered the courage to knock on the door.
Just as he reached for the handle, assuming everyone would be seated at this point, the door was pulled open by Chamile. She was smiling - nervously, but at least not infuriatingly smugly like Henry would have been. “Hello, Leif! Come on in!”
“Uh...thanks. ...You look nice,” he added politely, motioning to the girl’s dress, which had a light feather pattern on the skirts.
As Leif had expected, the caravan had been magically enlarged on the inside, enough so to hold a table with eight seats. Everyone else was already there and, predictably, all dressed in black and white. Hadrian and Ayleth would have matched exquisitely. Leif was wearing enough green to feel instantly conspicuous. Oh well - too late to change now.
Food had already been laid out on the table as well. It wasn’t a huge feast, but it did include more than one main course and several sides. Leif wondered briefly how they had prepared all this - then remembered the servants who had been driving the wagon. No doubt they had brought along other aid as well.
Chamile took a seat next to Jonathon, and considering the only other option available was one seat down from Henry and right next to Markus - still of unknown alliance - Leif decided to take the seat next to Chamile. It did put him across from the Accipiter heir, and directly diagonal from his father at the head of the table...but Chamile seemed to be a friendly presence. And he certainly didn’t want to sit diagonally from his mother at the opposite head of the table.
“Leif,” his father said decorously. Leif’s shoulders tensed automatically despite the neutral tone, but all Richard added for the moment was, “I’m pleased to see you made it on time.”
“It’s not as if I try to be late,” Leif grumbled, eyes dropping to his plate.
“Well, if everyone’s on time, can we get started?” Markus suggested.
“Prayer first,” Richard reminded them. As if Corvids would forget.
I know I’m asking for a lot of favors tonight, Lord Woo, Leif thought as he prayed, ignoring his father as he recited a long prayer Leif distantly recognized as being from the Book of Strength, but please...I’m pretty sure you wanted me here, and wanted me to be with Kirin, so...help them understand. Or, if I’m supposed to make them get it...I don’t know how, I need help. I just...I can’t do this much longer. He took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. If you can’t help, okay. I get it. It’s asking a lot. At least let my friends and Kirin have a good night. ...Thanks. Leif waited for his father’s prayer to finish, and reluctantly opened his eyes and returned his attention to dinner.
“We have some wine, if anyone wants it,” Henry offered, reaching behind him to seize a bottle from a small shelf. “Leif, this is a new variety, it didn’t go on market until after you’d left for Iscaria and they haven’t started selling it much outside of Corvus, and let me say - they’re missing out.”
“...That’s all right. I’ll have water.” Leif had no desire to get even close to muddle-headed around his family; usually he could handle a glass of wine with a meal and not feel the alcohol’s effects. But he doubted he would be eating enough to offset its effects tonight. Anyway, by now Leif had to admit to himself that alcohol really didn’t do anything to help his nerves.
“Are you sure? I know you wouldn’t want to drink to excess, but it’s very good - medium-red, the grapes were harvested in the autumn…”
Leif quickly lost track of what Henry was trying to tell him in a thicket of wine-related terminology. Maybe a normal person could have sort of guessed at what he was trying to say, but Leif wasn’t particularly experienced even with tasting wine. ...This is just him showing off how much he knows, isn’t it?
“...That sounds...good,” Leif said when he figured Henry had finished. “But no, thank you.” He pulled his wand from his holster to fill his goblet.
Henry looked a bit irate - Because I don’t want wine? It’s not a personal insult, you moron! - but he was distracted by Markus. “Here, stop talking it up and start pouring. Speaking of drinks, though - Leif, we heard about that Khotan mage who was selling enchanted alcohol up here a couple months ago?”
“Er, yes.” As everyone started serving food or passing wine glasses to Henry to fill, Leif gave a quick, abbreviated version of the story, leaving out Morgaine, Elin, and Kirin’s encounters with the drink.
“Sounds like a mess,” Markus said when Leif had finished.
“That’s an awful thing to do,” Cateline agreed. “Even ignoring the people who are absolute monsters when they drink, there’s no way he could avoid selling that stuff to priests or mages. Not unless he knew every single one of them, in the town and visiting for the festival.”
Jonathon nodded and said, “Which he couldn’t have, if he had just graduated from Khotan.”
Henry, delicately corking the bottle of wine, said, “I’m surprised you didn’t get into any trouble for your vigilantism, Leif.”
Leif narrowed his eyes. The way he’d emphasized that word… “He hurt a lot of people, and was perfectly willing to hurt more to get away without any consequences. I did what I needed to do to protect the city.”
“Still. I’m surprised.”
Leif shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say to that, or what Henry was trying to get at. Vigilantism, that could mean he’d found out about Xavier...but what was the point of needling Leif about that?
Lord Accipiter finished serving himself, and after a glance down the table, presumably to make sure his wife had also served herself, Richard cut into his meat. Now the rest of the table could start eating, and Leif decided to take advantage of the sudden shuffling of forks and knives to change the topic of conversation.
“So - uhm, Chamile, Jonathon - I haven’t heard much about how you two are doing? Last time I was in Raylier, you were both getting ready for seminarian training, but...”
“Plans changed quite a bit with the marriage proposal,” Cateline said. Leif frowned at her - he was trying to talk to his siblings, not his parents. He looked back at Chamile and Jonathon, not acknowledging the comment any further.
“Well,” Chamile said, after a glance at her mother, “I’m clearly not going into the priesthood anymore. I’m catching up on some studies in other areas now - learning about Solis, the other Kythian provinces, how to help manage an estate, Ingrid’s teaching me shorthand for taking notes during meetings...things like that. And I’m getting to learn more magic,” she added, visibly brightening. Aside from that brief excitement, though, she still seemed nervous. Because she was talking to Leif? Because of the classes? The engagement?
“Well, magical training will definitely be appreciated,” he said at last, deciding it might be better to ask about it later. “And I’m sure you can learn even more from the mages in House Jade. If a woman named Ruth Bjornflingr is there, try to learn what you can from her. She’s a great magician.”
“Bjornflingr,” Chamile repeated carefully. “All right. I will.”
“She’s one of your recruits from this city, isn’t she?” Henry asked.
Leif glanced sideways at Henry. “Yes.” Why, what’s wrong with her? he thought bitterly. Quickly, so Henry wouldn’t have a chance to talk, Leif asked, “What about you, Jonathon?”
Jonathon leaned forward to see around his sister. “Well, I’m still going into the priesthood. But I want to see if they’ll accept me at any of the churches in Solis for my seminarian training. That way, Chamile and I can still see each other fairly often.” He bit his lip and added, “They’re supposed to be very selective, though.”
“The bigger churches definitely are,” Leif agreed. “But there are smaller ones you can start out in, and once you’re a full priest, you can try to join a bigger church’s clergy. You should be all right, so long as you know your theology and can give a good sermon. I couldn’t have gotten into one,” he added with a brief grin, “but I don’t think you’ll have the same problems I did.”
“I’ll need to practice,” Jonathon admitted. “...Will having magic help me like it helped you?”
Leif considered. “Maybe a little, but Our Woo of Charity used much more...practical magic. Solis churches tend to be more interested in the theology of magic - why Lord ‘Woo gave magic to the people, the difference between magic and a miracle, what is incantational magic as opposed to other varieties...something a bit esoteric with ‘divine patterns in the runes’? I never really figured that one out, but that’s just me.”
“I remember studying that!” Chamile said with a light tap on her brother’s arm. “Under Master Howland - maybe you could write to him?”
Jonathon, who had been looking a little daunted at Leif’s list, brightened at his twin’s suggestion. “All right - that’s a good idea.”
...Was this actually going well? Leif could hardly believe it - aside from the interruptions by his mother and Henry, that had been...a pretty normal conversation.
And then Richard said, “You know you won’t see much of your younger siblings if you stay in Medieville.”
Leif turned toward him, momentarily at a loss for words. “I - well - it’s been seven years since the last time I saw them, it’s not as if that would be new. ...Actually, I’ll probably see them more often; when Chamile’s a Jade, she might need to come to Medieville sometimes, and I go back to Solis every so often.”
“Well, your mother and I were thinking,” Lord Accipiter went on, spreading butter over a roll, “that it might be beneficial for your siblings if you moved back to Solis while they settle in.”
Leif’s jaw dropped. “Are - are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
Leif looked around at the others. Chamile and Jonathon seemed just as surprised as Leif, Markus was slowly lowering his wine goblet to the table, his expression blank. Leif deliberately skipped over Henry’s face. “...I see what you’re trying to do - I’m not stupid!”
“No, you aren’t, but you’ve been making poor choices ever since you came here. You were doing fine while you were in Solis, from what we heard.”
Leif’s hands clenched into fists. “Oh, yes, I was fine - I was only angry all the time and nobody except the birds wanted much to do with me - but you’re right, I wasn’t doing horrible things like training mages and catching criminals.”
“You know perfectly well this isn’t about training Jades or apprehending that Khotan mage,” Cateline scolded. “You’re neglecting your obligation to the future mages of Corvus and your House allegiances to court a Stallion, you carry birds everywhere, you’re constantly running late for your duties -”
“You’re teaching rebels how to use magic,” Henry added. He’d rested his elbows on the table and held his interlocked fingers just under his nose.
Leif glared at his brother. “Oh, thanks for reminding me to tell you I’m so glad you ran straight to Mother and Father with our conversation! It’s a good thing I already knew I couldn’t trust you any farther than I could throw you, or I might have believed you were actually interested in talking to me and not just prying for information!”
“That’s enough,” Richard warned, before Henry could retort. “Leif, as we’ve told you time and time again, this is an important matter.You constantly yelling at us about it doesn’t make it less important.”
“It’s also none of your business!” Leif snapped. “You have no right to come here and try to force me out of a relationship I’m happy in! None of you!” he added, glaring specifically at Richard, Henry, and Cateline. He saw Chamile duck down slightly, but he was too angry to do more than make sure he didn’t direct it right at her, or Jonathon. Or Markus, who still hadn’t done anything to indicate his side.
“We’re not suggesting,” Cateline said, “that it be a permanent move. Just for a year or so to help your sister settle in, and to...clear your head.”
“Oh, yes, that’s not an imposition at all - what about my students? What about the projects I’m supposed to be working on, the jobs I’m supposed to do? And I am not,” he added coldly, “leaving my friends and boyfriend because you think I need to clear my head! Which, by the way, is not going to magically erase my feelings toward him!”
Henry said in the sort of voice people used to calm spooked horses, “Sometimes distance can give you a better perspective.”
“...What in the ’Pit are you talking about?! I’m not trying to let go of - of what, a stray crush? Lingering regret?” Leif snorted. “You might’ve been happy to dump your girls the instant Mother and Father implied they weren’t appropriate, but I’m not an idiot!” Henry’s hands dropped sharply to the table, but Leif was already barrelling on, “Kirin is -”
Richard slammed down his knife and fork. “‘Your Stallion is at worst using you, and at best is not an appropriate match for a Jade archmage!”
“Appropriate? You lost the right to decide what’s appropriate for me when you decided I didn’t need to be tested for being an archmage!”
“We’ve explained countless times - “
“You’ve explained all of once - and it doesn’t matter, because you don’t actually care what you did to me! It doesn’t bother you at all that I spent almost twenty years in physical pain when I had to interact with people, or deal with loud noises, you don’t care that when I went to Iscaria, and it got too much - you never tried to help me, or come visit me, or do anything remotely helpful - there were points where I wanted - I could’ve - “ He couldn’t force the words out, or even properly assemble them in his head, how to describe to his parents so that they understood how unbearable the pressure had been, how hopeless he’d felt, how much he’d wanted it to stop, no matter the cost - but his anger wouldn’t let him stop to figure it out, so he skipped over it, glare flashing briefly to Markus as the knight tensed.
“Do you not understand that you broke me!? That because of you, I had to learn how to deal with people all over again? When I was twenty? Do you know why I wear gloves all the time? It’s not just falconry, it’s because if I feel too much texture, I might overload myself - I have to worry about touching things too much! Everything you hate about me - it’s your fault, and you don’t care - so now that I’ve actually found ways to get around it and where I can live with it, you decide to come back? Are you serious?”
“Leif, of course we care, and we’ve explained, we didn’t do it on purpose, we just -”
Leif rounded on his mother. “No, you don’t care! The only reason you’re here is to make sure I’m not ruining your reputation! This has nothing to do with me as your son, this is all about you two! The way it always is - or, no, I’m sorry, it can be about Henry as well, can’t it?” Leif felt his lip curling as he turned to his brother. “And I swear to ’Woo, if you join in on this argument like you always do I will -”
“Henry is not part of this argument, Leif,” Richard said. “This is between you and your mother and I.”
“Then why did you send Henry to talk to me about it? You knew I wouldn’t take you telling me that you think Kirin’s a spy well - so you sent him to do it instead?”
With monumental effort, Leif took a deep breath, and forced his next words to come out slowly. His voice was low, but shook with the barely-stifled anger. “Is it that hard to even consider that Kirin and I are in a genuine relationship, that he might actually love me?”
Richard set his utensils into line, and looked up at Leif. “As I said - as I think we’ve all said - at best, you should not be courting and...presumably planning to marry, a man. Let alone a Stallion. At worst… Leif, you have to understand that the odds of a Stallion delegation coming to Medieville - where they know a Jade delegation will also be - and two members of this long-lasting, highly heated conflict both truly caring for each other… they aren’t high.”
They had coached Henry. They had at least heavily discussed this with him, the phrasing was too close. So not only were they going to insult every decision Leif had made here, every person Leif cared for, and Leif himself - they were going to lie to his face about Henry not being a part of this.
But that realization was quickly swept away by realizing what the answer to his question had really been. Even as that comprehension punched him in the gut, a white-hot rage pounded like the wingbeats of phoenixes at his chest. When he looked at his father, or Henry, or his mother, his vision felt like it was focusing almost too much, everything else blurring around it - like raptor vision. Striking vision.
Somehow, in spite of the fury and the hurt all lashing through him - what came out of Leif’s mouth was not pure rage, but dark sarcasm. “Yes. I see how I’d be the likely target for a seducer. I’m so appealing, what with my constant scowling and the way I avoid people and generally being irritable.” His drawl started to turn to a snarl. “And I’m so charismatic, too; I mean, look how much fun we’re having here!”
Henry stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. “Irritable, is that all you’re going to call it? I’d skip that and go straight to childish - you throw fits when you don’t get your way, you’re irresponsible - you think you can just throw off your duties as an Accipiter because you don’t live at home anymore, don’t you?”
“I don’t -”
The Accipiter heir spoke loudly over Leif. “And I think I’ve figured this out, what’s going on here - you don’t get on well with most people, so you attach yourself to the few you do seem to tolerate. Obviously you don’t bother to give anyone else’s opinions a moment of consideration!” Henry’s voice was all scorn and freshly-unsuppressed frustration.
“Henry,“ Richard warned, but Henry ignored him.
“And you’re probably attention-starved to boot - you’re the perfect target. ‘Woo knows why you wouldn’t let I or our siblings try to be siblings to you - maybe it was my fault for not trying harder.” He shook his head. “And I don’t know why we aren’t good enough for you and a Stallion is, but -”
Leif shot to his feet. “Kirin is a hundred times better than any of you, that’s why!”
Henry met Leif’s glare unflinchingly, ignoring a reprimand from his mother. “You’re making the wrong choice, and it’s time you stopped flailing at us about it! Anyone else would have given up by now, but luckily for you, we’re family, so we have to help you whether you - or we - like it or not!”
“Your help? I don’t need help - not from a conceited, spoiled, bossy little princeling who only cares about the people who lick his boots!” Looking between his parents as he stepped away from the table, the white-hot fury lashing against the inner walls of his chest like the claws of a trapped animal, Leif snarled, “Or from heartless autocrats who just want their kids bred like showdogs and stuck in some ‘Pit-scourged little box from birth!”
“Leif, come back -”
“No!” Leif snapped as he backed toward the door. “No - I am not coming back - and I don’t ever want to see the three of you again!” He slammed open the door, slammed it shut again behind him - and bolted. Part Six Leif wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He couldn’t concentrate - anger still roiled through him, chasing itself in meaningless circles, but there was nowhere and nothing to focus it on. Leif’s chest hurt, his throat hurt, his stomach hurt, even his eyes burned and ached. He was so tired. From not eating, from not sleeping, from spending so much of today and yesterday using magic, and spending all of this week so far fighting, constantly fighting... And it’s not going to end - they won’t listen , it’s never going to stop! His entire body was shaking, as if it were the depths of winter instead of a warm summer evening. It had been stupid to expect anything different. They didn’t want Leif back in their lives - they just wanted to get rid of the smudge he left on their reputation. Leif had pushed his way into the crowded streets, knowing he would be harder to pursue there than on open ground. But he had no gloves, no halfcloak, he was already hurting and tired - he had to physically duck his head and hunch up his shoulders against the press of their brushing arms and the snatches of conversation. He hadn’t felt this close to overload in...in a long time. Trying to minimize any possible contact, Leif crossed his arms over his chest and buried his hands in the cloth of the opposite sleeve. Leif could feel his pulse hammering hard against his arm. Glancing around and over the heads of everyone around him, Leif saw the tops of the trees overlooking Lake Plume. There, the forest - surrounded only by trees and songbirds, far away from the wagons, he could lose anyone trying to pursue him through the crowd… Leif forced his way through the horde, desperately searching for gaps he could slip through to make this trip as quickly as possible. He dimly recognized that he was in the merchant’s district at one point, but that was the closest he got to paying any attention to where he was beyond relative to the lake. Leif at last made it off the road, and pressed through the evergreens and into the forest. There was a trail somewhere, but he didn’t bother looking for it. By pure chance he wound up stumbling onto it instead, and with it being the path of least resistance, he followed it for a little ways. But it wasn’t long before Leif could no longer ignore how badly his lungs were hurting from not getting enough air - speed-walking while his throat didn’t quite want to open all the way hadn’t been Leif’s best idea. And now his legs hurt, too, along with everything else. He stood for a moment, panting and listening. All he could hear were birds and a few crickets; it would be safe to sit down here. Leif initially was just going to drop down beside the path, but through the trees off to the side he saw a fallen tree. Not one of the evergreens, but something with a long, branchless trunk. He forced himself the extra steps to reach it, and collapsed onto the log with his back to the path. If the log had been wide enough, Leif would have pulled his knees up to his chest, but it wasn’t, so he had to settle for slouching forward and dropping his face into his hands. He was still shaking - Leif had no idea how he had the physical energy for it, the rest of him felt like it had been scooped out with a shovel. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t give up Kirin or his magic-teaching or the feeling he’d finally had of belonging and of actually making use of his life - but he couldn’t do this with his family, either. It felt like he was going to drown in this ocean of his family’s contempt - and he didn’t know if he could muster up the energy for another attempt to fight to surface. The sound of soft footfalls resounded through the trees, signalling that Leif was not as alone as he’d hoped to be. A few minutes passed, and the sound fell into silence- but not because the person had moved off, simply because they’d stopped briefly to get their bearings in the trees. A moment later, a very short woman came into view- a woman with one dark brown eye, and salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under a blue sash on her head. “Thought I saw you come this way,” the merchant woman remarked with a gentle smile. “Sometimes I forget how much faster you infernal tall people can move than me.” She walked up to him, spinning something between two of her fingers so that it appeared at first to be just a blue and black blur. Then she held it out to Leif, revealing it to be a feather- a grey feather with a bar of blue and black stripes going up on side. The feather of a jaybird. “Would you accept this token of my affections, kind sir, and grant me the pleasure of your company?” When Leif first heard the footsteps, he assumed it was just someone taking an evening walk along the path. The rougher sound of twigs snapping and branches bending quickly told Leif he was wrong - he just prayed to ‘Woo that it wasn’t one of the Accipiters coming after him. But it seemed like the most likely possibility, and he tensed instinctively - until he caught a glimpse of a roughly-textured dress from the corner of his eye and recognized the speaker’s voice. He looked up, momentarily bewildered. “...Morgaine? I - Mrs. Braham, I’m sorry.” His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand - she was holding a feather. A jay feather, but he wasn’t sure what kind. Probably he would know if he was less exhausted. Leif hesitated, then slowly reached out and took the offered gift. “If - if you want to sit down, yes, go ahead.” Leif swallowed, trying to get rid of some of the rawness in his voice. Even he usually didn’t do that much yelling at one time. He ran a finger through the blue and black-striped feather barbs. “I don’t know that I’m going to be good company,” he muttered, still watching the movements of the feather at his fingertips. “You know, it’s fine if you just want to use my first name- I’ve been using yours since that fiasco this spring, after all, and we’ve been friends what, two years now?” She sat down beside him, offering a sympathetic smile. “I gathered you were probably upset about something- I saw you go past the lockshop on way down here, looking for all the world as if the demons of the ‘Pit were on your tail. We’d already closed up shop for the day, we usually like to use the last few hours of daylight to get our actual smithing done without the risk of any old random person wandering in with the forge lit. So when I saw you blazing by I just turned it over to Rosalie to let her get to some key commissions.” Morgaine leaned forwards, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. “If you’d rather be alone, I understand, but I think you could benefit from the company of a friend.” Leif bit his lip. “I - I don’t want to be alone, but...my family’s in town, they’ve been here for the past few days, and they’re probably trying to find me and drag me back to dinner now - they’ve been...Morgaine, they’ve been terrible, to everyone, and if they find me, and you’re here…” He felt a distant pulse of white-hot, angry energy in his chest. “They can insult me all they want, but you, and everybody else, you all deserve better - but I can’t get them to listen to me.” He rubbed at his temples, his entire face contorting into a tired grimace. Morgaine’s expression turned to one of concern when Leif talked about his family, but when he expressed the worry that they would turn their ire on her if she was seen with the archmage, she shook her head. “Leif, I once looked Alain Stallion square in the eye and effectively accused him of kidnapping and the exploitation of small children- I can handle myself. Maybe if they were regular customers I’d want to stay on their good side,” she added as a joke, smirking a bit. “But seeing as I’ve never gotten so much as a single runestone out of them, I can’t be bothered to give a toss what they think of me.” Sobering, she went on, “But you’re my friend, and my son’s friend, and you’ve been there for both of us through a lot of rough spots- what kind of selfish fool would I be to turn away from you now that the situation’s reversed?” “It’s...I know you can handle it,” Leif protested. “But you shouldn’t have to. It’s not fair, and they’re just...it’s constant, it’s like…” He tried to come up with an appropriate comparison, but his brain returned nothing. “I don’t know. I can’t even think right now. It’s been...’Woo, I don’t even know, three days? And they’re going to be here until the end of the week and it’s going to be the same argument every single day.” His free hand clenched into a fist. ...He was getting off-track. Not that Leif had been on much of one to begin with. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” He took a shaky breath, as deep as he could manage. “Don’t apologize, from the sound of things you could use a good ramble,” the old woman replied. “Or a rant, more like it. Leif, your friends don’t care about taking the brunt of some negative opinions. They care about you. From the sound of it, if your family has been here for three days and you’ve been fighting with them constantly for all that time… and given how much you're arguing with me about it, I’m going to hazard a guess you’ve been isolating yourself from everyone but your family to try and shield them. That about accurate?” Leif nodded. “I hate it, and I miss everyone. But it’s not right to drag you all into this. I should be able to handle it myself - it’s just stupid family problems and it’s not like anyone’s died or anything.” Morgaine tilted her head. “I don’t think you’re looking at this the right way. Maybe you feel it’s not right to drag your friends into your problems, but you aren’t taking into account their opinions on the issue. It’s not really fair to them for you to wear yourself ragged and force them to stand on the sidelines and do nothing either. I know you’re just trying to spare us the frustrations you’re dealing with, but we don’t want to be spared. We want to help you, and if that means taking the brunt of your family’s ire on ourselves, well that’s a little less you have to shoulder alone.” With a sad, nostalgic glint in her eye she added, “And just because someone else’s problems are worse, that doesn’t invalidate what you’re going through.” She hesitantly put a hand out, and placed it over one of Leif’s knuckles, feeling the tension there as if his hand would shatter if he were clenching his muscles any tighter. “It takes two mages to summon a dragon, right? Both of them have to bear equal parts of the load from the spell, or the endeavor will fail. It leaves both of them totally drained by the end of it, but at least it’s a triumphant exhaustion rather than an empty, hollow one. Please Leif, don’t shut me out- don’t shut us out. Kirin, Xavier, Elin, I’m sure they’ve been worried about you as well. You don’t always have to be the one doing the protecting, archmage.” Leif became keenly aware of how badly he was shaking as Morgaine spoke, and especially when she touched his hand. The contact should probably have bothered him more than it actually did; at this point, it was too much of a relief, feeling like someone actually wanted to listen to him instead of fight. And Morgaine was right, that Leif’s friends would want to help - it was why Leif wanted to protect them, always, from anything, because they were the kind of people who were willing to make that sacrifice. And the locksmith was right about the dragon, too, except that was magic and not emotions...then again, if emotions felt the way magic-use did, Leif suspected he would be completely pulled by now. He still wasn’t sure bringing them into this was the right thing to do - but Morgaine was outright pleading for him to accept her help, and she had a point about spells and sharing the energy. Leif was half-convinced his shaking was from the physical effort of trying to keep everything repressed. ...Maybe she was right. Leif set the jay feather on his knee, extending a finger of the hand Morgaine had rested hers upon in order to pin the shaft in place. His now-free hand went to the feather pendant around his neck and Leif ran his thumb over the raised silver veins. “They sent me a letter a few weeks ago saying they were coming here. And I knew it was going to be bad, but they said they wanted to fix things. Stupid,” he muttered, almost as an afterthought. “They weren’t sorry for what they did when I saw them seven years ago, I should’ve known they weren’t going to be sorry now. And I knew why they really wanted to come here, except, it’s been two years since I came here, and - they’re not that far from Solis, Morgaine, they had to know everything.” Leif knew he wasn’t entirely making sense, but now that he’d started, it was going to be hard to go back and edit or to pause and organize his words beforehand. “I was right the first time - it doesn’t make any sense, I still don’t get why it took them two years to get around to it, but - it’s Kirin. They don’t like Kirin - they don’t like that he’s a Stallion, and a male one, and not a mage... It’s - it’s so stupid. I don’t know if they actually believe this or if they’re making it up to try and scare me out of it, but - they think Alain put Kirin up to dating me either so that he can prevent me from having a wife and kids, so there’s no archmages descended from me, or so he can spy on House Jade through me. It’s - I just - Morgaine, they’ve met him! The first day they came here, Kirin was with me, and - how does anyone get to that conclusion? Even I wasn’t suspicious of him, and I’m stupidly paranoid!” He heaved a huge sigh, scowling off into the trees. “But I guess that’s easier to believe. I mean, who would actually fall in love with me, right?” His tone was sarcastic - but at the same time, it pricked like a barb caught in his chest; it was what his family thought, they’d more less confirmed that already. The old woman listened as Leif spoke, letting him ramble without interrupting. When he was finally silent for a moment, she sighed. “I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if his Grace did have an ulterior motive for letting Kirin date you- that man never does anything for just one reason. But not to spy or to sabotage House Jade’s magic. Even if he was that petty- and I doubt he would be, I mean he’d be damaging Kyth in the process and Alain is very loyal to the country- Kirin would never be complicit in such a thing. He’s not got a duplicitous bone in his body. More than likely, if his Grace did have a private reasoning, it was to establish a positive bond between the two houses and help alleviate some of that age-old tension between them.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s how such things usually go for noble courtships, from what I understand.” “But as to falling in love with you, well,” she went on, “Maybe you’re a grumpy, prickly, and sometimes socially awkward fellow, but over the course of this conversation alone you’ve also shown yourself to be a steadfastly loyal friend, protective, compassionate, and willing to acknowledge your own mistakes and try to own up to them. There’s a lot there to love, Leif- you just need someone patient enough to pull away the thorns and see what’s underneath. And if nothing else, Kirin has the patience of a saint- I don’t think I’ve ever known that man to get really angry about anything.” Leif nodded and managed a tremulous half-smile. “He’s - he’s really good about that. You all have been...amazing at putting up with me. And...I know it doesn’t really matter why Alain approved. It was Kirin and I who decided to start this, and there was no reason for Kirin to, if he didn’t want to.” Leif’s expression shifted to frustration again. “And I tried explaining that. So many times. It’s like talking to walls, they don’t listen, they just throw back an argument - half the time it’s one I’ve already argued with them about! I don’t even know what to tell them anymore - I’ve told them I’m not leaving Kirin, I’ve told them I’m not marrying a woman or having kids, I’ve told them it doesn’t even matter because it’s not as if I’m using their name and wrecking their reputation, and if Lord Everett doesn’t have a problem with it I don’t see why they should… And they completely ignore it. It’s - it’s like when I was a kid, and I couldn’t argue anything properly. So they just made decisions over my head and just informed me what they were. “Maybe that’s why I was thinking it’d be different this time. The last time I saw them was about a year after my magic was unblocked. And I was still...impaired, it wasn’t until I came here that I could even sometimes interact with people. So I thought maybe it was my fault, I was too blocked to get to know them properly as a kid, and this was a chance to actually try again, except...looks like I was right all along, about my parents and Henry, anyway.” Morgaine looked up at the archmage sadly. “As much as I value my relationships with my family, it makes me sad to think of people who see their children only as an extension of their legacy and agents of their own reputation. Every time Sieg or Ophelia were hurt or upset growing up, I could feel their pain as if there were some sort of magical tie linking us. I could never have deliberately hurt them- when Ophelia and I were estranged for so long, it cut me in two. Even with Rosalie, for all she’s not my child by blood, I was distraught when I realized her ‘girlfriend’ was a rebel and likely to be exiled or executed for treason. I knew it would destroy Rosie.” She squeezed Leif’s hand, the one she’d been clasping, and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that your parents and your brother are making this so difficult for you. For what it’s worth though-” She ran a finger on her free hand across a very thin line of pale skin on her neck. It wasn’t particularly noticeable, unless you were looking for it, but the mark was a scar left over from when she’d been attacked by a Courdonian thief two years prior. It, along with her missing left eye, were the the only marks from the incident she still carried. There were no traces of the gash that had put out her eye to begin with, nor the laceration on her arm that had almost killed her. “I am enormously grateful that you decided to follow your own path. My son and I both would have died that summer of 1314, if it weren’t for your decision to work for the Jades as their archmage. “If your parents can’t see the worth in that… perhaps they should practice a little more of that faith in the wisdom of the Woo that Corvus is so famous for. There’s a saying in the southernmost regions of Corvus where I was born- ‘If you want to make Woo laugh, tell him your plans.’ Life doesn’t always go the way you want it to, but everything that happens, happens for a reason. And they can say whatever they like, but remember this- you’re an adult, and you are free to make your own decisions in life. They can chose to ignore your opinions and try to make plans over your head, and that is their prerogative. By the same token, you can chose to ignore their opinions, because when push comes to shove they have no authority to force you to do anything you don’t want to. You answer to Everett, King Galateo, the Woo, and yourself- in the end, you are your own final authority.” The locksmith smirked suddenly. “And if you need help backing that up, I’m sure Elin can deck a few of them for you- she’s never had any compunctions about hitting nobles after all.” The remark surprised a laugh out of Leif, though it was a hoarse sound. “I don’t know if that would help their reservations about me teaching a former rebel how to use magic - but it would be entertaining.” He smoothed out the barbs of the feather. “I’m not following their orders. They might think I’m a complete idiot, but I know I’m not stupid enough to leave the first place I’ve actually been happy. And where I’ve done some good.” Leif shifted his hand so he could squeeze Morgaine’s fingertips. “Like for you and Sieg.” Even if he hadn’t done a perfect job, he’d done something. “I just… Logically, I know they’re going to be gone at the end of the week, and they can’t drag me back to Corvus with them - but... I wish they were like you and it bothered them that this is making me miserable, but they aren’t - every day they’re here, they’re going to keep coming after me.” Leif closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping a little. “I’m so tired.” The old woman squeezed his hand back. “Emotional upheaval is exhausting- why do you think depressed people spend so much time sleeping? There isn’t much that can be done about your family if they refuse to listen to reason, but you can at least look after yourself. If you don’t want your friends being around your family because you don’t want them disapproving of us, I can respect that- but you can still come to us to vent out your frustrations when those meetings are done for the day.” She looked pensive, “I do wonder though… if you don’t mind my asking, earlier you said that you were right about your parents and someone… Henry was it? Anyway you seemed to be implying that maybe there were others in your family you weren’t sure about?” “Yes, Henry,” Leif muttered. “But one of my other older brothers is here, too, and my little brother and sister. I was getting along fine with Chamile and Jonathon….Chamile’s marrying into House Jade, I was telling her about the mages Lord Everett had training me. And Jonathon’s going to be a priest, so he wanted to know about churches. Markus...I don’t know. He’s the knight, he was almost always away from Raylier doing his page training when we were growing up, so I really have no idea what he’s like. I don’t know if he’s on my parents’ side, or my side, or nobody’s side...I don’t even know whether he’s here willingly or if they asked him to come. Anytime he or the twins try to talk to me, one of my parents or Henry cuts off the conversation. ...I don’t know if that necessarily means anything, Henry adores the sound of his own voice.” Leif’s lip curled a little. Morgaine nibbled on a lower lip pensively. “I can’t really say for certain, but maybe if your parents really were sincere about patching things up with you- assuming you’d go along with their demands meekly out of gratitude or whatever the case may be- perhaps Markus and your younger siblings sincerely did come along to see you. You left for the church when you were sixteen, and then only visited your family once afterwards, so your younger siblings were quite young, I imagine- too young to have a personal impression of you. And the military has a way of giving people a very stark helping of perspective.” She shook her head. “But since you’re not agreeing to leave Kirin or Medieville, they’re keeping you from interacting with the others. Maybe because they don’t want you turning them away from what your family wants, maybe just because they’re worried you’ll lose your temper with them as well. I can’t say for certain why, but it’s the best guess I can offer.” “That...that would make sense, I guess. Chamile and Jonathon are only...three? I think it’s three years younger than me, but I wasn’t much of an older brother to them, and they always kept to themselves. And I’ve changed a lot since I was sixteen. Markus, though…” Leif frowned. “I can see Henry trying to protect Chamile and Jonathon from me. But Markus is older than I am. Henry bosses all of my older siblings around, too, but...I have a hard time seeing him feeling like he needed to protect them. At least not from their younger brother.” He fanned out the barbs of the feather. “So Henry’s probably keeping Markus from talking to me. Great.” “I can see why you’re exhausted,” Morgaine replied dryly. “That’s a healthy family dynamic if ever I heard one. But if nothing else, it seems that perhaps you aren’t entirely without allies- just that if they’ve been living under a thumb as domineering as you imply your parents and Henry to be, they might not be willing to show it. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do with that knowledge- that’s up to you. But there it is.” She looked up at the sky through the canopy of trees, blackened now and glittering with stars. “For now, maybe we should head back- this isn't the best place to be after dark. Would you like some tea? If you want I can brew some for you back at the shop for you. Rosalie’s there, so I understand if you’d rather not, but it might at least help calm your nerves.” Trying to figure out if he could get around Henry and talk to Markus or the twins was definitely a daunting task - and considering how tired Leif still was, this wasn’t a good time to try puzzling it out. And Morgaine was right that being out in the woods after dark wasn’t the best idea, either. Hopefully the Accipiters had given up on trying to look for Leif by this point. “You’re right, let’s head back. I can light the way,” Leif offered, pulling his wand from its holster and flicking it to cast a green glow. “I...could probably use some tea, if you’re offering.” Considering how little he’d eaten over the past few days, getting even something like tea into his system would probably be a good idea. “Thank you. For listening. And smacking some sense into me.” Morgaine smiled. “Of course, Leif. You’re not alone anymore. Medieville is home to a ragtag bunch of misfits, but we’re just perfect for each other, eh?” ------ The streets had cleared out a great deal by the time Leif left the Lock and Key shop. He was nervous that this would just make it easier for one of the Accipiters to find him...but they had probably given up the hunt long ago, and sure enough, Leif made it to Stallion Manor without incident. He hesitated at the edge of the property for a moment. It was getting late, and although Kirin most likely hadn’t gone to bed yet, it was definitely later than he would probably be expecting visitors. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow… But he owed Kirin an explanation. The sooner the better, and he wasn't sure he would get another chance, between the river and his family and anything else that might attack tomorrow. He needed to at least try and talk to him. Again, the Stallion servants recognized Leif and let him inside. He was allowed to make his way through the manor essentially unescorted; it hadn’t occurred to Leif until that moment, but for all of his parents’ panic about Kirin being able to get too close to the Jades, Leif had just as much access to the local Stallions. There was still light coming out from the gap at the bottom of Kirin’s door, so at least Leif wasn’t going to be waking him. Quietly, he knocked - or, he’d intended it to be quiet, anyway, he was still lacking the gloves whose muffling properties he usually had to account for. “Kirin? It’s me.” The door opened just seconds later. “Leif - where have you been? I tried to come see you a few times, but you haven’t been around…” “I know, I’m sorry - there was this thing at the river, and - well, it’s a bit of a long story ...I need to talk to you.” Suddenly realizing that could be interpreted as the preamble to a breakup, Leif hastily added, “It’s nothing bad, I promise.” A wall of comprehension suddenly slammed down on Leif. “ ...Which you’d know if I’d been keeping you updated… ’Woo I’m an idiot, I - I wasn’t even thinking, I’m so sorry - can I come in and explain?” Kirin let him into the room, and they sat on the edge of the bed while Leif explained what had happened, why he had been so reclusive, and how everything had finally come to a head and blown up tonight. Leif could hear exhaustion creeping into his voice as he talked, and even though he’d intended to wait until he’d given Kirin a full explanation before initiating any physical affection - it seemed a little unfair after what he’d already put the Stallion through - by the end of it he was leaning a little against Kirin’s arm and struggling to keep his eyes open. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “And I’m sorry I can’t get my family to just stop.” “That isn’t your fault. It sounds like you’ve made it very clear that you want them to stop, but there isn’t much you can do if they’ve decided not to listen.” “I guess not,” Leif muttered. “I don’t like it, though. ...I’m sure you’re not exactly jumping for joy over this, either.” “No,” Kirin agreed with a brief smile. His expression sobering again, he asked, “You’re going to at least come talk to people when they do this to you, though, right?” Leif nodded. “Lesson learned - me and my family get along like a house on fire, so I’d better not run into the burning building without someone waiting outside with a bucket of water to put me out.” Rubbing at his eyes, he added, “Course, it might not matter; I’m not sure if they’ll want to see me after what happened at dinner.” “Well...you’ve gotten into a bad argument with them before, and they came here.” “True. Them just cutting me off would probably be too much to hope for. ...I really am worried they’re going to show up tomorrow like nothing’s happened, or that they’re waiting at Marson for me now. Which is just great - I already haven’t been sleeping much the past couple nights, I doubt having to worry about them being at the doorstep first thing tomorrow morning’s going to help that any.” He felt plenty tired now, of course, but he didn’t feel quite so anxious here. At Marson, on his own, it would be an entirely different story. An idea occurred to Leif, and he looked up at Kirin and asked, “D’you think...would it be alright if I spent the night here? On your couch, or in a guest bedroom if you’d rather...ah, not leave anything to question?” At this point, it was probably a little silly to be worrying about such things; they had been a couple for two years, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t fallen asleep while sitting together before - just, with Leif’s family already in a rage, it might be worth considering not giving them more ammunition. ...Maybe. ...Do I really care what they think at this point? They already think worse is going on - ‘Woo, them just hearing what building I spent the night in would convince them we’d - well, no, with their insane logic, they’d probably assume I report here every few nights to be re-hypnotized or drugged or something. Pushing his distracted thoughts aside, Leif continued, “I just...it would feel safer. Being nearby you.” “You can stay in here,” Kirin assured him. “ Please don’t disappear like that again, though, all right? ...I was really worried.” “I won’t,” Leif promised, shifting so he could hug Kirin. “Thank you - you’re the best.” They found a spare blanket and pillow, and Leif settled on the couch for the night. Even with the lights still on, Leif couldn’t keep his eyes open and he felt like he was sinking into the pillow. It was amazing how much difference it made just knowing Kirin was nearby and there were other people in the city on his side, how much clearer his head felt with his frustrations actually expressed instead of bottled in, how reassuring and embracing the sense that he wasn’t alone was. There was still the rest of the week with his family to deal with. There was still the mystery of Markus and Chamile and Jonathon. There were more Medievillians Leif should probably bring up-to-date on the situation. Flashes of the horrible dinner fighting and the arguments with his family in general kept darting into his thoughts. But Leif forced all the worries away, focused on the good things, and finally fell asleep. Part Seven *Warning for brief discussion of suicide Leif felt much more cognizant when he woke up the next morning - unfortunately, the lack of drowsiness meant that he was suddenly very aware that he still had a lot of problems to deal with - including that he was going to be late getting to the river. He already he felt a little too sick to his stomach to eat a full breakfast, but Leif managed some food and a little juice before leaving for Marson Manor. His intent was to quickly change from his now-wrinkled attire and back into his regular clothes, then hurry to the river, little as he wanted to go. There was a note waiting for him, however, from one of the city officials. Apparently Lord and Lady Accipiter had come to the river early that morning and were already on-schedule to finish moving the waterwheel pieces themselves by early afternoon - so there was no need for Leif to trouble himself by coming. Leif suspected the wording of ’no need to trouble himself had been dictated by his parents - or maybe it was just Leif’s own paranoia that led him to read it with a sarcastic and scolding tone. Well. That was nerve-wracking; Leif had the feeling he was not off the hook for anything, but was actually in serious trouble. However - if his parents and Henry were out at the river right now...were Markus and the twins alone at the caravan? Leif hadn’t expected an opportunity to investigate so soon, and wasn’t sure if he should take it. He could be wrong about them actually wanting to talk, after all; they might just be better actors than Henry or his parents. And even if they had been willing before...last night might have ruined all of that. But he might not get another chance if he didn’t take this one. And he didn’t want to be like his parents, putting off reconciliation until it was so late the other person wondered why they were even bothering. Resigning himself to another long and possibly emotional day, Leif went to change clothes. He at least felt better having his gloves and halfcloak back. The wagon-field looked empty of people when Leif arrived, though only three of the four horses were missing. Leif headed for the wagon where he had been invited to dinner the previous night - and stopped short as a curtain of silvery light, water-like in the spread of translucency, appeared in his path. Leif held out his hand and dragged it sideways; more silver light appeared at his palm. Oh. Wards. This was going to make letting anyone know he was here a bit of a problem. But maybe there was a path to the door of one of the wagons, that seemed reasonable… Leif had only gone a few steps when the door to the second wagon suddenly opened. Leif jumped, his stomach swooping. Markus, stepping out onto the top step, raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering if you’d show up. I take it you got the letter?” “Yes,” Leif said slowly. “I was wondering if we could talk? Now that Mother and Father and Henry aren’t here? ...I’d at least like to talk to Chamile and Jonathon.” “That depends. Are you planning on shouting some more?” “I’m not planning on it, no.” Leif narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t start harping on my boyfriend. Trust me, I get it - you don’t approve.” “And trust me, Leif, I don’t enjoy slamming my head against solid walls,” Markus said dryly. “As long as you’re not here to get any last few insults out of your system, and as long as you and me talk first - you can come in.” Leif was immediately daunted, but Markus had been the best of the older Accipiters so far, and he had agreed not to take up the crusade against Kirin. Besides, what was Leif going to do now, say no and leave? “...All right.” Markus reached under his shirt, drawing free a disc-shaped pendant attached to a cord around his neck. He fiddled a little with something on the disc and the bit of shimmering light hovering in front of Leif flickered off. Leif carefully stepped into the field. Markus came the rest of the way down the steps, flicking something to make the wards spring back to life behind Leif. “Being the mundane in the family is so much fun,” he said. “Anyway, let’s not have this chat in the same wagon as Cham and Jon.” Leif, feeling a little guilty and sad that the nicknames for his younger siblings were not ones he was familiar with, said, “I’m sorry if I upset them last night.” “You didn’t do any worse than Henry,” Markus said, leading the way to the other caravan. “Although at least we know what Henry’s like when he gets mad - pretty sure none of us were expecting quite a scene from you last night.” Markus was speaking in such a neutral tone Leif couldn’t get a read on how the knight was feeling about anything. Maybe this was what he was like when he was mad? Maybe it was supposed to be sarcasm? “Yeah...uh, turns out I’m really defensive.” Markus paused, looked back at him - and burst out laughing. “You don’t say!” Leif, caught completely off-guard by his brother’s amusement, couldn’t think of anything to say. He did feel a bit of annoyance, but wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or insulted. Markus fortunately didn’t take too long to continue the rest of the way to the wagon, still chuckling a little. The knight’s amused expression became stern, however, as he and Leif entered the wagon and Markus closed the door behind them. The table, Leif noticed, had been shrunk by two seats. Of course. But Markus said, “Good, the enlarging enchantment finally wore off, I was wondering how long that’d take. The extra chairs disappeared sometime way earlier this morning. Means we can have a chat without worrying the table’s going to shrink away from us.” Leif hesitantly took a seat, and Markus took the one across from him. “So,” Leif asked, “What’s...going on? Last night was the first time I saw you since you all got here - Chamile and Jonathon, too.” “Yes, I know - and that wasn’t our choice.” Markus tapped his fingertips together. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, what with me being gone so often - but considering last night, I’m going to take a not-so-wild guess and say I don’t need to beat around any bushes - you know as well as I do that Mother and Father and Henry - especially Henry - can be manipulative little toads and very irritating control freaks.” Leif had not been expecting anything near so direct, but after a moment’s surprise, managed, “Uhm - yes, they can be...like that.” “Then it won’t be that much of a shock to you that they deliberately kept me from talking to you?” So Morgaine had been right. “No,” Leif answered. “...A friend had to point it out to me, but I really should’ve thought of it myself. ...Why, though? What’re they worried about?” “Well, they’ve had this same argument with me before.” Leif sighed. “Yes, Henry said.” Markus raised an eyebrow again. “Henry said what, exactly?” “That you’d all had this argument - that Mother and Father didn’t approve of your girlfriends - and Regina and Ingrid’s boyfriends, I suppose - and you had to give them up.” “Ah,” Markus said with a nod. “Sounds like his usual vaguery in that area. I’m surprised you of all people just extrapolated it like that.” “Extrapolated what like what?” Markus sighed. “Okay, I’ll just explain. Back when I was around...eh, nineteen or twenty - sometime after you’d gone off to Iscaria - I had my first ‘I think this is the person I want to marry’ kind of relationship.” Pointedly, the knight went on, “He was a really good man - good soldier, good head on his shoulders - very good-looking, too, if I might add - but when I brought him to Raylier, Mother and Father were...not exactly thrilled.” That had been about the last thing Leif had expected to hear - he’d certainly heard no word of this while he’d been in Iscaria at Our Woo of Charity, or afterward. “Oh - oh, so it’s not just - I’m sorry, Markus.” “It’s all right. The whole thing was absolutely infuriating, as you’re well-aware. Same basic argument you had to deal with -” Markus pitched his voice high and mocking. “‘But you can’t have children!’ As if it matters in my case, I’m probably not passing on magic. “But you don’t need to be sorry, it did sort of highlight an issue. He could be kind of...possessive. Turned the whole thing into a choice between him or my family, and I wasn’t going to walk out on Chamile and Jonathon - and you, although,” Markus admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really had no idea how to help you out.” Leif looked down at the table, surprised and disappointed and guilty all at once. Henry had always been insistent that he’d tried to figure out how to bond with Leif, but he had given up well before Leif had even left for the church - he assumed everyone had. It was a pity it had been Markus, the one brother who was never around, who had at least still wanted to help - though maybe if he’d had to deal with Leif’s problems as much as everyone else, he would have felt the same way. It didn’t matter now, either way. “I’m sorry,” Leif muttered. “I wish even I’d had some idea what I needed, maybe I could’ve asked for it.” “Well, what you needed was archmage testing, and it wasn’t like it was your decision to skip it.” Markus frowned a little. “If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to, but...you started to say something about the church last night - that when it got more intense, you wanted to or could’ve done something?” It took Leif a moment to remember what Markus was talking about. “Oh...that.” He suspected from the knight’s expression that he had a fairly accurate guess, but Leif elaborated anyway, his eyes on the edge of the table. “It’s not a problem anymore, but... Mother and Father told you the details, right? That I get overwhelmed if I get too much touch or sound or have to deal with too much conversation and too many people?” Markus nodded, and Leif went on, “I still have trouble with that, but it has to be fairly intense for me to be in danger of overload.” Recalling the previous night, he added, “Or I have to be very, very stressed first. But at the church...once the blocks got worse , I was living on the edge of being overloaded just about all the time - and a lot of other weird things suddenly could set it off, too.” He shrugged. “It was exhausting being in that much pain all the time, and thinking about having to live like that for the rest of my life… I didn’t think I could do it. I never had much of a plan; I couldn’t really keep my thoughts organized and together enough, and I knew it wasn’t something I should want. All the same, it’s a good thing I was stupid enough to try handling a Veluzian Eagle when I did.” Though Leif had intended the last comment as a bit of humor, it didn’t carry through in his tone. Markus didn’t sound at all amused, either. “I’m sorry, Leif.” “Thanks. Like I said, though, it isn’t an issue anymore. Despite how much yelling I’ve done this week, I really am happy here.” “Yelling’s understandable, when our family’s involved,” Markus agreed. Leif nodded before saying, “Speaking of, though - obviously you didn’t marry your boyfriend, but...I was pretty sure I’d heard you were married to someone?” “You probably did - and yes, she’s a woman. But no, Mother and Father didn’t force this one; I met and courted and married Linnea all on my own. Turns out I can find both ladies and gentlemen attractive and datable. But of course, Mother and Father are...Mother and Father - I think they and Henry assumed ‘Well, Markus likes men, Leif likes men - that stupid knight will support Leif based purely on that’. And my history of bringing home someone they didn’t approve of probably convinced them I’d just be more sympathetic to your cause than theirs.” Markus shrugged. “But I’m actually not that shallow; I’ve been poking around town, getting the local word on things. It’s amazing how much stupid stuff some nobles will do when there are ‘only peasants’ around. ‘Woo, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve overheard or even been told purely because I’m in knight’s garb and haven’t introduced myself as an Accipiter yet.” “And?” Leif leaned forward a little, nervous despite the fact that there shouldn’t be any bad gossip for Markus to have heard, at least not about Kirin or the relationship. “From what I can tell, you found yourself a good guy. Odd amount of furniture damage in his vicinity,” Markus added, looking bemused, “but I hear he helps fix it afterward, and you’re a mage, anyway, so I’ll let it slide.” Leif nodded, relieved. “Good - at least someone here can see that, instead of getting caught up on his gender and making judgements like some backwater priest.” “Well...I don’t know if it’ll make you feel any better,” Markus offered, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not really that they disapprove of what our attractions are, just the fact that we’re picking them over our ‘duty’ to House Accipiter. Or, all of Corvus, in your case.” “...Why did they pick on you so much, then? No offense, but - I understand why they want me to have children. I get their logic there, I just don’t think it’s a compelling-enough argument. And I know they’d want Stefan to have children for the same reason, and of course, Henry needs an heir. But you said yourself - you don’t have magic. You’re not passing on a position, either. Does it really matter that much whom you marry, gender-wise?” “You wouldn’t think so - but the reigning theory is that they’re freaking out a little because all of us are having fewer kids than they expected. Henry and Astrid especially - they only have three kids right now, and although they’re talking about a fourth, I don’t really think they’re going to go through with it. Stefan’s still at two kids, and so’s Regina, and she’s been very insistent she’s not having more, Linnea and I decided now isn’t a good time for us to have kids at all… Well, you don’t need a headcount, the point is - nobody’s doing the same eight-child thing Mother and Father did.” He smirked humorlessly. “I think all of us know that didn’t turn out well for said eight children.” Leif nodded bitterly in agreement, but couldn’t help asking, “Even Henry and Stefan think that, hm?” “Even them. Like I said, Stefan’s only at two, and Henry’s been a really good, attentive father to all his children, from what I’ve seen of them.” “Ah.” Leif crossed his arms. “Of course.” Markus leaned forward. “Leif, I know you and Henry never got along, and you don’t exactly think the world of each other. And last night? That was completely out of line - for both of you, really, though I know you had a week of putting up with a lot more than Henry did. “But he’s not evil, you know. Henry has his good qualities, and he really is trying to be better than our parents, at least in some ways.” Perhaps gauging the unconvinced expression on Leif’s face, he added more quietly, “He didn’t mean everything he said last night. At least not that harshly.” Leif shrugged. “Yes he did. I’m not the best at reading people, but even I could tell he’d been holding that back for years. It’s fine. He can think what he wants about me.” Scowling, Leif added, “What is not fine is him threatening Kirin.” “What?” Markus asked, brow furrowing. “When did he do that?” “...You were right there - at the town square!” Markus’ frown deepened - and then suddenly his expression lit with understanding. “ Oh - that - oh, ‘Woo, Leif - “ To Leif’s surprise, Markus chuckled. “That wasn’t - look, he did the same thing to the girls’ suitors. Yes, it’s stupid, and I wish he wouldn’t - but that was definitely the Henry Accipiter’s Official Siblings’ Boyfriend Greeting. Loosely translated, it means ‘don’t you hurt my little sibling, I’m their big brother and I’ll get you for it’.” “...He was - what?” Leif blinked, replaying the scenario in his head. He...he could actually see it, the firm, testing handshake, the casual mention of a sword, the weird posturing...and if it had been just what Markus described, a warning that Henry wouldn’t put up with any abuse cast on his siblings, no wonder everyone had been so confused when Leif started raging as if it had been an imminent danger. “But why? He doesn’t need to protect me - especially not from Kirin!” “Well, Kirin is a Stallion,” Markus said with a shrug. “That probably made him seem like enough of a threat that Henry decided to do some posturing. I really don’t think he did it to make you angry with him - I think he just didn’t stop to consider that it was probably not going to come off very well when Mother and Father very clearly already didn’t approve.” After a moment’s hesitation, Markus asked, “How’s he holding up under all this?” “Kirin? He’s...okay. I didn’t tell him all the details, but he’s smart, he can probably guess just by how upset I’ve been.” Now that Leif had actually told him, anyway. He sighed, feeling freshly guilty - he should have been making sure Kirin was okay, not trying just trying to run interference. But I’m going to do better now, Leif reminded himself. “We’ll pull through it; it’s only a couple days and then everything can go back to normal. … Is it still just a few more days?” Leif asked, looking back up at his brother. “They’re not going to stay longer so they can keep at this, right?” “As far as I know, we’re still leaving at the end of the week. But what they’re going to do in those couple days…” Markus shook his head slightly. “It’s hard to say. Everyone’s been pretty quiet, especially about last night. They haven’t changed their opinions, but judging by today, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just...backed off for the rest of the time.” “Ah. So we go back to complete silence because I hurt their feelings.” Leif rolled his eyes. “Or sense of propriety, whichever they care about more.” “It’ll be both,” Markus said. “They’re not going to drop the sense of what’s proper - they just aren’t. If you’re stubborn enough, they might give up on trying to convince you otherwise, but I don’t think they’ll ever approve. I’m sorry. That doesn’t mean they don’t care about you.” Leif snorted, and Markus said, “I know they haven’t been very upfront with it, but - remember how I was supposed to arrive in Raylier the third day or so you were there before you left for House Jade?” “...I think so, yes,” Leif replied, confused by the change in topic. Markus went on, “Well, obviously you were gone by the time I got there - but I stuck around for a little while, and I overheard Mother and Father discussing it a couple times. They genuinely had no idea what you’d been dealing with, and they do feel bad about not having you tested like they should have. They just...don’t really know how to say it.” Leif...didn’t really believe that. If they felt so guilty about it, why had they not bothered to contact him to even try to apologize between then and now? “Didn’t know how to say it” wasn’t a good excuse - Leif had figured out how apologies worked, after all. And they had clearly come to Medieville only to try and force Leif apart from Kirin; the only time Leif’s blocked archmagery had come up was when Leif himself had mentioned it, and even then, his parents had very quickly diverted the topic. After insisting it wasn’t their fault because they hadn’t known it would happen, of course. “But,” Markus said before Leif could come up with a reply, “whether you and Mother and Father - and Henry - reconcile is up to the four of you. Maybe you can get over this hurdle, maybe you can’t, maybe you’ll change your mind later.” “Maybe,” Leif muttered dubiously. “But...what about you? And Chamile and Jonathon?” “Cham and Jon, you’ll have to figure out with them. Although I don’t think they’d mind having an older brother who isn’t Henry, and one who knows Solis, the Jades, and magic, to boot. As for you and me - I guess we have to hash that out. Henry didn’t leave many avenues open for us to talk and get to know each other.” “Well...we could still write? I’d just need to know where to send the letters. And it’ll be harder for Henry to interfere with communication he doesn’t even know is happening.” Markus nodded. “That sounds fair. Certainly wouldn’t mind having something to read, regimented life can get pretty dull when you’re not fighting.” “So I’ve heard.” Leif decided not to specify that he’d heard this from a Nid’aiglian knight, a little afraid that Markus would want him to tell his parents about Sieg so they could try to use him as a diplomatic link between themselves and Nid’aigle. It would probably come up eventually, and Markus didn’t seem to be a diplomacy-hunter, but it could still wait a while. All the same - “It’d be nice to hear what you’ve been doing the past…What you’ve been doing.” “Same - I hear a lot of hijinks go on in this city, and I can only imagine five years with the Jades led to lots of adventures. And maybe I can wrangle some time to come up here myself for visits someday, so we can...well, I guess you wouldn’t do rounds at the bar, but - eh. We can work out something.” Leif nodded, belated excitement flooding through him. He had definitely not expected anything like this - especially not after the mess last night. “That - that sounds great, Markus.” The church bells rang before Markus could reply; the knight and archmage paused to gauge the time, and when they had ended, Markus said, “It’s a plan, then. But if you wanted to talk to Cham and Jon, you’d probably better do that now - before Mother and Father and Henry get back.” “Absolutely.” “I’ll get the twins, then. And be nice, or I’ll break some very important bones,” Markus warned before stepping out of the wagon. Leif flopped back against the chair, hardly able to believe it - he was going to be writing letters to his brother. He was actually going to get to know one of his family members. The whole concept sounded and felt completely alien. How were they even going to start.... His vague thoughts about letter-openings was quickly interrupted by the creak of the wagon door. Leif sat up straight again as Chamile and Jonathon entered. Chamile looked cautious; Jonathon’s expression had gone completely neutral. “I - uh - hi,” Leif stammered. The Accipiter knight was nowhere in sight, so Leif asked, “Markus told you I didn’t come here to yell, right?” Chamile seemed to relax a bit as Leif spoke. “Yes, he did.” She pulled out two chairs, and Leif turned his sideways so he could face the twins. “I told him we don’t need protecting.” “...Ah. Well. ...I’m sorry for losing my temper last night. I don’t know if they told you, but ever since they got here, they’ve been pressing that particular point. ...I don’t have the most patience or the best temper, especially when I’m stressed like that.” “They were trying to keep us out of everything,” Jonathon admitted, ‘but we knew something was going on, Mother and Father and Henry have been tense all week.” “I’m sure,” Leif grumbled - probably tense because Leif hadn’t been showing any sign of giving in to their demands. He caught himself before adding that aloud, and instead admitted, “I - probably should have found a way to get out of coming to dinner. I’m sorry. But I did want to see you two.” He looked at Chamile, managing to meet her eyes. “Especially since you were trying to ask me something when you first got here.” Chamile seemed to consider this, and nodded slightly. “I don’t know that you could have avoided dinner,” she admitted. “Not without getting into more trouble. And I believe you, that Mother and Father and Henry pushed you that far. Why do you think Jonathon and I want to go to Solis?” Leif sat back a little, surprised by the bold admission. Jonathon made no move to counter it - they had probably discussed this before. “I...I can understand that,” Leif said. After all, he had spent most of his life looking forward to leaving Raylier for the priesthood. “And...when I said last night that I didn’t want to see you again - I meant Mother and Father and Henry. I know I wasn’t really a good big brother when we were kids...but I’d like to try now. I can help with Solis, with the Jades and the magic and the churches -” He forced himself to stop talking for a moment. “I mean - it’s up to you. I know I wasn’t on my best behavior. And I don’t know for sure why you came to Medieville, it could’ve been...anything.” Chamile and Jonathon glanced at each other. “Well, we did want to try and get to know you,” Chamile said. “You had those blocks, so it wasn’t really your fault you were reclusive before. And Jonathon and I were very...I think ‘cloistered’, would be a good word. In all honesty, Henry, Stefan, Regina, Ingrid - none of them know us very well.” “We’ve been writing to Markus, so we can get to know him” Jonathon added, “but that’s been fairly easy. At least by comparison.” “You can speak plainly, Jonathon, I think any bushes we had to beat around have been well and truly charred to ash by this point,” Chamile said with a half-smile that struck Leif as being very familiar - it took him a moment to place, but then he realized; it was an expression he had seen in reflections of his own face. Chamile explained, “We asked Father for your address so we could write to you - and Father said that you, he, and Mother ‘ought to discuss some things first.’” “...Is that why Mother and Father decided to come here now? I was wondering why it was so out-of-the-blue…” “Leif, Mother and Father would never just drop everything and leave Corvus because we wanted something,” Chamile said simply. “I think they started looking for an excuse to come here when we asked, yes, but there were things to attend to in Raylier and our lands. They genuinely are busy, and we didn’t want to try pushing through snow in wintertime.” “Well, that’s probably for the best,” Leif admitted. “The snow can get pretty bad here, I don’t care what the Bernians say about it being ‘light’. But anyway - I’ll give you my address if you want it. We’re all adults, Father shouldn’t be allowed to control whether or not you talk to me just because he and Mother don’t approve of whom I’m dating. If worse comes to worse - Markus and I agreed to write, maybe he can send our letters to each other along with his letters to you and I.” “That could certainly work,” Chamile agreed. “I’d say we could put enchantments on the letters to make the ink transform, but Mother and Father would check for that.” “Hmm. If it comes to that...I’ll think of something,” Leif promised. “I’m not much of an archmage if I can’t figure out how to secret letters to my siblings.” He glanced up at the door, then back to the twins. “Markus says he doesn’t know what’s going to happen in the next few days...and in case we have to find a way to work around Father and Mother to get the letters to each other - maybe anything important you wanted to ask or talk to me about, you should bring up now.” Jonathon looked to Chamile, who frowned but said, “I...did have a question I wanted to ask. I suppose it could wait, but…” She sighed and tucked a curl of brown hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to ask about the Jades. You know Lord Joffery and Reynold, right?” “Er...yes, I suppose. We aren’t exactly close, but Lord Joffery and I were some of the only Jades living here for a few months after the Coronation.” “Okay...and back when you lived in Corvus, did you know Reynold? Personality-wise?” “...Somewhat,” Leif admitted slowly. He didn’t think he liked where this question was going. “Is - is he anything like Joffery?” Chamile asked anxiously. Leif glanced away. No, he didn’t like the answer he had to give her. “I didn’t know Lord Reynold very well, and it’s been two years since we lived in the same building. But he’s...he’s not very much like Lord Joffery. He takes a lot more after his father. Very serious, very...not Joffery.” Should he add that Reynold could be a bit of a complainer? Maybe not, she was probably going to be upset enough without - And then to Leif’s surprise, Chamile let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank ’Woo! Not that I don’t think Lord Joffery seems, ah, quite nice,” Chamile said quickly, “I just don’t know about that much...enthusiasm.” She brushed her hand over a fold in her skirts. “It feels so strange marrying someone so much younger than I am. It would be even odder if he acted like a child.” “Well, Lord Reynold’s going to grow up; the three years between the two of you won’t be that much of a difference for long. Are you sure you still want someone who’s....Lord Everett-ish?” “You say that like it’s a bad thing - what’s wrong with Lord Everett? He’s a good ruler. And if Reynold and I are supposed to help Lord Joffery lead Corvus, and handle diplomatic affairs, we should be able to act serious about it.” There was a tremor of nervousness in her voice, but she managed to thwart it by the end of her sentence, camouflaging any lingering nerves with a grin. “I mean, I like teasing people and all, but...I probably wouldn’t do it to the Courdonians’ faces, you know?” “Well...Joffery doesn’t mean it like that - he’s genuine when he...sings traditional Courdonian ballads to slavelords.” Leif sighed. “Alright, I see your point. But really, Lord Joffery’s not that bad - after all, Lady Hope’s quite taken with him, and she’s very reserved and quiet. And if it wasn’t for his singing, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now.” His sister raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What?” “It’s a bit of a long story.” “Wait, I’ll bet I know - this was at the Coronation, wasn’t it? ...If Lord Joffery was singing Courdonian ballads while hitting gryphons, I promise I will never say another thing against him.” Jonathon asked skeptically, “How would singing have helped at the Coronation?” “Maybe the gryphons don’t like it,” Chamile suggested. “Maybe it reminds them of phoenixes.” “Uhm...well, it wasn’t gryphon-fighting. But...” Leif looked from one twin to the other; they genuinely seemed curious. He had no intention of sharing all the gory details of the fight, but if he kept the deaths of the Courdonian soldiers vague, the story with Joffery was certainly interesting. He relented, “Well, we were working through the Keep - ‘we’ being myself and a knight, his name is Sieg - anyway, we found Joffery at a hallway. One of the Courdonians had just fired a crossbow bolt at him…” ------ Leif was listening with increasingly raised eyebrows as Chamile and Jonathon told a story of their own, involving a magic lesson, carved wooden mice, the Lapifors spell, and an angry stray dog that had somehow slipped onto Accipiter grounds, when Markus opened the door to the wagon. “Sorry to interrupt - Father, Mother, and Henry are on their way back. Leif, if you want to make yourself scarce, now’s the time. Don’t panic,” he cautioned, probably seeing just that expression on Leif’s face. “They’re not down the road or anything. But this,” He held up the disc around his neck, “says they’re getting closer.” “I’d better go, then.” Leif got to his feet and pushed the chair back in. “I...might be hard to find this week,” he admitted. “I think I’m going to try keeping to my friends, and out of our parents’ and Henry’s sight. But...if you really need me, Stallion Manor might be a good place to check.” Chamile smirked briefly. “What?” Leif asked. “Nothing…” When Leif just raised his eyebrows, Chamile admitted, “I figured you were going to say something like that - that you’d be with your boyfriend.” She tilted her head. “Are you planning on marrying him, or…?” Leif felt his face heating. “Uh - I have to go, we can talk about Kirin later, Chamile.” “Bye, Leif. And we’d better!” Chamile added in a singsong voice as Jonathon waved and Leif headed out the door. Markus walked him back to the wards. “...So, are you?” “Markus - “ “Seriously.” Leif sighed. “Well, we’ve only known each other for two years. I mean - if I had to make the decision right now, one way or the other, no chance to change it, I’d say yes, but if something changes, for him or for me...I want us to have time to figure that out first. And I guess I don’t know for sure if Kirin even wants to be married, and...I have no idea how I would ask.” He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Just thinking about it made his stomach perform a lot of questionable acrobatics - not all of them bad, but some of them were definitely from nervousness. “It would have to be at the right moment, and in the right way…” “Don’t put it off too long just to make things perfect,” Markus warned. “It’s probably good that you take more time to make sure it would work out. But if you two get to the point where you’re sure...Leif, just buy the man a ring and ask. I spent a whole two days setting up this romantic walk through a forest and onto a bridge where I was going to propose to Linnea - and after we finally got through the forest path an hour after I’d planned for us to be in the best light, the bridge was covered in ducks and I had to try and fast-talk us to the side of the lake so I wouldn’t have to try and propose over quacking while kneeling in duck leavings. But it was still one of the happiest moments of my life when she said yes, and I don’t think I would actually have remembered all the lighting and the scenery and the ducks in the water where they belong if everything had gone according to plan.” Leif digested this a moment. “So...you’re saying I shouldn’t involve birds in the proposal.” “Well, from what I’ve heard, that won’t be possible for you - just try not to have a falcon divebomb him with the ring. Look - keep the overplanning to a minimum, is what I’m saying. You don’t want to miss a chance because you took too long to take it. And really, if the person you want to be betrothed to is going to say yes or no based solely on how elegant your proposal is - you should really reconsider asking.” “Yes, I know, but...Kirin deserves... he wouldn’t want anything too public, I don’t think, but...or maybe he’ll ask me before I even get a chance, it wouldn’t be the first time he made the first move...” Realizing they had reached the wards and he was just standing there while the Accipiters bore down on them, Leif hurriedly said, “There’s still plenty of time to think about it. I had better go - “ “Right, right.” Markus flicked his fingers over the disc, and the silvery construct disappeared. “You know how to get around without running into them, right?” “Of course - this is my city.” With a grin and a brief wave, Leif stepped off the Accipiter’s temporary grounds, and headed for the quieter, looping backways of Medieville. |
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Post by Tiger on Apr 27, 2015 19:14:17 GMT -5
EpilogueRichard Accipiter stood under the gray morning sky with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes on the already-bustling streets of the city-state. Over the chatter of the merchants and peasants and occasional guardsman, he could hear Henry and Markus hitching the black-and-white draft horses to the wagons. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye as Chamile and Jonathon worked their way through taking down the wards. Good practice for them, and it left Richard and Cateline fully-charged if they needed to magic away any difficulties on the road. He could also hear his wife approaching, presumably having finished the packing of items inside the wagons. What he did not see or hear any sign of was his second-youngest son. Cateline, echoing her husband’s thoughts, said, “He isn’t coming.” “Probably not,” Richard agreed. “But he was invited. It would be improper not to be ready.” “He’s not shown up to any of our other invitations, and he didn’t seem at all inclined to talk to us at the followup meeting with the city officials. What good are you expecting to come of it, anyway?” “There’s an imminent time limit now, and as far as Leif knows, this might be his last chance to reconcile. The pressure might change his mind.” He considered how to answer Cateline’s second question, but didn’t have much of an answer. Instead, he said, “It’s been a few days. Tempers have had time to cool.” “...Richard. Leif isn’t going to change his mind.” Lord Accipiter finally turned his gaze away from the street to look at his wife. Cateline’s expression was carefully blank, and her tone was equally void when she speculated, “I don’t know that it’s entirely to do with temper.” ”This is for his own good, Cateline. It’s better Leif be angry with us now than find out the truth the hard way later, and after he’s compromised his House.” “Yes. I know. But perhaps we ought to have - “ “We can’t change the past. As Corvids, we respect it - but we can’t live in it. You see how bitter that’s made Leif.” “Yes, but...maybe we should have acknowledged it more openly. Trying not to discuss it didn’t stop Leif from getting angry over it - and now we’re leaving the city without anything we came to accomplish.” “ This time,” Richard emphasized. ”There were...mistakes this time around - but the issue still stands. We’re hardly done trying.” All the same, annoyance bubbled in Richard’s gut as he looked out at the crowd again. After a minute or two of watching the crowd, Cateline asked, “Have you decided if you’re going to go see Lord Everett?” “Not yet. Believe me, I want to know what his reasoning behind allowing this was - but we have to approach the matter more carefully with Lord Everett than we did Leif.” “Horses are ready when we are,” Markus called. The knight had been rather short on words the past few days - not quite curt, but certainly approaching it. Of course, nobody had been particularly talkative the past few days, and especially not on the subjects of Leif or the farce of a dinner. Even Henry had been rather mute on the topic, though Richard had reason to think he and Markus had talked about it. Markus never asked his eldest brother to join him in sword-fighting drills, and both had come back from their supposed practice looking too frustrated and too sweatless to have been dueling with swords rather than words. Richard tried asking Henry about it, but all his heir would say was that it had been a matter between the two brothers and that their father’s intervention was unnecessary. Richard highly doubted it was that simple - he would have been a fool to think it was - but he was not eager for another son to alienate himself, and simply hoped Henry’s obvious irritation had meant that if Markus had tried to plead a case for Leif, Henry had not been amenable to it. The twins had been completely silent on the subject, which didn’t surprise Richard much. He wished Chamile and Jonathon hadn’t been forced to witness their brothers’ temper, particularly not Leif’s. I doubt they’re so eager to write to him anymore. Leif says he’s angry we didn’t try to contact him all these years - and then he drives off the people willing to give him a chance. It was a pity Richard couldn’t simply show Leif the effects of his actions. Just about everything had to be done or learned the hard way when it came to Leif, though. Richard slowly looked through the crowd again, searching for a face like his own but with darker hair and brighter eyes. Strange to be looking for that, the eyes - Richard hadn’t really noticed how bright the blue was before. Maybe that was just the distance of memory or the contrast of the dark marking - Well...scar, not just a mark.- under Leif’s left eye, but Richard suspected it was because eye color was hard to see when one was staring down at their feet. That was usually how Richard had seen the boy, even and especially as a child. In hindsight, that should have seemed strange, and perhaps worth investigating. But there had been no time to catalogue all the eccentricities, to realize there was a pattern to it, certainly no way to connect them to the presence of such incredibly rare powers, Richard reminded himself. And even if there had been - it was too late now. It was also getting too late to stand around waiting - the bells were going to toll eleven any minute. Cateline was right; Leif wasn’t coming. Richard sighed. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised...he never was very good at putting emotions anything but first. Richard turned sharply on his heel. “Thank you, Markus,” he said in reply to the knight’s announcement that the horses were prepared. Chamile and Jonathon were coming around to meet them, returning their wands to their holsters. “Are we ready to leave?” Richard asked, and when everyone had nodded, uncharacteristically silent, the lord of House Accipiter announced, “Very well...let’s be off, then.” ------- Even from a tower in Raven’s Keep, Leif couldn’t see the field the Accipiters were occupying. Too many buildings were in the way. Maybe there was another tower somewhere with a better vantage point, but Leif wasn’t about to ask any of the castle staff where that might be, or exert any extra effort to find it himself. It had been a long few days, though Leif had spent as much as he could hiding out with his friends instead of waiting in Marson Manor for the next visit or invitation to an interrogation from the Accipiters. Apparently the Accipiters had tried leaving letters or coming to see him, but careful timing in the case of the later and unusual use of summertime fireplaces for the later had served Leif well. He still felt a little guilty for risking his friends being dragged into this whole mess, and for intruding so much on their hospitality. But hopefully it was better than the alternative. Even with that tinge of guilt, Leif felt immeasurably better. Not having to conform to his parents’ strict etiquette, or brace for an argument every few minutes, or having to watch his words for things that could be used against him, being able to talk about subjects that were actually interesting and relevant, being able to joke again...Leif hadn’t realized just how quickly and strongly he’d fallen back into his childhood habits until he broke them again. It was a surprise he hadn’t noticed it from the start, considering how stark the contrast was. To his relief, he had only seen the Accipiters again once - at a mandatory follow-up meeting to discuss whether the broken watermill project had satisfied everyone’s needs. Only Lord and Lady Accipiter had shown up, to Leif’s surprise; he had expected Henry would be there as well. Whether the Accipiter heir was off sulking or if he had been encouraged to stay behind so as to avoid another argument, Leif didn’t know - he hadn’t lingered after the meeting to talk. They made no special effort to speak to Leif, either, through they’d kept such a close eye on him that Leif was strongly tempted to wash himself just to get rid of the sensation of being watched. After that, however, the only attempted contact Leif had received was a short note. He’d received it just yesterday - an announcement that the Accipiters were leaving town. Leif could read the unwritten expectation - that he would show up for a formal farewell. Leif was not giving them that satisfaction. It was...exhaustingly infuriating that things had ended like this. Part of him wanted to go to the field and demand an apology - his parents and Henry had treated Leif like a misbehaving pet, and Kirin even worse, and they hadn’t even had the decency to be honest in their letter to Leif about their intentions for coming north. But what had he expected? His parents hadn’t changed; Leif had always been little more to them than a banner with House Accipiter’s colors and a botched weaving that kept it from working properly. Pieces of fabric didn’t get to have opinions or choices. Aside from the decision of which church Leif would go to - a decision Leif had fought tooth and nail and likely only won because at some point his parents must have realized his antisocial behavior would be a disaster in a big cathedral - it had always been Lord and Lady Accipiter’s way, or no way at all. At least now Leif was strong enough to fight his way through to that ‘no way’ - it cost him his parents, but there were worse prices to pay, and he’d never really had his parents, anyway. And I did start working on amends with Markus and the twins, Leif thought, shifting his arms a little on the stone windowsill. And there’s everyone here, of course. He wouldn’t truly be alone for...a long time. Possibly, he dared hope, not ever again. The church bells started to ring, marking the eleven-o’-clock hour. Leif’s gaze flicked toward the city gate, and sure enough, a bare minute after the bells stopped, the doors opened wide and Leif could just barely see the carriages passing through. The Accipiters - out of town, out of Leif’s hair, and, maybe in some cases - out of his life all-together. After a moment, the gates slowly swung shut again. Leif watched them for a moment - but not long. Watching wouldn’t make Markus or the twins’ letters come any faster, and anyway, there was missed time with Kirin to make up for, the raptors probably wanted a proper daytime hunt, Xavier had a magic lesson the next day that Leif needed to finish preparing for, and he really ought to buy some nice tea leaves for Morgaine to replace the ones he’d used while hiding out at the Lock and Key trust during the week… As much to do as ever, but all of it infinitely more interesting and rewarding than vineyards and diplomatic trips and political marriage. Let the Accipiters have those; this was where Leif belonged, this was what he was supposed to be doing with his life. Leif pushed himself up from the sill, and as he took a final look over the city, his city, he noticed that there seemed to be a bit of brightness trailing behind the storm. Credits Shinko collaborated with me on Part 6, and awesomely beta-read this whole behemoth for me, back when it was a much scarier beast! Killix kindly looked over and approved my Kirin-writing, and should be credited with Kirin's very valid point about Garrick in Part 1! ViewersReaders like you, who make this whole "writing stupidly long stories thing" waaaay too much fun! Thank youuuuuuuu!
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Post by Tiger on Aug 23, 2015 18:41:14 GMT -5
A Broken Beak
Sorry, Leif; you'll get a happy story someday. Leif was pretty sure his head was going to explode.
He tried to tell himself that was a silly thought, that heads didn’t burst open, that it was a ridiculous idea. He was eleven years old, and he had never seen or heard of a head exploding. But that was how it felt - his face was full of pressure, pressure pushing from inside his head at his face and nose and the backs of his eyes. When Leif touched his tongue against the roof of his mouth, it felt like there was something pressing back and weighing down his palate. Even his teeth hurt.
This wasn’t the same kind of pressure as usual. Not that other pressure, the one that was there but not really there and that acted up when he was touched or hit by loud noise. This pressure was definitely here, and besides, it was going the other direction, trying to push out like it wanted to escape. The other pressure went inward, and it seemed to want to squash Leif like a bug under a boot.
The outward pressure was making the inward one...agitated.
Leif hadn’t moved since waking up except to scoot his head under the covers. Moving jostled the pressure, and it was bad enough without all the weight shifting around and pressing against new places - touch sometimes lingered, and he was so afraid this would do the same.But all the pressure being in the same place wasn’t much better - he could practically conjure in his head a perfect map of the front of his skull, he could feel the shape of his nose and eye sockets from the inside. It reminded him of all the pictures of skeletons he’d seen in books - mostly birds’, of course. He’d seen pictures of human ones, too, but only in his lessons. He looked at bird books all the time, and there were lots of bird skeletons drawn in those pictures.
If he’d ever doubted it, Leif could be sure he didn’t have a beak. Not a real one, anyway. Just a beaky nose. Like a parrot, really, not like an eagle or a hawk. Not really even like a falcon.
He would have liked to keep thinking about birds and all the amazing shapes of their beaks, but he couldn’t focus - the pressure hurt. Leif wished his nose would run, maybe whatever was in there would get unstuck if it did. He could feel all his nose bones but he didn’t want to, he wanted to go back to not realizing they were there like usual.He could feel the shape of the roof of his mouth, he didn’t want that, either - and his eyes hurt, they were burning, like he’d been standing in smoke.
The sun was barely poking through the window. Leif’s curtains were drawn tight - he made certain they were drawn tight every night, so he couldn’t see things moving outside the window - but light poked down onto the floor from the gap between the wall and the curtain rod. He hoped it wasn’t what time it looked like; if it was what time it looked like…
Somebody knocked on his door, like they did at this time every morning - and Leif recoiled in surprise and horrendous discomfort when the sound sloshed and reverberated through his head. His ears...it was like they were stuffed up, but - also like somebody had thrown a rock onto the water, except the water was in his head.
Flinching made the bedcovers shift and the wrinkles of his nightclothes changed. Usually that was okay, but now, where his senses were already agitated - he could feel a big curl against his back, the weight and slight tug from the tucked-in sheet at his feet - no no no - stop, stop that, stop noticing that! Leif closed his eyes and froze again.
It didn’t drive away the person at the door. Well, of course it didn’t, but Leif still cringed when the door creaked open. “Lord Leif - it’s almost time for breakfast and your lessons.”
The servant’s voice rolled through Leif’s head and he felt…sound-sick was the only way he could think to describe it. He could feel all the way down to his teeth - and no no no, he could feel the pressure building again, not the outward one but the inward one, the pressure that wasn’t really a pressure but hurt just as badly...
He made no reply, and didn’t dare try to move. After a moment, the servant repeated his name, in a terser tone. Leif wondered if he should put his hands to his ears, but he was so afraid it would just make the sound of whatever the noises were sloshing through echo even more…
After a third repetition, this one hesitant and concerned, Leif heard footsteps and as they got closer, they echoed through his head. He couldn’t pull his focus away from the sound and the way it reverberated and bounced against his nose and pressed at his teeth…
The servants, mostly, knew not to touch Leif, but he saw a shadow of the woman’s hand through the blankets and cringed instinctively. Whether she saw the small movement and was reassured, or just thought better of the touch, or something else entirely, Leif didn’t know. What she actually did do was only better by comparison; she pulled the blankets back. “Lord Leif?”
Leif squeezed his eyes shut against the intruding light - it wasn’t quite painful, it wasn’t bright enough to be, but it made his head pound. That did hurt - it was like - like when he’d been practicing casting Protegwoo and his instructor had demonstrated how hitting a shield that wasn’t cut off from its caster’s magic would rattle down the mage’s arms - that was what it felt like, except in his head - reverberating and repeating, not just one strike that was over with quickly.
“...I don’t feel good,” Leif muttered, some of his consonants swallowed by the sleeve of his nightshirt as he tucked his face into his arm. Just stop pushing! he told the pressure in his head. Unsurprisingly, it did no such thing.
“Hmm,” the woman said. Leif couldn’t tell if she was concerned or skeptical or - or what, he didn’t know how to read emotions in weird sounds like that. “Let me speak to your mother.” ...Skeptical, then.
She was gone again before Leif could put together the words to tell her to wait, not to bother his mother. She’s just gonna be mad at me, she’ll say it’s another fit... Leif pulled the covers back over his head and squirmed into a ball. He hoped he wasn’t actually going to have an episode of overload on top of this horrible face-pressure...
Leif must have managed to fall asleep briefly, or at least he went into a daze, because quite suddenly the servant was back and pulling the covers away again. “Your father says you ought to come to breakfast, unless you’re feeling nauseated. Are you sick to your stomach?”
“Mmhm. Yeah.” It was a lie, his stomach didn’t hurt - but anything to get out of having to stand up, walk to breakfast, and then try to sit through the meal while his head was pounding and his cheekbones and nosebones strained to hold back what felt like the entire Silver River.
Unfortunately, Lord and Lady Accipiter assumed Leif lied a lot more than he actually did. The servant warned, “If that’s the case, I’m to take you to Lady Avila to be checked and given a potion.”
Leif wondered if he should say yes and just go to the healer. His aunt, the aforementioned Lady Avila, would find out that there was nothing wrong with his stomach, but maybe she could figure out what this thing in his head was. There could be a potion or a spell to make it go away, to thin it out, or drain it, or somehow make it stop pushing.
...But Leif had tried to get her help with the other pressure, too, and she had never found anything. And what if she thought this was the same thing, and just tried to give him one of the nasty-smelling headache potions? Not only would it absolutely not help, but it might make him even more sick.
“Maybe it’d feel better if I ate something,” Lief grumbled; it wasn’t quite admitting to his lie, but it appeased the servant enough that she left with a brief suggestion that he hurry and dress quickly, or breakfast would get cold.
Leif pressed his face into his pillow. His only hope was one of his parents realizing that he was actually really sick, and letting him come back to bed. But he didn’t want to go at all. Didn’t want to deal with Henry yammering on about whatever it was he wanted to yammer about today, or Stefan and Regina bickering, or his parents lecturing everyone about their lessons and trying to interest them all in the news of all the other lords in Corvus. All that noise, and then the clinking of forks and spoons and knives...usually Leif was able to tolerate it all, but when he was stressed, that was not the case. He was definitely stressed right now. And the thought of the sounds all rolling through his head…Things would be so much easier, so much better, if he could just go back to sleep. But if he did that, his parents would come to see where he was. Or worse, they might send Henry to do it.
Leif screwed his eyes shut and slowly sat up. Despite the care he took, blood rushed into his head; the young noble let out a strangled gasp of pain as the pounding sensation wobbled through the pressure in his head, striking the curve of cheekbones and the thrust of his nose and the back of his eyes. The pressure sank down onto his teeth - it was like a huge bird was using his skull as a nest and had just settled down to roost on top of his palate, except a bird would at least have soft feathers and wouldn’t make sounds slosh around his head. There was a bizarre swooping in his nose - like something was trying to drain out but pulled back at the last second. The combination of disorienting sensations made him feel sick and for a moment, Leif was pretty sure he was going to faint.
Somehow he held out, and mercifully, the pounding faded. The over-awareness of the shape of his face, the pain of whatever pressure this was, and his headache, however, all remained. Leif wrapped his arms around himself, swamped by the miserable certainty that he was going to have another episode of overload today. Why wouldn’t his family just let him sleep?
It wasn’t long before he heard voices drifting up the stairs; that meant Leif didn’t have much time. Sucking in a heavy breath, he forced himself to his feet. He used the endboard of his bed to steady himself as he made his way to the wardrobe. The sloshing in his head made him feel like he was heavier and slower and that threw off his balance.
He reached the wardrobe and pulled open the door, taking his gloves from the nearest shelf. They were a thinner pair than he really would have liked, but his father scowled less if Leif wore gentlemen's gloves instead of thicker working ones. Leif didn’t put them on just yet, instead running the back his knuckles over the fabric of various shirts and trousers to make sure he was picking something especially neutral in texture today. He passed over a shirt with heavy buttons and another with the Accipiter emblem stitched into it; on most days, both of those shirts were fine, but on days like today, it wasn’t smart to test his endurance. Leif quickly narrowed his selection to a smooth white shirt with loose - not quite flowing, because that would be just as bad, but loose - sleeves, and a somewhat worn but particularly comfortable pair of pants. Hopefully his parents wouldn’t notice that they were a few inches too short.
Leif knew he ought to wash his face and comb his hair. He was definitely not going to bother with that - there was no point getting presentable when he was going to go right back to bed as soon as someone acknowledged he was ill.
Finally pulling on his gloves, he trudged out the door and into the hallway, keeping a hand on the wall just in case. He didn’t walk fast, but even so Leif still had to start breathing through his mouth because his nose was all stuffed up.
By the time he made it to the entrance to the dining room, Leif’s head was pounding again. Nngh - why won’t it just stop hurting? Leif pinched the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, and tried to press back against it. Immediately he balked and released it again - the push did nothing to relieve the heaviness, and in fact just made him abruptly aware where he was pinching - he could have drawn an outline of the shape of his fingers in that sharp instant. No no no don’t keep thinking about it, get out, get out of my head - birds, think about birds!
The vulture yesterday - he’d been sent outside to play with his siblings, but Regina and Stefan had been fighting as always and Leif wasn’t about to hang around their shouting. Instead he’d slipped off to watch birds. There had been a huge bird circling widely overhead; with its short neck and broad wings, it had looked almost like a hawk, but the burst of white primaries that made each black-feathered wing look like it ended in a bony hand identified it as a black vulture. It had probably been looking for food - that, or a turkey vulture to follow for food. Leif had wondered where its family was; like most birds - raptors, anyway - they picked one mate and stayed with them, and black vultures kept bonds with their offspring. Maybe this one had wandered farther from its parents than its siblings. Or maybe it was looking for a mate, although mid-fall was too early. Sometimes they started in early winter, but not before than. Leif had read that in more northern regions, they would wait even longer, probably because winter was bad for their chicks - which, funnily enough, were born with white down feathers...
Focusing hard on his catalogue of facts, Leif managed to fight back the over-awareness. His heart still pounded like Corvid rain on a tin roof as he swallowed thickly and stepped into the dining room. All of the chairs were filled, except for Markus’ and Leif’s, both for obvious reasons. Instead of starting for his seat, Leif hovered at the doorway. “Uhm...Father? Mother?”
His parents looked up sharply. Catline lowered her silverware and said in a stern tone, “There you are. The food is going to get cold.”
Leif looked down so she wouldn’t see him cringe at the way her voice rolled through his head - she would just get mad at him for looking upset with her. She continued speaking, and old syllables crashed into new ones, and Leif could barely understand his mother as she scolded, “And you’re going to be late for lessons if you don’t hurry. What took you so long, we sent - “
“I don’t feel good!” Leif blurted, unable to take the deluge of echoing words for a second longer. His voice was strained and even to him sounded whiny. Well, he felt like whining. “Can I go back to bed? Please?”
He heard a fork set down against a plate and his shoulders clenched at the soft but sharp noise. Richard Accipiter’s voice, as stern as his wife’s had been, asked, “Is this another episode, Leif?”
Leif would have clenched his jaw if his teeth didn’t already hurt so badly. “No - no, it’s not. My face hurts.”
“Maybe you slept on it wrong?”
Leif glared up at Henry. What a stupid thing to say! “I didn’t sleep - ” Leif winced at the volume of his own indignant voice. “It’s not that,” he mumbled.
Stefan, flicking his fork as he spoke, asked snidely, “If it’s not that, then what is it?”
“I don’t know!” Leif huffed. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Mother and Father!” Turning his attention back to his parents, Leif pleaded, “My head hurts. Please - can I go back to bed?”
Henry grumbled, “Well, no need for that.” Leif crossed his arms and squeezed the fabric of his sleeves to keep himself from saying anything.
Cateline sighed, briefly rubbing her temples. “You don’t need to yell at your brothers, Leif, they’re only trying to help. If you really aren’t feeling well, you should see your Aunt Avila first.” Precisely what Leif had been trying to avoid. Though if she had something that would make this pressure go away…
Regina hastily swallowed her mouthful of food and set down her silverware. “I can go with him, Mother, to make sure he goes?”
“You have lessons to get to, Regina - I’ll not have you late because you spent the morning badgering your aunt with questions.” Regina huffed, but Cateline didn’t acknowledge it, instead turning to her eldest son. “Henry, your lessons start a little later than the others’ today - why don’t you take him to the infirmary?”
What? Leif thought in horror. No no no -
Henry was no help - Leif knew he wasn’t happy about it, but he put on a smile and said, “Of course, Mother.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, set it beside his plate, and rose from his chair. How he managed to make every one of those gestures so infuriating was beyond Leif - and he made it no better by cheerily declaring, “Let’s go, Leif!”
“Not so loud!” Leif groaned. He might as well take a stick and rap himself on the head the entire way to the infirmary; it would probably have the same effect.
Leif was already agitated by pressure pushing out at his face and the pressure pushing in at his head, and it was difficult to concentrate through the sloshing and the dizziness; and he knew it was going to get worse at any minute, because Henry was going to make some stupid comment and try to start some stupid conversation. It was like being locked in a small room with a wasp - eventually it was going to find and sting him.
Sure enough, they barely made it around the corner before Henry gave Leif a sidelong glance and asked, “So are you really sick, or d’you just not want to go to lessons today?”
“No, I’m faking it, I really like pretendin’ my head’s about to get pushed open!” Leif growled back sarcastically. His jaw was automatically clenching, and his teeth pressed against the pressure from his face. He forced the muscles to loosen, taking a deep breath, but the remembered sensation of pressure didn’t fade. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Okay, okay - you don’t need to bite my head off. Or anyone’s - you really have to get control of your temper, Leif. It won’t make you any friends.”
“I don’t need friends, I need t’go back to bed. Why can’t Mother just believe me and let me go to sleep? It’s not fair.”
“You’re joking, right? Leif, you do this all the time with your head and touching...thing.” Henry waved a hand vaguely as if to physically brush away the need for a clearer word. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised she’s letting you go to Aunt Avila at all instead of sending you on to your lessons.”
Leif bristled. “I’m not lying about that, neither!”
“It’s either, not ‘neither’ - otherwise your negatives cancel each other out.”
“I don’t care.” Leif wished he had a hood he could pull over his head so he didn’t have to see or hear Henry quite as clearly. “My head hurts, I don’t want stupid grammar lessons!” It would be nice if, just once, Henry decided not to take an opportunity to lecture him on something. Leif neither needed nor wanted a third hypercritical parent.
“Hurts how, exactly? You’ll have to explain it to Aunt Avila.” He still sounded skeptical.
“I will.”
“...Maybe you should practice first,” Henry offered, when there was a moment of silence. Henry apparently hated silence,; if Henry was a bird he’d be a woodpecker - no, worse, a whooping crane, and he’d follow people around the aviary cawing and preening, because Henry would be bad at being a bird.
But, knowing Henry would just nag him if he tried to keep quiet, Leif decided that at least he could control the volume of his own voice and grumbled, “My face hurts. It’s like there’s something heavy in there and it’s pushing on everything.”
“‘Everything’? This sounds a lot like one of your episodes so far.”
“It’s not - I dunno where that one pushes, but this is pushing my face - my nose hurts and my teeth and my eyes…” Leif trailed off, grimacing, as the pressure momentarily intensified - it felt like more of whatever was in his head had flooded into his nose. His head pounded again, and Leif felt that other presure starting to grow as he mentally teetered under the combination of all this extra pressure and his eyes hurting and his agitation at dealing with Henry and the difficulty of trying to have a conversation…
They went around another corner, and somehow Leif took it too sharply. The dizziness came back and he reached out to catch the wall and steady himself. Henry made a noise of surprise; Leif tried to ignore him. Then Henry grabbed his arm.
Leif flinched and yanked himself free. “Don’t!” he shouted, and cringed at the reverberation and the way it slammed against the inside of his head. Anger crackled through his chest - why couldn’t Henry just keep out of Leif’s space? Why could nobody keep their distance, why did everybody always have to touch and poke and grab at him? How many times did he have to tell them he didn’t like it, that it hurt!?
“Easy - I was trying to keep you from crashing into the wall!” Leif could just picture Henry standing with his hands up as if Leif had drawn a wand on him. “...There really is something wrong with you today, isn’t there?”
“I’ve been telling you that!” Leif snapped. He leaned against the wall, shifting his shoulder a little so it didn’t press into a decorative piece of wood extending up from the baseboard. Part of him wanted to call Henry names, the meanest ones he could think of - how stupid did Henry have to be, not to realize that Leif was sick? He’d said at least two or three times in the dining room that he wasn’t feeling good, that he wanted - needed - to go back to bed, he’d even tried explaining the stupid symptoms! But it was the same as always - unless he was actually throwing up or so hot and sweaty from a fever he looked like he’d gone swimming in a cauldron, everybody thought it was him getting overwhelmed again - or, rather, him faking getting overwhelmed again.
Even as angry as he was, another part of Leif just wanted to give up. Maybe it’d be easier to just pretend...well, he didn’t even know what to pretend. That Henry was always right? That he was a good older brother? Leif wouldn’t have known how to do that even if he really wanted to try.
“...Don’t touch me again,” he settled on at last. “Don’t.”
“Okay, fine - sorry for trying to keep you from giving yourself a concussion.” Leif heard a shuffle of fabric as Henry shifted. “So, if you’re actually sick, and it’s something in your face…” Henry snapped his fingers and Leif twitched. “You know, that sounds like something Stefan had a few summers back!”
Rubbing his ear, Leif grumbled, “Can we just go get Aunt Avila to fix it?” Had Henry been snapping his fingers around Stefan when he had this? Probably not. And probably everybody believed Stefan when he said he was sick, even though he’s the one who fakes it so he can get out of lessons!
“I suppose we’d better. She can’t heal it all at once,” Henry went on, and Leif pictured a whooping crane again, “but she can give you a potion for - “
“Can we just go?” Leif forced himself up off the wall and down the hallway, prying open his eyes. It had felt a bit better having them shut before, but he wasn’t going to try staggering blindly down the hallway. Not if Henry was going to grab him anytime he went the slightest bit off-balance. He heard Henry heave a sigh and start after him.
The infirmary was probably meant to be comfortable. It had dark but rich colors, art on the walls, plenty of soft lights, thick curtains around each of the beds for longterm stays, and numerous choices of seats for visitors to any of those patients.
Leif did not like the infirmary. He’d been dragged here so many times and told nothing was wrong with him and that he was faking his episodes, when why would he be faking them, they weren’t fun, they just got him into trouble - and when he tried to come early, to stop the episodes before they happened, he just got nasty-tasting headache medicines. He could always half-smell the brew when he stepped into the room. Just his imagination, probably. Probably.
Their aunt was slicing some kind of thick root as a table on the far side of the room, most likely for a potion. She looked up when Henry and Leif entered the room; Avila’s eyes were slightly bluer than Richard’s pure-gray, but they could be just as sharp as her brother’s all the same, and Leif quickly glanced away. He heard a slight, stiffled sigh, cut off by the sound of the knife being set down.
“Another episode?”
“No,” Leif huffed. He tried to take a sniff of the air, and it sent a wave of discomfort up his nose. At least he couldn’t smell the potion. “I’m sick. Mother said I had to come here ‘fore I could go back to bed.”
“Mother asked me to come with him,” Henry added. “He might have the same thing Stefan did, that summer he came in saying his nose and teeth hurt?”
“Hmm. Aggravated sinuses?” Her footsteps, sharp on the hard, slick floor of the infirmary, approached them. Leif crossed his arms more tightly over his chest at the noise. Now his stomach hurt, too - nervousness, though, not illness.
Leif glanced up in time to catch Avila gesture toward one of the open beds. “Sit up or lie down, whichever is more comfortable.”
Lying down would have felt better, but Leif didn’t want to get in trouble for falling asleep. He sat, hunched forward and staring at the floor, while Avila bustled around the room. Leifs head was pounding, probably because his heart was beating so hard and fast. He could sense Henry hovering nearby - why wouldn’t he just leave?
Avila’s steps approached the bed and Leif glanced up. The pressure drifted languidly, thickly, back from his nose and over his palette. Agh - stop that!
To make things worse, Avila’s first instructions were for Leif to tilt his head even further back. “I need to look into your nose.”
“...Why?”
“Leif - do what she says,” Henry ordered. “She’s trying to help.”
Leif’s fingers clenched on the blankets, but his angry thoughts were too frazzled to form themselves into a proper argument. So he just leaned his head back - and then gagged as something thick starting oozing down the back of his throat. Leif jerked his head down again - triggering the dizziness. Stop spinning!
“Deep breath, Leif. What happened?”
Forcing his breaths to deepen, if not entirely even out, Leif answered, “It stared goin’ down my throat…”
“What did? Mucus?” Henry guessed. “That’s what happened to Stefan.”
“I dunno, that always comes out my nose!” Leif whined.
Avila said, “It’s probably mucus. Keep your head still so I can look from underneath.” She pulled a stool over with her foot and flicked her wand at it, muttering a soft incantation Leif recognized as a shrinking spell. Avila kept the light coming from her wand until the stool was only about as tall as the footstool in the washroom, so when the healer sat down, she was looking up at Leif. He felt better with her not looming over him. Not much, but a little.
“Woomos,” the healer said. Green light appeared at the tip of her wand, and quickly faded to a goldish white. After a moment’s study, Avila declared, “...Definitely red, and I see swelling.” She rose to her feet and tried to look at Leif, whose eyes automatically flicked to the wall behind her. The healer brought the light close to Leif’s face, and he could feel her gaze as she inspected him. “No swelling on your face, but you’re awfully red. Let’s see if you have a fever - are you going to let me touch your head so I can check that?”
Leif cringed and drew back, his shoulders hunching up high; if he’d been a bird, he would have ducked his head into his plumage. Or flown away. “My head’s hot, I’m all sweaty - I’ve got a fever, I’m not lying!”
“I need to make sure, because if your head isn’t hot, something different might be wrong,” Avila said. She picked up a potion bottle, unstoppered it, and poured some of the peach-colored liquid out into her hand. She spread it across her palm like butter onto bread, just much thinner.
Leif fought a whimper back down his throat - he’d get chastised for it - as he realized Avila wasn’t going to give him a choice. He just didn’t want to be touched - that was all he wanted, and it didn’t seem like much to ask for. Leif never touched anybody else, it couldn’t be that hard!
“My face hurts,” Leif protested in a last-ditch effort to make Avila change her mind. To his embarrassment, his voice cracked. He was not going to cry, not in front of Henry, or Avila - “Touching it’s going to hurt it more!”
“I’m going to be gentle,” Avila promised.
But that didn’t matter - it was touch, and being touched hurt!
And nobody else cared about that - Avila put her hand on his forehead and even though Leif cringed and tried to duck his head down, she kept it there for a few seconds. Her skin was several degrees cooler than his; Leif could feel the sharp divide between each of her fingers and the edges of her palm by the line between chill and burn alone. It nettled at him, pricking at that pressure-that-wasn’t a pressure - his eyes were hot again even though he had them shut, but this time it wasn’t tiredness or fever, just building moisture to go with the tightness in his throat.
She drew her hand back at last, and Leif pulled his knees up onto the bed and close to his chest and pressed his face into the fabric of his pants. He could still feel the lingering coolness of her hand, a tangible ghost of where her fingers had rested, tiny bits of stickiness from where the potion had not quite settled into a hard coating…
He couldn’t let himself focus on that - it would drive him into an episode, and he couldn’t do that right now. Leif focused on trying not to cry from the sheer anger and fear and the exhausting pain of this pressure in his face...
Leif couldn’t see her, but he knew Avila would be checking what color the potion she’d poured onto her hand and pressed against Leif’s head had turned. She said something - Leif couldn’t focus well enough to hear all of what she said. All he caught was “thought it would be”, which sounded like yes he did have a fever. Which he had already told her.
She said something else, which Leif didn’t pay attention to. But then she was quiet for a minute - Leif hadn’t heard her move away, but she wasn’t saying anything, either. Henry couldn’t let the silence rest and tried to ask, “Aunt Avila?”, but she must have gestured for him to be quiet.
A few more moments passed, and finally Avila said, quietly, “Leif?”
He dared to lift up his head a little, though he kept his gaze firmly locked on his knees. He could see most of Avila’s hands, though he had to blink away tears before he could see them clearly.
“...I need to check some places on your face and see where the pain is.”
“I told you where it is! Don’t touch it, it hurts!” His voice cracked again - how many more times was he going to have to say this?
“I need to make sure the pain is coming from your sinuses.”
“My nose? It’s there, that’s where it is!” His heart was beating fast and his breaths were starting to come quick and short as well - he could feel the pulse of blood in his fingertips and ears and the sense of starting to buckle under a mental weight swelled. “I’ll - I’ll touch it, just tell me where and I’ll check!”
From the side of the room, Henry sighed and said, “Leif, she’s not going to push very hard - Stefan got through it fine. It won’t hurt for very long.”
“But it will! It always - “
Avila interrupted, saying, “I can’t give you the best potion for it without checking; it’s bad for you if you don’t have inflamed sinuses.” Before Leif could say fine, he didn’t want any potions for it, then, his aunt continued, “Your father will be very upset if you either don’t get a potion you need, or I give you one that isn’t safe.”
“But I don’t want it!”
“Leif, I can send Henry to get your father now, and you can talk to him about it - or you can let me do this quickly, and then it’ll be over.”
“That’s not fair!” But if his father would be upset...Leif didn’t want to deal with his father on top of everything else. And Leif wasn’t stupid; his father would make him let Avila do it. There was no way to get out of this.
He couldn’t bring himself to say yes - he couldn’t bring himself to say anything at all. But when Avila took a slight step closer and said, “It’ll be very quick,” Leif just buried his fists under his arms and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.
He could tell Avila was trying not to touch too hard, but there was still weight there, still the sharp edge from the coolness of her fingertips, but at the same time, the uncomfortable and distinct warmth of another person, a warmth he didn’t want... He could smell the soap she had used to clean her hands - some kind of plant - and the slightly sharp, clean-water smell that Terwoogeo left behind - Leif’s attention skittered painfully from one sensation to another, trying to sort through them all - but he couldn’t ignore any one of them for long and they were all demanding his attention, all of them pressing down without actually pressing - the slight pulse of blood in Avila’s fingers - the scent of lavender - he could hear her breathing, could hear his own breathing, all sharp and shaky - the liquid in his head rolled and carried a swoop of vertigo with it, the disorienting sense of swinging forward but not actually moving -
And then she pushed a little on the skin just below the inner corner of his eyes, right where Leif’s nose connected to his face. Leif jerked back from the healer with a half-stifled little noise of pain - she’d found the pressure and pushed right on it and it seemed like she’s pressed down on all of it all at once. Leif drew up his arms, shielding his face; his eyes were watering badly. ”No! he shouted, or tried to shout - the noise was more like a bark. “No more!”
“It’s - “
“No more!” Leif insisted. “It hurts!”
“It’s okay, I’m done - that's all I needed to do. You’ve got swelling in your sinuses; I have a few potion for bringing that down. Then you’ll need a fever-reducer and rest.”
Leif didn’t respond. Her words barely registered - his head and heart were pounding and his hands shook. Patterns of light playing off the wooden walls suddenly snarled up his attention and made the sense of being overwhelmed worse. Leif shut his eyes again. Birds - birds, pick a bird - osprey - it’s a… The liquid-like feeling in his head reasserted itself as something shifted and sloshed up against his cheek bones, where he could still feel the slight but sharp difference in temperature from where Avila’s fingers had touched and pressed.
After a few seconds he heard her footsteps returning; Leif could faintly smell the soap and ’Pit, he could smell the headache potion again -
“Leif - come on now, I need you to take a big breath of this.”
He couldn’t quite focus on what she was saying - not over the fact that it was noise, close by and pounding at his ears and the stuff in his head - What’s she want me to… He couldn’t hold onto the thought - his face hurt and Avila had pressed on it and his breaths wouldn’t even out of the choppy gasps tearing at his chest and battering his ears -
“Leif, please - I need you to cooperate for just a minute.”
“Hold - hold on,” he managed. “S-stop, I need….nnngh.” He put his hands close to his forehead, not quite touching, as a rush of fever-pain scorched across this temple.
“This will help you feel better, if you can just - “
She was holding something out, and in a burst of frustration that she wouldn’t listen and leave him alone, Leif snatched it out of her hand. It was light and loose and folded - probably a cloth. Moisture seeped through the fabric of Leif’s gloves. There was a slight chill to it that made his skin crawl.
Avila coaxed him, “Just take a deep breath of it, it’ll start helping the swelling go down.”
Make the swelling stop? That would stop the pressure, wouldn’t it? If it worked, anyway - but Leif didn’t have much choice if he wanted something that might be helpful. He raised the cloth, a little haltingly, to his nose. Only at the last minute, just as he inhaled, did Leif realize that whatever Avila had soaked the cloth in was scented.
The smell was cool but sharp, stabbingly sharp - there was too much light and noise and Avila was staring at him and Henry was saying something and there were lights flickering all over the walls from the tree leaves outside and he couldn’t breath even though he could feel every tiny curve and inlet and bow of the inside of his nose and the smell was piercing - words, sights, smells, the weight on his face that wouldn’t go away -
The pressure that wasn’t a pressure clenched down on him. Leif couldn’t - he couldn’t, this was too much, it hurt, it hurt, he couldn’t process all of this at once - the liquid was still seeping through his glove and Avila was telling him to “breathe, Leif,“ but he couldn’t and he didn’t want to try taking a deep breath because it would push on his chest and the gunk in his head moved again -
Avila reached for his arm - Leif managed to see that clearly enough to panic. He scuttled back from the touch, shoving the blankets so hard with his hands and feet that he tugged them out from under the opposite side of the thin mat. Under the covers - it would be dark and quiet and still and he’d have a shield from people’s hands -
Leif yanked the blankets just enough that he could half-pull them over his head, and half-roll himself into the tunnel of cloth. It was too late to stop anything - the press of the blankets on his shoulder and side, Avila snapped his name in surprise and it was the vocal equivalent of a snapped whip, his heart was pounding in his ears, everything in his face was sloshing and even with his eyes clamped shut Leif felt like everything was spinning and he could still smell the liquid from the cloth, lingering on his glove and in his nose like the moisture of perfume.
Avila and Henry were talking, but there was too much competing for Leif’s attention for him to have made out what they were saying even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t - he just wanted them to shut up and go away! But he couldn’t even focus on the anger for long - there was too much else to agonize over. Leif curled into an even tighter ball, grasping the blanket corner close to his chest and pulling his knees up to keep his clenched fist pinned in place. The inside-out and outside-in pressures pushed Leif between them like currents of the Silver River.
And his face still hurt - the stupid medicine hadn’t done anything! Leif almost wished she’d given him a bottle so he could have thrown it across the room. Of course, then it would bounce off the floor tiles at few times and that would be another loud noise, and an echoing one at that…
Birds! he reminded himself forcefully. Birds like...uh - Great Gray owls - they’re light and fluffy - mostly feathers. Only….uhm The smell of the stuff on his glove started to prick at his nose. They’re...uh...a couple pounds? He couldn’t remember - and he heard the door to the infirmary close and was distracted again.
“Leif - Henry’s getting your father.” Responding to that didn’t even occur to Leif - he just scrunched up so he could cover his ears more with the blankets.
It only then occurred to him that, in a way, he’d gotten to go back to bed after all. Not that he was going to be able to sleep. Not for a long while.
It was an hour or so before Richard came to the infirmary to meet with Avila. Henry had been prompt with the message, of course, and Cateline had volunteered to go when Richard said he would wait - but Richard knew by now that neither his nor his wife’s presence did anything other than cause more trouble when Leif was in the middle of one of his fits. It seemed odd that he was so averse to their attention when that appeared to be a perfectly logical - if childishly so - aim for them in the first place. But children didn’t always do things reasonably, preferable though it would be if they did.
Richard had also learned not to put Avila and Cateline together unless there was someone like himself there to mediate. Cateline hadn’t seemed entirely pleased, but that could have been about any part of the situation, so Richard opted not to take it personally. There were still the children to finish preparing for their lessons, anyway.
But, when he had judged that enough time had passed, the Lord of House Accipiter set down his quill, placed a paperweight on his parchment, and left for the infirmary to see what had aggravated Leif this time.
To his surprise, Leif was still in the infirmary, either asleep or doing a very good impression of it. Avila was making notes on a chart at a desk near the window; the other lights had been dimmed. She looked up as her brother walked in and set the paper aside. “Keep it down; he’s finally asleep and we’re going to have a problem giving him medicine, so he’s going to need rest.”
“Medicine? So he’s actually sick, then?”
Avila nodded. “Sinus inflammation - the same thing Stefan had over the summer. He got upset when I had to check where the pressure was, and went into a full-on fit after I gave him something to inhale that should help the swelling. I didn’t even get to the main medicine yet.” She placed her finger on the cork of one of the bottles on the desk beside her, a purple potion.
“And what was it you give him that made him do that?”
“Really? You’re going to talk like this is my fault, Richard?” She snatched up another potion bottle, this one with light green liquid. “Here - take a whiff! It’s good for head-colds, too!” She uncorked it and held it up to her brother’s face. Even without deliberately sniffing for it, Richard caught the sharp but pleasantly-cool aroma of the potion - peppermint-like, but with a crispness to it like the air of autumns that brought snow to the northerly parts of Accipiter territory.
“All right, fair enough.” He pushed the bottle aside, careful not to spill it. “I don’t recall Stefan doing this. He was sore-tempered about the whole thing, yes, but…”
“You’re surprised? This is how Leif deals with stress - total shutdown. He’s done it over much less. And in fairness, this thing hit him hard.” Avila corked the potion, set it down, and started ticking off Leif’s symptoms on her fingers “Pressure on his face from the inflammation and all the nastiness caught up there, a fever, dizziness… he kept wincing when people talked, could be his ears are stopped up.”
“He doesn’t like being talked to, anyway - it would be hard to tell.”
“Well, the first few things are enough to earn him a bit of a pass this time around.” Avila shrugged lightly. “There’s no point sending him to lessons for a few days, maybe a week, until this tides over.”
“I’ll have Cateline inform his other tutors,” Richard said. Cateline was generally the one who managed that side of the House affairs.
Avila gave him a shrewd look. “And just where is our dearest Cate? It’s been an hour and she hasn’t so much as sent a messenger my way to ask about her sick son.”
“She offered to come here, but I told her not to. You don’t like her being in here, and - “
“Like I said, she didn’t even send a messenger down here. And where were you?”
“Getting a few things done - as I was saying, Cateline and I being around Leif doesn’t help his...episodes.”
“So you left me to flounder on my own. Nice. Very nice.”
Richard sighed. “That wasn’t my intent. Either of us coming here would have made things worse, and sending a messenger would have given you another person to deal with.”
“Or someone I could’ve roped into helping,” Avila retorted waspishly. “And what do you mean you two being around doesn’t help? Firstly, how would you know if it’s better or not if you aren’t there, secondly - I thought you said he was doing this for attention, why would you not giving him attention make things better?” Despite the clear annoyance in her voice, Avila managed to keep her volume low.
Richard tried to imitate her quiet indignity. “We can’t indulge it, either - that would only encourage him to keep it up.”
“Then why is he having these more often and worse as time goes on? I keep track of these things, you know - they’re happening more often.”
“They are? ...Well? What does that mean, then?”
Avila hesitated. “I...don’t know.”
Richard suddenly realized - this might not be entirely about Leif at all. “You never found anything wrong with him, Avila, and you checked multiple times. If he’s acting out more...well, he’s getting more and more responsibilities as he gets older. If his response to stress is emotional collapse, then no wonder he’s doing it more often.”
“I suppose. Sometimes it seems clinical, but…”
“But you didn’t find anything,” he repeated. “You can’t treat a condition that isn’t there.”
Avila sighed and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “I suppose not. But in that case - you need to find more time to give him attention. This kind of fussing is not normal for an eleven-year-old.”
“No, but I hardly want him to think manipulative behavior is acceptable.” Richard saw that Avila wasn’t entirely pleased, and added, “He always seems to want to be alone, anyway. I’m starting to think even he doesn’t know what he wants.”
“Well, maybe you should ask him. He’s eleven - he’s a little young to be working all of this out by himself.”
“I’ve tried talking to him. It doesn’t help.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, Richard!” Avila’s tone was decidedly bitter.” Do what you want, if you think you know best.” Before RIchard could attempt to smooth things over, his sister plopped down in her chair and announced, “I also have work to do. Send a messenger next time.”
Richard held back a sigh, and left Avila to her duties. He supposed he ought to check on Leif, even though there was really nothing to be done. Well, he could try waking Leif up and making him take Avila’s medicines...but that was not likely to go well, and Richard was, for the moment, content to let this sleeping dog lie.
Even asleep, Leif managed to look annoyed and disgruntled, though in this case the grimace was probably against the pain of his inflamed nasal passages rather than anyone else’s actions. Despite the sweat sticking bits of the boy’s dirty-blond hair to his forehead, Leif had the covers pulled tightly around him and was curled into as much of a ball as he could manage.. Maybe that was why he was sweating - though, no, Avila had confirmed Leif did have a fever.
...So, what was Richard supposed to do? Any sort of comforting touch was going to be treated like a slap, and there was no point in talking if Leif was wincing from it. Leif didn’t want to see him; Avila could say what she liked about Leif wanting attention, but Richard knew the boy would be perfectly content to be left completely alone - no siblings, no parents, no aunts or uncles or cousins or even friends. Just him and the birds in the aviary. Avila was wrong - Richard didn’t know what to do about the situation.
But he eventually realized that standing here was not something that was going to help. With a quiet sigh he turned away and headed for the door. “Keep me updated,” he told Avila. “And tell him I said he needs to take the potions you give him for it.”
“I’ll try.”
Richard left the infirmary with bits of guilt still flitting about his thoughts. But what was he supposed to do? Allow Leif to get his way every time he fussed? That behavior wasn’t healthy. There had to be a way to stop it, or get Leif to see reason. ...Not now, though. He could think on it later, when Leif wasn’t also very ill.
No, in the meantime, Richard put the matter out of his mind. There was plenty of work to occupy his attention - that was one thing he could guarantee. |
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Post by Tiger on Oct 4, 2015 19:14:11 GMT -5
Powerful WordsWritten with CelestialIn which the final two power roles who haven't interacted in fic...interact in a fic \ o / *Warning for discussion of suicide One of the many things that Ambrose quickly realised he was going to have to learn to cope to if he was living in Medieville was the heat. It was high summer and of course the Stallion, as a lifelong Bernian, would not be used to such a climate. Though he usually wore lighter clothes than he would have done back in Destrier, some days the temperature still managed to climb high enough to make him uncomfortable. However, given the workload that had suddenly been thrust upon him, the weather was the least of his problems.
During official meetings and business with the king, he forced himself to remain composed, afraid that the slightest movement or betrayal of discomfort would deem him unfit for the position. Rationally, Ambrose knew Aldrich was not like that but after so much time being deemed unworthy, he did not want anything to spoil his chance. So he sat there quietly, even as the Keep’s stones sun-warmed stones caused the rooms, especially the more enclosed meeting rooms, to become stuffy. A cool breeze blowing in through the window was a Woosend on the hot summer days but even so, when it got so warm, he tried not to spend more time inside the Raven’s Keep than he had to.
Which is why on that day, in between meetings when Ambrose had some time to himself, he immediately headed for the courtyard. The sun still beat down mercilessly upon it but the high walls and surrounding buildings still cast enough shadows to provide relief from its scorching rays. He glanced around and spotted a staircase leading up to somewhere above that the shade has mercifully covered. Making his way across, he sat down on the steps, closing his eyes briefly as a cool breeze hit him before opening them again and looking out across the courtyard.
It had been about a month or so since the Coronation and yet only now things were getting back to normal. Everything had been cleaned up and repairs to the Keep were on schedule, something he had been given the task of making sure of. Nevertheless, Ambrose knew the memories would still linger for a long time. Aldrich had commissioned a statue to commemorate the dead, which the Stallion hoped would help some wounds heal, but he knew better than most that some things just refused to go away, no matter how hard you tried.
He took a deep breath, pushing the thought out of his mind and unpinned the cloak around his shoulders. It was foolish to wear the thing out of habit like he constantly did and yet, dressed in the Ascension livery as he was, he did not want to let go of the one thing that marked him as a Stallion. Even if it did drive him to the point of overheating.
Ambrose removed his cloak and placed it across his lap, fastening the brooch he used to hold it together to his tunic for safekeeping. Lifting up a palm, he fanned it close to his face. The breeze had stopped and while his hand provided a weak imitation of it, it was better than letting the hot air stand around him.
Farther down the path leading to the courtyard, Leif Jade was also having trouble with the weather. Not so much the heat itself, that was something he was used to - what he was not so comfortable with was the lack of any rain to ever temper it. Humidity wasn’t exactly fun, but it would have meant a storm was coming, carrying clouds to stifle the sun and rain to perforate the thick buildup of hot air. But even in Corvus, there were times when the heat was so intense that rain couldn’t do much to ease it, and though Leif had been unsure about needing them at first, he was now glad he’d included sleeveless tunics on his list of things to be sent up from Solis.
He still wore a pair of gloves and his half-cloak, of course. He needed some protection against the outside world, it’s people in particular. But even with those concessions, it was a distinct relief not to have a layer of fabric all the way up his arms, especially under the cloak and where he would have tucked his sleeves into his gloves. It made for a nicer walk to the Keep, certainly.
What was not making his walk to the Keep very pleasant were the books squirming and wriggling in his satchel. Literally wriggling. They were enchanted,after all - though in fact, they were less enchanted than before Leif had broken the…enthusiastic protective enchantments on them. Screaming, snapping their covers shut on unwary fingers, turning pages red as if with blood, shuddering violently enough to eventually cause any surface they were touching to also tremble, and producing a variety of unpleasant odors that were not at all conducive to enjoying or learning from finely-crafted text were just some of the surprises awaiting unwary thieves. Evidently some Raven’s Keep librarian had been either very protective or very bored.
It was one of the first tasks he’d been given since the Coronation that didn’t involve repairing a place or thing or person, and in a way, it was nice to be dealing with something as relatively innocent as a book that snickered just seconds before rearranging the letters on the open pages to spell out an elaborate insult toward the reader. Likely there would be more important work to do again soon, however, so Leif was taking advantage of this one free moment to hike up to the Keep and return the disenchanted books. The books he was now very much regretting not sewing the satchel shut on - they seemed to have gotten an idea where the outside world was, and Leif kept having to push on the top flap to keep the books down. But by the time he arrived at the Keep’s courtyard, they had started poking out of the corners and Leif was finally forced to start grabbing the escapees by hand and carrying them in an increasingly larger stack. He needed a relatively safe place to set the things down for a moment and get them wrangled.
Lord Ambrose happened to be sitting on the nearest staircase. Leif would have preferred to give the man his space and not intrude with an armful of unruly texts, but the books were really not giving him much choice in the matter.
“Good afternoon, Lord Ambrose,” Leif said as he approached. “Mind if I set these down on the steps a minute? Apparently they don’t want to go home and so they’re squirming around like a horde of cats. ...Literally.”
Ambrose looked up, slightly startled by the sudden appearance of another person, but as soon as he saw who it was, a small smile spread across his face.
“Not at all, Master Leif, please, set them down. They look like they are giving you a fair amount of trouble,” he shifted aside, cleaning some room on the steps for the rebellious books, though he made sure to leave more than enough space between himself and them. Based on how they were squirming, an action which made them look more like animals than objects, they had some powerful magic on them and combined with his own power, he did not know what it could do to him.
“What...what are they?” the Stallion frowned slightly, peering at the books. “I can see they are books but...I’m guessing they are enchanted somehow?”
“Less so now, but yes,” Leif said, carefully setting down the stack and leaning an elbow on it while he delicately removed the satchel from his shoulder. “These all had rather extreme protective enchantments, and some of them weren’t even properly tied to the library anymore, so they were snapping and shaking and suddenly gaining several extra pounds of weight even when people were trying to use them legitimately.”
Leif drew his wand and reached into an inner pocket of his satchel, ferreting around for something as he added in tones of reassurance, “I took those enchantments off, they’re fine now. But apparently this is the way they’re supposed to prevent books from being taken out of the library; they start wriggling around and trying to crawl back to the Keep if you don’t check them out. They didn’t go through all the usual checking-out processes so we could be sure I didn’t accidently remove these spells, too.” The archmage just barely refrained from scoffing. As if he would accidently remove an entire enchantment.
He finally drew a ribbon free from the satchel, and shifted so he could draw his wand and keep the books pinned with his knee. “I’ll be glad to have them out of my study. Granted, the spellwork is fascinating and very clever in some places.” Leif tapped his wand to the ribbon, and with a burst of green light, the cloth strip started to turn into a belt as he went on, “The locating charm for orienting themselves and then finding the Keep, for instance - the runes are a little heavy, but there’s a brilliant bit they used for sensing direction - it borrows some elements from the navigational spell, of course, but working them into...”
Belatedly realizing that Ambrose probably wouldn’t sympathize with the “of course” part of his statement, Leif faltered and glanced in the Stallion’s direction. “Ah - that was probably more of an answer than you were looking for. Sorry. Uhm...how - how has your work been?”
Ambrose shook his head, smiling at the archmage. “No, it’s quite alright. You are clearly very passionate about this so it’s only fair that I let you speak. Bern has no- very little magic, as you probably know, so this is certainly outside my usual experiences, but is is certainly interesting.”
That wasn’t a lie; for the longest time, it had not been his habit to lie to somebody like this just to placate their ego. He had truly been fascinated by Leif’s explanation about the books. Though he drew a blank on how exactly they worked, and the comment about navigational spells did not help matters, the fact they did and they had spells on them was certainly interesting enough in of itself. Of course, he had not missed the younger man’s obvious enthusiasm, something that made him just a little happy. It was nice to see somebody get passionate about something, and he could understand that a little. Ambrose often felt the same way getting lost in his inventing.
His eyes were drawn to the floor as he thought about it and the Stallion found himself examining the flagstones. “I’ve...been kept very busy at the Keep. With the aftermath of the Coronation, having to sort out the new administration, and with me being new to this, I’ve been rushed off my feet. This heat isn’t helping either,” Ambrose rubbed his head, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down it. “I’ve barely had time for anything else which isn’t royal work.”
“I’m not surprised, I’m sure there’s a lot to do,” Leif sympathized, looking between the stack of books and the belt he had created. “Integrating a whole new council can’t be any small amount of work. Especially when that council doesn’t have background in law or politics, and I imagine a lot of the nobility are too busy spitting fire about the whole affair to be much help. And by ’Woo, the heat today - when even the Corvids are going without sleeves, you know it’s serious.” Leif noded toward the bit of bare arm visible between his glove and the bottom hem of his halfcloak. “Hmm - if you give me a minute to handle these books, I can try to do something about the lack of breeze around here. Nothing permanent, or I’d have cast it already, but at least a bit of relief before having to go back inside.”
The Stallion wiped his brow again and smiling at the archmage. “That would help. I’d appreciate it if you could, thank you.”
As he put his wand to the belt and lengthened it, Leif added, “I’m sorry you haven’t had time for your own personal projects.” He almost elaborated, since he knew from House activities in the weeks before the Coronation, Leif knew the Stallion had a hand for inventing and considered bringing that up specifically. ...But was it a good idea to bring up that their Houses had spied on each other not so long ago? Probably not. Anyway, inventing might not even be what Ambrose liked doing in his personal time - rather the way Jeniver often preferred practicing incantational spells to honing her Seering abilities.
“How is setting up the council and getting adjusted to the job going?” he asked instead. “Even if it’s not easy; I’ve heard the Shadow Council’s been involved in a few decisions, so it seems to be heading in a good direction, if nothing else?”
Ambrose rubbed his eyes, thinking about the Council. Leif was right, it had been and still was an upward struggle integrating them into the existing governing body, especially one so heavily composed of nobility. Too often he had been caught between the two forces and forced to play mediator on top of all the other work that he had to do. To say nothing of the holes in his own experiences, especially his lack of education when compared to the other advisors. It was, in a word, exhausting.
“Slowly, but it’s getting there. It has involved a lot of adjustment, and of course the various nobles who already held positions aren’t happy with all the newcomers, especially ones from common backgrounds. Aldrich is having to handle the majority of those arguments, for which I feel sorry for him, and of course the Shadows still mistrust the nobility even though they have to work with them. Sadly, that mistrust is also extended out to me,” he sighed deeply, thinking back to the conversation with Elin. “I suppose...after all the disillusionment they have been harbouring, they need to try to regain that trust, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a lot of work.”
The Stallion blinked before smiling awkwardly and glancing down at the floor. “Woo, I’m sorry, I should not sound like I’m complaining. Please don’t misunderstand, Master Leif, I’m very grateful for the opportunity. I’m just worried about...messing it up.”
“I can understand that,” Leif said with a nod. “The ‘grateful but also worried’, part, at least. I know my work hasn’t been as much of an uphill climb as yours, but there are times I feel like a brand new recruit again.” All the new names and ranks to learn, new places to navigate, new people who needed to be told an archmage could and could not do…
Leif stretched the belt across the cover of the top book. “Hmm...yes, that should be long enough.” Spreading the belt across the flagstones along the side of the books - an awkward process while he still had to pin the stack of squirming tomes - Leif glanced back at Ambrose and added, “It sounds like the Council’s coming along as well as can be expected, though, given we are trying to blend knotcrop and - er, blend oil and water. Sorry, potion-brewing metaphor.” It took him a moment to regain the thread of what he’d been about to say. “And Aldrich hasn’t taken you off the position - so you must be doing a good job so far.” Carefully, Leif started tilting the stack of books sideways to lay them on their spines over the belt. “And I know, him demoting you would risk offending the Grand Duke, but getting this Council in place is more important than sparing your brother’s feelings. We can’t go back to the way things were the week or so before the Coronation.”
...Speaking of. “Er. I suppose I should have followed up on this sooner, but - you were asking about time magic before...well, when we were at the refreshments table at the Keep?” Leif amended. “Were you able to find the information you wanted? I admit I don’t know how educated in non-incantational magics the Ascension mages are, and I didn’t see anything about it in the Keep library, but you do have access to both of them now, so - if it was important, I imagine you’ve gone to them already.”
Ambrose watched with some discomfort as Leif wrestled with the books, wondering if he should offer his assistance. However, after what had happened at the Coronation, he had been wary about dealing with magic and magical things. It was better to leave it to somebody who knew what he was doing, even though seeing him struggle was hard for the Stallion. Therefore, instead of watching his actions, he paid more attention to his words. He had no doubt that the Jade mage was going through a similar transition of having to adjust to the new circumstances so what he said held more water. And Leif was right: Aldrich had not yet expressed any disapproval. As for Alain...he was the one who recommended him. Brother or not, he would not do it without reason.
But at the mention of the magic, Ambrose visibly stiffened and stared at Leif. “...I…I found what I was looking for,” his voice quivered as he thought back to that conversation with Alain. About the dead goddess and her powers, the ones he possessed.
His eyes drifted over to the feather hanging down from Leif’s neck. What would a Wooist, let alone a Jade, even think about the Stallions killing a pagan goddess? Ambrose was not even sure what would be their bigger sticking point, nor did he want to find out. Leif was a good person but Ambrose had seen enough of people’s shock and dismay to want to actively avoid it.
“This wasn’t...anything the Ascension libraries or mages could have helped me with, it turns out,” he swallowed, making sure to pick his words carefully, and smiled weakly at Leif. “I am sorry I wasted your time at that table. But I...back then, I did not know and I...was desperate.”
“Oh - it’s fine - I mean, it wasn’t a waste of time. Interesting topic. ...Although I guess since I didn’t really have an answer, it wasn’t much use for you…” Leif forced himself to shut up for a second and actually pull something resembling a coherent sentence together. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I couldn’t be helpful there.”
The mage pressed his knee against one side of the stack of books to hold the stack together and reached around for the corresponding end of the belt. “And I’m sorry for bringing that up if I shouldn’t have.” He hadn’t missed Ambrose’s tension and stammering at the topic, like it was uncomfortable or an unpleasant surprise. “I’m still not entirely sure how much magic is...ah, polite, I suppose, to bring up…” He considered adding explicitly “to Stallions”, but even in Leif’s head that sounded rude, and he’d made the conversation awkward enough already. ...And really, were his ramblings about spellcraft ever a polite length, no matter who the audience?
But he couldn’t help asking, as he brought the belt up around the bottom of the stack of books, “Did whatever you found out solve your problem, at least?”
Ambrose opened his mouth to answer but the words he was going to say got stuck in his throat. Did knowing about the time magic solve the problem of his visions? He wanted to say no but...at the same time, now he had an explanation to give to people besides madness. Even if he could not control the visions, did that not count for something?
Of course, he would have rather not had them at all.
“...yes and no,” he eventually answered quietly, looking up at Leif and noticing the discomfort that had come over the mage. He frowned slightly, wondering why. For a moment, the Stallion thought that Leif was repulsed by him but he immediately pushed it out of his head. Leif did not even know, let alone could judge him for his madness, but he was too used to that being the case to not let the thought enter his mind. Instead, he thought rationally, and given the Jade’s words, it was easy to figure out the answer.
“Please don’t feel bad. I do appreciate your help, really, but this magic could not have been something you possibly knew about,” he said with a smile before realising who he was talking to: the archmage of House Jade. If anybody knew about magic, it was him. So to hear that come from a Stallion…
Ambrose buried his head in his hand. “Oh Woo, that came out wrong, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that...you no doubt have far more magical knowledge than I do. Please forgive me...I didn’t mean to insult you..”
Leif paused halfway through reaching for the other end of the belt, startled by Ambrose’s sudden apology and embarrassment. “What? I - it’s fine, I’m not insulted - you said at the Coronation that it was time magic, and I think I told you I didn’t know much about it, I’d just heard little things in my theology training...” He was pretty sure that was what he’d said? It was hard to be positive - especially since during that conversation, Leif had been distracted by Kirin. Very distracted.
Quickly refocusing before his brain could all-too-eagerly follow that tangent, Leif added, “An archmage is just a kind of incantational mage; I know a lot about incantational magic - but there are other kinds of magic out there that I’m not so well-versed in. ...Quite a few of them, actually. I probably ought to know more...” He took the other end of the belt and quickly fit the strap through the buckle, with some difficulty since he was holding one end of the stack upright and together with an arm. “But I only just found out I was an archmage at all a few years ago, so I’m only just now getting proper training. So - I’m not surprised to hear there’s another kind of magic I’m not familiar with.”
The mage’s eyes flicked over the books, and after a moment’s contemplation, he pulled his foot out of the way and quickly drew the belt tight. The leather squeezed against his arm, but Leif hurriedly wiggled it free before the loop closed and the buckle hit the top book. “There. Next time, orders or no, I’m leaving them open to Incarcerous - I can replace anti-apprehending charms in the library, where they actually belong, just fine!”
Ambrose’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed, relieved that the Jade archmage had not taken any offence at his remark. He watched Leif struggle with the books more, shifting aside to give him some space to finally get the books under control. “...I wonder if it’s more trouble than it’s worth, enchanting them,” he murmured. In Bern, the valuable books were chained and often locked to prevent them being taken out. True, a lock could be circumvented, but so could enchantments, and certainly a lock would not cause a book to wriggle.
But it was not his business to tell an archmage what to do and Leif had gotten them under control, regardless. With the books quietened, the Stallion folded his hands together, pondering the mage’s words. It should not have surprised him that he would have heard something during theology training about this, considering its origins, but besides that, the archmage seemed as lost as he was.
And here Ambrose was, holding more knowledge about this magic than anybody, with the exception of Alain.
“Master Leif…” Ambrose opened his mouth and shut it again. His stomach flipped as he imagined the reaction of the Jade mage to the revelation that the powers of a heathen god lived inside the man opposite him. At the same time, however he wanted people to know, at least enough to realise he was not mad, and Leif seemed reasonable enough. If he chose his words carefully, without mentioning the ancient goddess...maybe he could even get some advice. Surely he should at least share a little with a man who was the foremost mage in the land?
“Would you...like to know? About time magic?” he murmured, not looking in Leif’s direction. “About…my time magic?”
Leif looked up from heaving the bound pile of books into a tower again. “I - well, yes, of course! Time magic is incredibly rare, I know that much, it’s unlikely I’ll ever run into anyone with that sort of power again…”
Leif forced himself to stop as his common sense caught up with his enthusiasm. Ambrose did not exactly look like he wanted to tell Leif about it, which...maybe was a sign Leif shouldn’t push. No matter how much he wanted to know about it.
“...I mean - er - if you don’t mind sharing it? It’s not an obligation or anything.” Leif started to sit on the top of the staircase beside Ambrose, automatically making sure to keep a comfortable space between them. “As long as you’re not misusing it - which I doubt you are - it’s...technically it’s not my business to pry.”
“I offered to tell you so you would not be prying,” Ambrose smiled weakly at Leif. “And it will avoid...misunderstandings later if I told you now.”
He sighed deeply, clasping his hands together before looking away from Leif. “I have a...a form of time magic. I’m not exactly sure how to describe it but as far as I understand it’s...attached to me, like a parasite,” the Stallion swallowed. “Sometimes, it causes me to.... lose consciousness, I suppose, and gives me visions of the future. I can’t control when it happens, if at all, because I can’t control this magic. All I can do is rely on my body to suppress it.”
At this, the Stallion shook his head and gave off a brief, humourless laugh. “I’m sorry. This must sound insane, especially coming from a Bernian. We’re not known for our magic powers. But I assure you, it’s true.”
“Well,” Leif said almost automatically, still trying to process the whole thing. “It’s not unheard of for Bernians to have magic - just - time magic - where would time magic have come from? Bern’s Wooist, too, you should have incantational magic, if anything. Though that wouldn’t be the first odd magic to crop up in Kyth, so I suppose I shouldn’t be so quick to say it’s strange. Still, it’s time magic...time magic and visions of the future- right, you said as much at the coronation, and I said it sounded like a combination of seering and time magic. How would those combine? ...though it may not have to be a combination of those at all, just something that looks like it…”
Blinking as if he needed to clear memories of research and study from his eyes, Leif asked, “How far in the future do the visions go? And they always show the future, never the past or present? Why would they be channeled only one way, I wonder?”
WIth a frown, he added, “And...how - how often do they actually come to pass? Is it...the future’s not really so settled as that, is it?” The more Leif considered that, the more discomforting he found the idea - what was the point of the ‘Woo giving people free will if the future was fixed? Yes, Lord ‘Woo tried to guide people down the best roads, but didn’t that imply that there were multiple paths available, or something like a rivers, where an obstacle here or a freed place there could create a whole new tributary or dry up a flood plane? The future being a paved road whose tiles everyone just followed...that sounded unspeakably boring, and pointless in a cosmological sense. Maybe some gods would prefer that, but Lord ‘Woo was a bird, and birds didn’t take paths - they traveled through open sky.
Ambrose had listened to Leif as he spoke but at the mention of Wooism, he visibly stiffened. Though he was glad when the mage moved on, the Stallion’s mind lingered on that comment. In a roundabout way, his magic had been granted by the Woo; without the Lord Woo, Cebeline would never have been forgotten and thus killed. For a second, he considered telling Leif about her, about how he had been cursed with his powers, but immediately felt every part of his mind screaming at him that this was a poor idea. Devout Wooists and heathen goddesses never mixed well. For now, it was best to answer the Jade’s questions.
He took a deep breath. “I have seen things which have come to pass: I predicted the famine in Kine, and then the death of King Starmey. Most of the time, however, what I see is too far away, in space or time, for me to ever know about it. There has been no limit to my visions, that I could tell anyway: some have been in strange eras I could not ever recognise as this world. But I have always felt, without a shadow of a doubt, that they will all come to pass.”
He lifted his hands up to grip his sleeves. “I don’t know if the future is settled or not but…something has to happen, doesn’t it? And that something is probably what I see,” he glanced up at Leif. “I hope I’ve answered your questions. You seem...discomforted by all this.”
Leif frowned slightly, resting his chin on his fists. “Some. Not by the power itself - I know a seer, and even I can cast a construct, send it off somewhere, and see what it sees if I keep a link with it. Seeing things you shouldn’t physically be able to isn’t that strange for mages. ...I don’t like the idea of the future being a set path, is all. What’s the point of us playing out all of this,” Leif gestured to the courtyard around them, though it was obviously supposed to imply the world as a whole, “if it’s all been preordained? And how does the ‘Woo judge good people from bad if they don’t have any real chance to prove themselves? There would be no chance to learn or grow or change except by how much is scripted. ...A script, that’s what it would be. A play.” He let out a gusty sigh, gathering his thoughts for a moment. “...Although I suppose you’re right - at some point, some outcome would be guaranteed to happen. And if Lord ‘Woo - or the other gods, I suppose - are nudging things toward a certain outcome, that would make it even more likely.”
Ambrose blinked as he listened to Leif speak. All the years of living with this power and it had never really occurred to him to think about the future he had been witnessing, or worry about it all being set. It was enough dealing with the visions and the horrors he saw on a daily basis while being told it was all in his head without worrying about the philosophical implications of what he was seeing too. And yet...thinking about all the people he had see suffering and dying, often in brutal ways...the Stallion knew they had lives outside his visions, that they had lived them before he had peered into their time, and perhaps would have them after, for better or for worse. But meeting one of them, and knowing what their fate was...this was not what Leif was talking about but in a way, it was more horrifying. He gave off an involuntary shudder.
And what of the Woo? Ambrose knew his power did not come from him, nor did the think that the dead goddess was urging anything along. Her powers were witnessing events, not making them. The Stallion was convinced he was only seeing the finished product, the result of all the myriad decisions made...but what if he was wrong? He had been wrong before, and this was the power of a god he was dealing with too.
“I...I wish I could answer all that. I’m sorry, Master Leif,” Ambrose murmured, glancing sideways at the mage. “I only know what I see. I have rarely thought about the religious implications of it.”
“I - right, you probably have had enough to deal with just by seeing all of it. Sorry for the theological soliloquy; you can take the seminarian out of the church, and all that.” Raking a hand through his hair, Leif went on, “Ah. Anyway. You were looking for help with...controlling it, I would guess? Uncontrollable magic is…” Leif hesitated, but Ambrose had been very honest and open with him, so it felt only fair he do the same, at least to some degree. “Well. I’ve dealt with it before myself, and it’s certainly...not fun. Not safe, either. Especially not for you in your case, if you essentially lose consciousness...”
Something occurred to the mage and he asked, “When we were dealing with Duval in the town square - you...went into a daze, or something, for a moment. Was that one of the visions?”
Ambrose nodded slowly. “Yes, yes it was. That is what normally happens: I stare off into space and my entire body stiffens. I am not conscious of anything that happens around me,” he leaned back against the stair. “Most people in Bern can resist magic to some extent. But I have to wait until my natural resistance gains control of the power enough for it let me go.”
He sighed. “Of course, you saw what it was like: horrifying, like a fit. A madman’s fit,” the Stallion’s voice was tinged with unrestrained bitterness at those words. “I have been unable to get rid of it fully, and I doubt I will. I don’t know if it’s possible to control, given it’s nature but…” he turned his head towards the Jade. “If anybody would have any ideas on how to deal with such magic, I imagine it would be an archmage.”
“I’ve seen worse, if it makes you feel any better,” Leif said in reply to Ambrose’s comment about fits. “Or, more...showy, at least. Not that it makes it easier for you, dealing with it, but...it was worrying, not horrific, as far as I’m concerned. And Duval was standing right there,” Leif added with a wry smirk. “I”m sorry, but you’ll have to do much worse than that to be a less-appealing sight than he was.”
At this, Ambrose could not help but give a small laugh. Guilt immediately swept over him for being amused by such a comment, but it was at the expense of Lord Duval. After what he did to Xavier, a joke concerning him was not too much of a sin to enjoy. He smiled and nodded at Leif, though it was in part out of gratitude. It was nice to know that the Jade did not mind what he saw so much in the square that day, or at least he did not mind the Stallion’s condition.
Leif continued, looking off into the distance again, ”As for controlling it… I might be able to do something, but I’m not certain. I’ve never worked with time magic before. Though...well, I suppose in theory, at a base level, it should express itself similarly to other kinds of magic. I don’t see any reason it wouldn’t, at least. There are enchantments that can suppress or dampen magic; you need to be careful with them, but - ….Oh, wait...no, if it comes in bursts - it must come in bursts and not a stream, right, or you’d be seeing things all the time? - if one of those comes up against a wall of suppression, there might be kickback, and ‘Woo knows what would happen there - probably nothing good. ...So it would have to be a specially-designed suppression enchantment, something slower acting that carries it...maybe a loop, but I don’t know if that would weaken it enough to dissipate safely.”
Leif blinked. “...And there I go on another tirade of rambling, sorry. Ah, point is - I think I could make something to help control it, but I’ll need to look at some of my books and review a few things. Suppressing magic taps into the metaphysical side of things, which is...complex, to say the least. Essentially the…mechanisms, I suppose you could call them, for using and storing magic, and magic itself - none of which are actually tangible, which naturally makes studying and learning about them tricky.” He grinned ruefully. “That I won’t ramble about; it’s a topic liable to give us both massive headaches.”
The Stallion’s heart leapt into his throat. He had asked Leif about dealing with them, yes, but making the visions stop completely?! He had always dreamed of such a thing, ever since he had received his first one but never for a second imagined it was plausible. For a while, all he could do was stare as the archmage went on, his eyes widening. It was only a few moments after Leif had stopped talking did Ambrose blink, as though awoken from the very same visions that they were discussing.
“Nevertheless, Master Leif, you have the most chance of doing this. If you can even manage such a thing, I would be...beyond grateful, “he lowered his eyes, thinking about this. “The visions have plagued me my whole life. For all that I’ve learned to cope with them, I doubt it’s much of an exaggeration to say they’ve ruined it. And though I have all this,” he gestured at his own Ascension livery and the Keep around them. “It still terrifies me that one day, everyone will wake up and realise that madmen like me should not be trusted in such a high position.”
Ambrose turned back towards Leif, though he did not meet his eyes. “Is there...anything you need to know about my magic? I’ll tell you everything I can,” Except, perhaps about that. The Stallion reached up to his sleeve, gripping its corner. “Do you even think incantational magic can work against it?”
“Maybe - I know it can work on at least one kind of non-incantational magic, so there’s precedence,” Leif said, thinking of the enchanted bracelet that had saved Elin’s life by calming her magic. “...It probably doesn’t work on every kind of magic, but the only way to know in this case is to try.” Frowning and tugging a little at his gloves, Leif added, “We just need to be careful. Suppressed magic...sometimes it’s fine, but not always. If the magic fights back - you don’t want to be caught in that crossfire. ...That’s what the showier fits I mentioned before were from,” he added, thinking that Ambrose might not take the warning as seriously without it; a person could consider some very dangerous things when they were desperate. Another thing Leif knew from personal experience.
“I’m sorry I can’t say for certain about so much of this,” Leif went on. “I don’t know if there’s much else you can tell me about your magic that would help...if you know what triggers it, maybe, but it sounds like you haven’t found anything or you’d avoid it as much as possible. Unfortunately, it’s not all quite as clean and organized and logical as I imagine your inventing must be.”
...The inventing you weren’t going to mention, Leif? he thought to himself snidely. Oops. Well, maybe it would be a good thing; they might as well get through or over or whatever the appropriate phrase was regarding any secrets they still had about their actions before the Coronation.
Ambrose started a little at the mention of his inventing. Granted it was not a huge secret he wanted to keep hidden at all costs but so far, he had not told many people about his hobby. How had Leif found out about it?
The same way that Ambrose had found out about Leif’s magic abilities: through their House’s respective spies. No doubt the Jades were not idle during the funeral and the Coronation either. He shivered. That might even mean the knew about that thing too. But, he thought, it did not matter now. The Weapon was locked away with Alain, hopefully out of harm’s way, and the two Houses, though they remained rivals, were no longer in direct competition. Besides, he was trusting Leif with something far greater than the knowledge of his inventing.
The inventing...if Leif managed to suppress the magic, what would Ambrose do without it? Now that he was advisor, he did not really need the coping mechanism but...it had evolved beyond that at this point. Perhaps, maybe, he could try something new? After all, he could make things by himself.
It was best to worry about it when it came to it. For now, he turned back to the archmage, thinking about his questions. “I’m afraid the only trigger I know about for certain is magic; if magic is cast on me. The few times it has happened, it felt like...something was being diverted to block the magic, then the visions, or worse came over me,” the Stallion swallowed nervously. Like the time stopping, for example. He lowered his eyes. “Otherwise, it’s...random. It was worse when I was a child, to the point that these would happen almost constantly, but as I’ve aged, it’s gotten better.”
He lifted up a hand to rub his eyes. “I wish I could be more help, Master Leif, I’m sorry. Magic is not the same as inventing but I guess that with both things, the more you have to work with, the better the end result is,” Ambrose moved his hand and glanced sideways at Leif. “What does magic do if it’s suppressed? If I may ask...you seem to have personal experience with that.”
Leif took his silver feather pendant in hand, tracing the smooth edges with his fingers and looking out at the courtyard. “I do,” he admitted. “...Maybe I ought to tell you about it. Your magic sounds quite powerful as well, so the effects of suppressing it could give you similar problems, if I’m right about how it would react. I’m not one-hundred percent sure. But if it does...”
Leif shrugged slightly, and started picking words. He would never like telling this story, remembering those events, trying to put the experience into words that properly conveyed what it had been like… Even now, part of him wanted to give a hasty, vague summary and retreat from the subject.
However - Ambrose needed to understand what he could be risking. Leif had to make that point very, very clear, and what better way than by example? And, he couldn’t help thinking, after all my rambling and awkwardness already, it might be best to get an explanation for that out of the way so he doesn't think I was trying to be rude.
“Archmages,” he began, speaking slowly, “are born with natural blocks on our full abilities. We still have magic available to use, of course. We call light or cast colors as children like any other mage - ah, casting and calling, those are initial signs of magic. Just little bits of..not even spellwork, really, that children show even before they’re given a wand,,” he added, remembering that Ambrose was, after all, Bernian. “And we can be trained to channel it through wands like any other mage. But a blocked archmage doesn’t have access to all their magical strength, not until the blocks are gone. What’s supposed to happen is that a child is tested for archmagery when they first call or cast. If the proctors find the child has archmage magic, they conduct a few days of spellwork to soften the blocks, so they fade away over time as the magic gets stronger. It’s like poking holes in a dam, so when the water rises, it seeps through the holes and eventually erodes the structure away.
“But if the blocks aren’t weakened, when the magic gets stronger the blocks have to...clamp down on it, is what it felt like, to keep it contained. And that’s where the trouble is - the magic and the blocks are fighting each other, and the archmage is caught between that. ...Obviously, I wasn’t tested.” Leif tried to keep the anger out of his voice; that was a whole other conversation, and one that wasn’t really relevant to the larger topic, anyway. He went on, “And that’s why I’m…” Leif made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a harsh chuckle. “What do you even call what I’m like? Antisocial is accurate, but it doesn’t cover everything. I suppose something general would do - odd, abnormal, dysfunctional, whichever you like.” He flicked his free hand lazily, as if to dismiss the topic of vocabulary.
“I don’t know if it’s the same for every blocked archmage, but in my case, the blocks crippled some things. Nothing visible at a glance, but...I’m sure you’ve noticed I don’t socialize well, or even correctly a lot of the time. I don’t make enough eye contact, I wander off on tangents, I don’t always notice other people’s emotions... Even what I do know - some of it I’ve had to learn quite a bit of in the last few years, because I just...couldn’t pick up on it the way children are supposed to do naturally. Once the blocks were gone, I started noticing things about people and talking that I hadn’t before, so I know the two must be related. But that might not have been so bad if that was the only effect.”
Leif’s fingers drifted to the patterning on his necklace’s pendant. “The real problem was the oversensitivity. To...well, all sorts of things. Touch and sound have always been the worst - touch especially. That’s why I wear gloves all the time; I cope better if I don’t have to touch people or things - mostly people - directly. Noises are a problem, too. If I’m already agitated, other things can frazzle me - smells, people watching me, lots of movement. And if I have to deal with too much touch or noise or some combination, I get...I call it ‘overloaded’.”
Frowning, slowing down as he continued and tried to pick his words with even more care, the archmage continued, “Overload’s...it’s hard to explain exactly what it’s like. I’ve never found a good way to do it. I guess the best I can say is, whatever it is that lets normal people move on from feeling or hearing something once they’ve registered it’s there? Mine is weak, or maybe the blocks did some actual permanent damage to something. If I’m touched, or if it’s too loud - I can’t just ignore it, I don’t stop noticing whatever the sound or feel was, and even after it’s technically gone, I feel like it’s still there and I’m still stuck processing it. If someone touches my hand, I can still feel where they touched, and it’ll keep distracting me from whatever I’m trying to do or say, my head can’t stop trying to - I don’t know, do something with it that I guess it can’t do, at least not well.”
And when it builds up too much - you know how, sometimes you get stressed because there’s too much going on, and you can’t even think properly anymore because your thoughts just jump from one thing to the other to the other? It’s a little like that - but just from noise and touch.” Leif forced himself to look up and meet Ambrose’s eyes for a moment. “But as bad as I am now, I was much worse when my magic was still being suppressed. Those episodes I mentioned earlier, the...showy ones? They were mine. My family didn’t believe something was wrong with me, and when the overload got especially bad at the church, there was really nowhere to go - so, as you can imagine, sometimes my attempts to get away from noise or someone touching me were...dramatic.”
He still didn’t think he was explaining this properly. “And it’s...it must not sound as bad as it is, at least not the way I tell it. But the magic fighting the blocks, the overload...it hurts. There’s this...this pressure, and it’s - it isn’t just being distracted. And whatever it did, the damage is permanent - it’s like something mangled, I don’t know, my arm, and even though I’ve learned how to work around it and kind of use it to carry some things - I’m never going to be able to take a full load of weight. If I try, it’s going to hurt me. And I’m going to drop everything.” A humorless smirk briefly crossed his face. “…So. That is what can happen with suppressed magic. It doesn’t always, or I wouldn’t suggest it at all, but if your magic fights with whatever I build for it - I don’t ever want to inflict what I went through on anyone else.” He let out a long, slow breath, still looking out at the courtyard rather than Ambrose. There it was - now, to see what the Stallion would make of it.
Ambrose had remained silent as Leif spoke, listening intently to the story that the Jade told. It was obvious by his tone that this was a heavy, intently personal thing to talk about and the deeper he delved into the subject, the more the sympathy on the Stallion’s face became apparent. Woo, maybe he should not have asked, and yet, at the same time, he was glad he did. After all, Leif had spoken about it willingly and this way, he could better understand him.
Once he had finished telling the story, Ambrose remained silent for a few moments, taking it all in, before lifting his head up to face the Jade fully. “I’m sorry, I truly am,” he said, keeping his voice low. “That must have been, and still is, awful. I had no idea that this was what archmages had to go through, but now I see what you were warning me about, and what you meant earlier, about seeing worse...”
A part of him wanted to reach out to him but going by everything Leif had told him, that was the worst thing he could possibly do. Instead, Ambrose gripped the edges of his sleeves. “Touch and sound are never something I had an issue with, mercifully, but...I do kind of understand, about having to find a workaround for something that the alleged normal people can do without a second thought. Even now, I have to more or less structure my entire life around the thought that the next vision is a mere second away and it’s possible that I’ll see something that is...horrifying, to put it mildly.”
He fought back the thoughts of all the horrors he had see which were not irrevocably burned into his mind. Instead, a small smile spread across Ambrose’s face. “But if it helps...I never would have guessed unless you had told me. I did not know you back when your blocks were severe so I don’t know how bad it can be. Right now, though, you seem to have done a lot better for yourself, and you have your power plus your experience, which can be used to help others. I know it does not fix what had come before, sometimes it’s impossible to fix it but...you do have a gift and you can wield it well. That has to count for something?”
Leif smirked wryly. “Well, I’m glad to hear it isn’t immediately obvious anymore. But you’ll see something of it eventually; it’s always a matter of when and where, not if. ...Although you’re probably used to seeing me around Kirin, and we’re...well, ah...no wonder you wouldn’t have guessed. Not the touch-shy part, anyway.” His expression turning thoughtful - and a little red - the archmage mused, “It’s different with Kirin, for some reason. I’m not sure why.”
After a moment, he seemed to catch himself, and returned to the conversation at hand. “Anyway - that’s true, you’d know about having to structure things around magical side-effects, too.” Leif hadn’t thought of it himself, but that was a good point on the Stallion’s part. “Pity ours aren’t more similar, or we could trade strategies. I guess we’ll have to settle for sharing the frustration. I know I get tired of having to plan around my own brain sometimes.
“But,” he admitted, “you’re right that for all that, it is better now. It feels like night and day - it’s probably more like night and dawn to everyone else, but even that’s a big difference. I’m finally catching up on the archmage-level training I missed as a child, and even without that - archmages have a lot of magical energy to throw around.” Glancing at Ambrose, he asked, “Your visions must be sort of a gift you can use, too, right? Maybe not at will, but you saw the famine in Kine, and King Starmey dying, before they even happened? That probably gave your House extra time to prepare for both. As much as anyone can prepare for a famine, anyway.”
“You’re right, it did,” Ambrose’s eyes growing more distant. “I saw the Kine famine about seventeen years before it actually occurred. Or rather, I saw people who were dressed similarly to Kineans in a place that looked like Kine who spoke in a language I understood, which in my visions is a rarity. But what struck me the most was that they were...dying. Their faces were thin and gaunt and their lips parched. Everything looked...dry, so dry and dead,” he shivered at the memory, wrapping his arms around himself. “I knew what I saw was real but everyone else was convinced I was insane. In other circumstances, my vision would have been dismissed like the others were: as the useless ramblings of a madman.”
A warm smile spread across his face. “But my brother listened to me. At the time, I thought it was just a precaution, but in hindsight, I realise it was because he knew I was not insane, he knew what I saw was the future. It was he who prepared the irrigation plans to prevent famine, not me,” the Stallion sighed. “Everything would have been lost without Alain, including me. He was the only one who seemed to believe me, who did not treat me as a madman. Without him, I’d…” he swallowed, his voice suddenly falling monotone. “I’d not be here today.”
Leif frowned slightly, glancing in Ambrose’s direction. Reading tones wasn’t always easy for Leif, but he could recognize the complete absence of one; usually it meant either boredom or discomfort, and with the specific wording…it probably wasn’t boredom.
That was, if Leif was interpreting correctly. He’d definitely run into more people here than he’d ever expected who understood the sort of hopelessness that could make a person very...numb, at the least, about whether or not they kept on living; but that didn’t mean everyone he met had been suicidal at some point. Most people hadn’t - which was good, of course, it just meant that Leif didn’t know whether or not to offer some kind of condolences or sympathy now…
Well, what else would he mean? If Alain pulled him out of the way of a stampeding horse or saved him from an assassin or - something dramatic like that, he’d sound…different about it. Right? ...Though it could be he was only in a dangerous situation because of one of the visions hitting at the wrong time, is that it?
Well-aware that he could chase his own thoughts in circles for hours if he let himself, Leif cautiously ventured, “I think I know what you mean...well, not the brother part so much, it was an eagle for me. ...Assuming I’m interpreting correctly and you’re talking about him keeping you from...well, keeping you alive?” He realized after a moment that he hadn’t even managed to say what he’d originally intended, and added, “I’m - I’m so sorry you went through that.”
Ambrose blinked, seeming to come out of his trance. “Woo, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry…” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose before turning to Leif. Realisation dawned on his face. “Don’t tell me you know the feeling...oh no.”
His eyes filled to the brim with sympathy and even though he knew he should not touch him, the Stallion nevertheless could not stop himself moving closer. “I’m sorry. I know I’m far from the only one who has felt...like that, but I wouldn’t wish it on anybody,” a weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Still...I’m glad that you overcame it, one way or the other.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t have to answer this if it’s too painful, I will understand...but was it because of your blocks?”
Leif was a little surprised by the strong reaction, especially Ambrose scooting closer. Leif’s fingers automatically tensed, but the Stallion stopped at a distance Leif could still handle, and made no move to actually touch the Jade - Leif coaxed himself to relax again. It wasn’t exactly a trivial thing, being suicidal - and if Ambrose knew that from experience...well, no wonder his reaction was so emotional. It was the same reason Leif had wanted to say something to acknowledge the suffering he’d known came alongside those feelings.
He answered Ambrose’s question - no harm in the man knowing. “It was the blocks, yes. They - well, they’d always been getting worse the older I got, but then I was around seventeen or so - they suddenly got very, very bad. I don’t know exactly what happened or why, just that all of a sudden, I was always on the edge of overload - always. And so things like smell and little sounds like other people breathing, I suddenly couldn’t handle, and absolutely stupid things started bothering me, like asymmetry. I couldn’t even think properly around all that, and I was exhausted, and in pain, and...I just...the idea of having to live another day like that was painful enough - so thinking about trying to endure it for the rest of my life...it was horrifying.” Leif shook his head. “But that was years ago, and under extreme circumstances. I’m fine nowadays. ...It was horrible feeling, though. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, either, so I’m sorry you had to know the feeling. And you’ve dealt with these visions much longer.”
He hesitated, but if Ambrose had asked him about it, than probably he wouldn’t be offended by Leif doing the same? “If you’re all right talking about it - you said - well, implied - that your brother stopped you from an attempt, at least, but...the actual emotions behind it, did they ever...did you find a way to get rid of them?”
Ambrose gripped the edges of his sleeves, hugging himself as he dove back into those unpleasant memories. “More or less. What drove me to it was not the visions themselves, those I learned to cope with but...it was the envy, the isolation, the loneliness and the bitterness that really drove me to, well, that,” he sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “They built up over the course of several years, but getting rid of them took much longer. I needed a lot of reassurance from my brother, and from others to some extent, that I was actually wanted and loved, despite my madness, despite all those years when I had convinced myself otherwise. Even now, I still...sometimes have to tell myself that I am not mad, that people want to listen to me and be around me.”
With a shake of his head and a sad smile, he turned to Leif. “I’m sure you can understand, in some way. You said that even though the blocks are broken, you still sometimes feel some remnants of it? I suppose, and correct me if I’m wrong here, that this is similar? That just because you’re over what caused the most damage doesn’t mean that it stops lingering, like a deep scar that impedes your mobility,” Ambrose lowered his eyes, sighing again. “But it’s better than living with that pain all the time. I’m sure you’d agree, even if your pain was more physical than mine.”
“That makes complete sense,” Leif agreed. “I can see how that would get...too much. And I certainly know what taking time to adjust is like; I didn’t really have any friends - ones who weren’t birds, anyway - until I came here, and the fact that people want to be friends with me even with my problems, and that they’re willing to accommodate for them...it still catches me by surprise a lot of the time. Not that they aren’t good people; logically I shouldn’t be surprised they’re so kind, just...knowing about something and living it are two different things.”
Realizing he’d gone somewhat off-track - not quite as badly as usual, at least - Leif looked back at Ambrose and added, “In regards to still having to convince yourself of your sanity and worth - from what I understand, you have a whole pack of people in this city who would be happy to remind you. I can certainly vouch for Xavier thinking very highly of you.”
This made the Stallion smile warmly. “I still don’t fully understand what he sees in me but he does, and I am so happy that he does. Just like you, I still can’t believe there are people here who accept me and tolerate my condition without thinking I’m mad or being scared of me. Every day, I feel like they’re all going to turn around and suddenly realise what I am, and then I’ll lose everything. It isn’t logical but I just can’t believe that everything has suddenly turned out so...well.”
He shook his head, giving off a small, weary laugh. “We seem to have a lot in common, Master Leif,” the Stallion remarked, tilting his head towards the archmage. “You also have people who see your worth. I know Kirin definitely thinks the world of you and wouldn’t have you any other way. It’s hard to miss, even if I did not live with him.”
Leif’s eyes dropped to his hands where they rested on his knees, but a fond smile made it clear this it wasn’t a gesture of shame or sadness or disbelief. “Kirin’s sweet - I’m lucky to have him, and lucky he likes me, even if I’m a bit of a mess. ...When I told him about the blocks and the church and the way I am because of it, I was so afraid he was going to feel like it was too much to deal with. And I know that’s just...not how Kirin is, but...” But, Kirin wouldn’t have been the first person to find Leif’s disabilities more trouble than they were worth. “I’m still grateful he’s willing and able to look past that. Him, and Mrs. Braham, and Sieg, and Xavier…” He smirked. “I suppose we do have a lot in common. Lucky for both of us that included being brought to Medieville.”
At this, Ambrose smiled and laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose we are. I was reluctant to come here at first, I admit, but now, I never want to go back, at least not to living where I was. And it is all thanks to the people who have accepted me and called me a friend; Xavier is one, and so is Mrs. Braham, actually,” he smiled, raising an eyebrow. “That’s quite a coincidence, I’m surprised you know her. Though after she said she also knew Alain, I should perhaps not be so surprised. She seems like the type to know everyone.”
Leif laughed and nodded in agreement. “She certainly does make a lot of friends.” He was not at all surprised by that; Morgaine was certainly not shy about talking to people, and she managed to be both tough and compassionate in what apparently were good measures.
Ambrose gave a sigh, though he did not stop smiling in the process. “I admit though, even coming here, I did not expect to find somebody who had gone through anything even remotely similar to what I had done. I did not realise that magic could be such a crippling force,” a humourless single note of a laugh escaped from him. “Then again, I am a Bernian and I did not even know what I was subjected to was magic. So it shows what I do know.”
“Usually magic isn’t so bad,” Leif said with a slight shrug. “Usually it’s the opposite, it’s good; I can’t imagine not being a mage. I mean, I understand why you’d feel bitterly toward it - if you do, you said you didn’t know it was magic so maybe... Well, anyway - I suppose magic is like any other talent or tool; it can be extremely useful, but it can also injure whoever owns it if it isn’t properly...calibrated, I guess is a decent word for it. At least that seems to be fairly rare - even if that does leave a lot of room for...misunderstandings.”
This earned a sad smile from the Stallion. “I know. My magic is...unique, I feel safe in saying. Trust me, Master Leif, there is nobody else, and never will be, with power like mine. But I know not all magic is like that. Your magic has been useful in helping Xavier, helping the kingdom and the king,” he glanced back at the books that were still sitting on the steps behind them. “And even Aldrich’s magic, for all the trouble it causes him, is not one he would ever give up. For all of the trouble I’ve gone through...I can understand that.”
Ambrose’s smile grew a bit more genuine. “I’m used to this power, and it’s given me good things too: predictions of disaster, my inventions…” his eyes flickered sideways over to the archmage. “I didn’t mention those: as a way of coping, I make things I see in my visions, or at least try to. That’s what my inventing is and it’s something else I am grateful for,” he sighed again. “I would have preferred to live without this power but now that I have it, I try to make the most of it.”
“I suppose that’s all you can do sometimes,” Leif said. “And the ‘Woo makes - or at least lets - things happen for a reason.” His old nightmare came to mind, the one he had only been able to interpret as a dire warning against using the Killing Curse; Leif hadn’t had the nightmare since the night before the Coronation, but it had given him a lot to think about since. Would he have been quite so opposed to using the spell if he had grown up treated like an archmage, rather than being shaped by theology-training and birds and solitude and pain?
Shaking off the heavy thoughts, Leif remarked, “It’s good to have something that helps you cope. That’s a clever way to have twisted it around - turning something that causes pain into something that causes good. I just buried my head in birds,” he added with amusement. ...Although I guess that obsession ended up doing good eventually. It had been a bird, after all, who had finally released Leif from his blocks.
Oblivious to what he was thinking, Ambrose shot the archmage a kind smile and shook his head. “Everyone has different methods of coping with their pain, Master Leif, and no method is more valid than the other. You have your birds, I have my inventing, as long as they both make us happy, there is no use comparing the virtues of one method against the other.”
He sighed again deeply, his smile growing slightly more rueful. “Though I suppose they are best called hobbies now. After all, there’s far less to cope with now, at least for me. I’m in a far better place than I was when I began,” the Stallion said and tilted his head at Leif. “And I’m guessing you are too.”
Ambrose was about to say more when he noticed a young man coming towards him, similarly dressed in Ascension colours, though with more grey than purple to mark him out as a low-ranking servant of the Keep. He stopped in front of the two and gave them both a bow before turning to the Stallion.
“Lord Ambrose?” he asked. “Your presence is required by his Majesty. He asked me to find you, since you had not arrived.”
“Oh!” Ambrose cried out, startled. In the depths of the conversation, he had completely forgotten that his work for today was not yet concluded. “Yes, I remember. Please tell the king I’ll be there as quickly as I can and that I apologise for my tardiness.”
Giving him a nod of acknowledgement, the Stallion stood up, draping his cloak over his arm and turned back to Leif. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid I must leave you,” he glanced back at the pile of books behind the archmage. “I probably kept you from returning those far too long as well, Master Leif.”
“I should probably get them back before someone decides I had a change of heart and kept the books after all,” Leif admitted, getting to his feet as well. “And you should definitely go see the king - sorry I kept you, feel free to tell His Highness that I cornered you and rambled about magic, or birds, or both, and you only just got away.” Leif grinned, then suddenly remembered, “Oh - I said I’d do something about the heat, didn’t I? Hmm...you wouldn’t want something casting any magic on you…let me try something.”
Leif reached into his satchel and rummaged around until he found a small cloth. He gave it a few taps with his wand, muttering a few incantations, and then slipped off a glove to touch his bare fingers to the material for a moment. “All right, I think that did it…” He pointed his wand off to the side, the tip aimed at the grass. “Agwoomenti!” A small stream of water poured from the wandtip, and Leif poked a finger into it. “Cold water - magically created, but in of itself, not magical at all. You drank some of this at the Coronation, so it seems like it shouldn’t be problematic.”
He dipped the cloth into the still-flowing water, explaining, “As for the cloth - I imagine passive magic would be better, but not necessarily by much, so what I’ve tried to do is change the properties of the fibers themselves. ...I’m not sure precisely how it’s changed them, and I supposed there’s probably some latent magic there since the change will wear off eventually - but I think there should be less magic overall. Oh - the change I made, it makes the cloth hold its temperature when it’s especially hot or cold. It should stay cool for at least a few hours. I recommend keeping it draped on the back of your neck; it’s amazing how much difference it makes, and it leaves your hands free.” He wrung out the cloth and held it out to the Stallion.
Ambrose had remained still as Leif performed his magic, watching and waiting for him to complete his incantations. When Leif’s words and actions indicated that he was done, the Stallion gingerly held out his hand and touched a corner of the cloth, ready to pull away in case it triggered anything. But all he could feel was a tiny prickle at the back of his eyes, a sensation comparable to a lack of sleep than the rough pull of an impending vision. Braver now, Ambrose took the fabric, clasping it in his hands and closing his eyes as the cold poured from it and into his palms, providing some relief from the heat.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, glancing up at Leif. As per the Jade’s suggestion, he folded it lengthwise until it was a thin strip and placed it around his neck, just beneath his tunic. His sighed with relief, immediately feeling its cooling effects spread down his spine. “You have no idea how grateful I am for this.”
A warm smile spread across Ambrose’s face. “I won’t tell his Majesty that you held me up, that would be a disservice to you. I did enjoy our conversation a lot, and I am happy I got to speak to you. And...I hate asking you for this, especially considering what you said, and what you’ve done for me, but…” he glanced down. “If there is a way to suppress this magic, even temporarily, could you...look into it? If not, well...”
The Stallion shrugged his shoulders. “I can manage. I’ve done it for most of my life after all.”
Leif nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. You deserve a normal life, and if magical suppression is the way to it...then that’s what I’ll have to do.” He pulled his glove back on; despite the heat, it was a relief to have his fingers shielded again. “I wouldn’t be much of a mage if I only took my own experiences into account.”
Hoisting his satchel back over his shoulder, Leif added, “And thank you - it was good to get to know you a little better, even if the conversation topics were...not all the cheeriest, I suppose. Maybe next time I can bring a bird and you can bring one of your inventions, and we can make up for that, hm?”
Ambrose laughed softly in response to this. “If we do, Master Leif, we’re going to have to reserve an entire day. I can talk a lot about my inventing and I’ve heard you are the same in regards to birds,” he raised his head up, smiling. “But that would be nice, perhaps we can do that next time, when we don’t have other matters to contend with.”
The Stallion glanced towards the direction of the Keep before turning back to Leif. “That said, I still value the conversation we had, even if what we talked about was hardly pleasant. I would never have thought that, despite how different...well, everything about us is, we’d find such specific common ground,” he gave the archmage a nod of acknowledgement. “Maybe someday-”
Ambrose bit down hard on his tongue, almost drawing blood before he could complete the sentence. Maybe someday, I’ll tell about the origins of my powers was what he had wanted to blab before he realised what he was about to say. This was definitely not the time and certainly not the place.
“-We’ll see each other,” he said instead curtly and turned around, heading towards the meeting before they could get further caught up in conversation.
Leif blinked, startled by the sudden change in Ambrose’s tone and his abrupt departure; he glanced over his shoulder, but nobody and nothing else had entered the courtyard. Had it been him, something Leif had done? It wouldn’t have been the first time, but he hadn’t even had a chance to say or do anything - or at least, he didn’t think so.
It could be that he’s just worried about running late? Leif thought. Maybe he would ask Kirin about it later; of all the people in town, the Stallion bookkeeper would probably know Ambrose’s habits and mannerisms best. In any case, it was clear the conversation was over. “Right,” the archmage called after him, hoping his reply wasn’t as awkwardly late as it felt. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. ...Have a good meeting.”
He tried to shake off his sudden anxiety as he carefully hoisted the enchanted books up off the courtyard steps. It had to be something on Ambrose’s mind; why would he be so open and friendly up until the last second if Leif had done something to irritate or offput him during the conversation? Leif didn’t see a reason for Ambrose to wait to express any annoyance.
And they’d definitely have to speak again if the Stallion wanted Leif’s help controlling his errant time magic. Now that was going to be a project; Leif had never made a magic-suppressing device before. It probably couldn’t be as simple a material as the magic-dampening bracelet Elin had been given. Some sort of metal, most likely, though which variety…
His thoughts quickly consumed by the consideration of magic, the archmage scooped up the pile of books, and started off in the opposite direction. Their conversation had certainly given him a lot to think about. |
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Post by Tiger on Dec 30, 2015 18:41:50 GMT -5
Deceptive AppearancesWritten with Avery and Shinko A lovely fic that takes place in 1346, involving the Panems, Leif, and definitely not any troublesome magic whatsoever! Part One For a funeral, the church was strangely empty. As the priest, Father Clark, droned onward at the pulpit, only the first few pews were filled, black-clad mourners silent as a still winter’s night as they gazed dourly at the casket before them. The coffin was made of a simple pine, largely unadorned save for a charcoal sketching on its side, and even so the drawing had been etched so delicately that one had to squint to make it out properly: a heart, drafted of wavery, hesitant lines, as though it had been sketched by a palsied hand. Or, thought the young man called Alex Panem, as he grimly apprised the drawing from his seat in the second row, by a child’s hand. His heart twinged. Alex looked away. “Madam Lawson left this world far too early.” Father’s Clark voice was rhythmic, almost flat-- as if he were reading a particularly boring passage from the Book of Woo, not giving a eulogy. “And though she only had twenty-five years here among us, we can be comforted by the fact that she has an eternity with the Woo beyond, alongside her husband who already sadly passed on last year… and further, we can find solace in that she did not depart before leaving behind pieces of herself in this mortal realm, by way of the three daughters whom she left behind...” At this, Father Clark gestured out toward the congregation, indicating the three young girls who sat in the front pew, alone save for one another. The eldest of them was no more than seven or eight, with bone-straight locks the colour of a fading sunset and freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose; beside her sat a younger girl, maybe four, with an equally freckled face but hair like dark mahogany- and presently bent over forward so that most of that hair was shielding her face like a sheepdog. Finally there was an infant clutched in the older child’s lap-- perhaps a year old, with her hair covered by a wool cap and her feet bare except for ratty socks, the infant letting out small noises of distress as she kicked against her older sister’s thighs. As everyone’s eyes settled on the girls, the oldest one shrunk down, her arms tightening protectively over the baby. She was clearly uncomfortable with the attention, and across the aisle from her, Alex swallowed down the hard lump that was forming in his throat. “Why would he put them on the spot like that?” the young man hissed to his father, who was seated beside him, as Father Clark went back to his monotone prattling. “They’ve got to be feeling miserable enough already.” Phyllo Panem, Alex’s father, glanced towards his son with a shake of his head. Speaking not in Kythian as the priest was, but in his native tongue of Valzick, the older man replied, “The priests always mention the surviving family- but I do agree, pointing them out wasn’t in very good taste.” He frowned. “Something’s wrong with Molly.” Alex turned back towards the girls, as on Phyllo’s other side his wife, Zuzanna, glanced over his shoulder to look as well. The four year old, Molly, had started to rock in her seat, tugging fretfully at her hair. Her mouth was moving in a way that implied she was whispering something to her older sister, who in turn shook her head rapidly, as if beseeching the littler girl to be quiet. At the minor disturbance, Father Clark abruptly ceased his speech, his mouth thinning into a flat line as he studied the trio of sisters. Where before his expression had been impassive, schooled, there was a sudden worried underlayer to it. Something akin to fear flickered in his dark eyes. “Am I missing something?” Zuzia said between clenched teeth, her gaze darting between the children and Father Clark. “I must be missing something.” “Father Clark’s been looking after the girls since Hilda died,” Phyllo remarked, using the first name of the children’s mother. “But I don’t think I’ve seen him interrupt a sermon for misbehaving kids before, even if they were church wards. He’d never finish one if he did.” Molly seemed to know exactly what was going on, however, because she flinched hard away from the priest, now clutching her head instead of worrying with her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whimpered, pressing herself against her sister. “Shhh.” As the baby let out a whimper in her lap, the older girl’s voice was at once raspy and shrill. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Molly.” Alex raised a brow. “Why is she apologizing?” he murmured to his parents. The rest of the mourners had, too, begun to stir, clearly uncomfortable and confused. On the pulpit, however, Father Clark merely looked… afraid. Perhaps even a shade annoyed. His jaw clenched, he took a step forward, hovering near the edge of the platform. His eulogy was apparently forgotten as he snapped, “ Molly.” It was only the child’s name, but from the way the little girl reacted, the priest might have snarled a damning curse: she dug her fingers hard into her scalp, curling forwards into a ball with a gasp of what sounded like physical pain, despite the fact that not a hand had been laid on her. “Please, please, the red, the black, there’s too much, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Stopstopstopstopstop!” She flung herself to the floor, curling fetally and sobbing, seeming to trying to claw at her own scalp and tear out her hair. Father Clark recoiled, his expression horrified and not just a little afraid. Phyllo, badly alarmed, turned to his wife. “Zuzia-” “I’ve got it.” Zuzanna was on her feet in an instant, slipping out into the aisle and hurrying toward Molly Lawson. As the child continued to thrash on the floor-- and the baby, perturbed, began to wail outright in the older girl’s lap-- Zuzanna crouched beside her, hesitating for only a moment before she reached out two firm hands and snared them under Molly’s armpits, drawing her close. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re okay,” she soothed, standing again with a tight grip on the hysterical girl. “You’re okay--” “She’s not okay.” Her older sister snuffled, tears sprouting in her own eyes, which were a bright, springtime green. “She’s feeling the colors again, she…” “The colors, Jamie?” Zuzia cocked her head, even more puzzled, as Father Clark continued to loiter at the edge of the pulpit, now whispering something beneath his breath. Zuzanna strained her ears, trying to discern what it was, and finally furrowed her brow as it registered with her: a prayer. But… not any prayer she would have expected. Not any prayer she would have expected at all. What in all the hells?“Taloned servants of the Woo, hook the demons and tear them apart, send them to the ‘Pit in the Woo’s name, flog the demons and choke them out, send them to the ‘Pit in the Woo’s name-” Molly clenched harder, shrieking as if in mortal agony. She looked up at Zuzia, her hair parting to reveal a pair of eyes overflowing with tears- one eye dark brown, the other split halfway with bright green and sky blue. Zuzia had seen the child’s eyes dozens of times over the past year, ever since the child’s mother had moved from Medieville to the little village of Sallertown following the untimely death of her husband, trying to make a new life for herself and her girls away from the expensive calamity of the city. Even still, the archmage’s heart skipped a beat now, almost as a reflex; nearly forty years she’d been alive, and never until she’d met Molly Lawson had she seen eyes such a startling and remarkable blend of shades. Like a canvas full of brilliant watercolors: the sea, the sky, and the hard earth itself, all whirled together in one fluid piece. “Molly, sweetie,” she said after a moment, her voice little more than a breathy wisp. “You’re okay, honey, shh… I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Still seated several feet away, Alex’s eyebrows were nearly raised to his hairline, his light blue eyes teeming with worry. His expression was not unique; beyond the aggrieved-looking Father Clark, who was still sputtering perplexing prayers beneath his breath, the rest of the mourners seemed just as distraught. Heartsick. This poor little girl, an orphan at four, so sick over her mother’s sudden death last week from a quick-acting flu that she didn’t even know how to cope with the according emotions-- her hysteria disruptive, perhaps, but understandable in light of things, maybe even to be expected-- “ Send them to the ‘Pit in the Woo’s name,” Father Clark recited again, more furtively this time. “Send them to the ’Pit, hook the demons--!” Phyllo abruptly rose to his feet, his hands clenched on the pew in front of him. Striding over to the priest he hissed, “What is wrong with her? What’s wrong with you? This isn’t helping!” Molly flinched again, burrowing her face into Zuzanna’s chest. “Too much red, too much black, it’s everywhere, make it stop, please, make it stop!” “Master Panem,” the priest said, his teeth clenched, “I’ll explain later. But for now, perhaps, it is best if Molly… is removed. I fear these sanctified grounds will only aggravate her condition.” “Condition?” Phyllo demanded. “What are you talking about? And are you seriously suggesting evicting a child from her own mother’s funeral?” “It’s fine,” Zuzanna said, though the hard edge to her tone made it very clear it wasn’t. “I’ll take her outside, it’s fine.” She looked down toward Jamie, the infant still squalling in her lap. “You want to come, too, sweetheart?” Jamie nodded mutely, staggering to her feet, as across the aisle Alex finally rose, too, and took a step toward his parents and the girls. “I’ll come,” he said, before he even entirely knew what he was saying. “Give you a hand with them.” Striding forward, he prompted Jamie, “Want me to take Kathleen, hon? She’s a bit big for you to carry.” “O-okay,” Jamie whimpered, handing off her sister. “Th-thank you.” Phyllo watched his son and wife take the children from the church. Then he glowered at the priest. “We need to have a talk later,” he said. Then he turned towards the pews, where three more members of the Panem family had been watching the spectacle with confusion and concern- his and Zuzia’s youngest children. He gestured to them, and they stood, sixteen year old Morgan, thirteen year old Timothy, and eleven year old Laura following him as he trailed after his wife and son. It was chilly outside, the early March sun anemic overhead and stray puffs of snow listing from the pale gray sky, and by the time Phyllo and the other kids arrived, the Lawson children had all already calmed considerably. Though Kathleen was still crying in Alex’s arms, her shrieks were no longer ear-splitting, and Molly, too, was not quite so hysterical as Zuzanna tenderly stroked her dark hair. Jamie, for her part, toed grimly at the icy ground beneath, her arms crossed at her chest and her auburn hair now hanging as a veil before her face, much as Molly’s locks had earlier. She didn’t turn to look at Phyllo and his children as they approached. Only drew her arms even tighter around herself, and began to chew on her lip as if it were taffy. “We’ll stay out here the rest of the service, okay?” Zuzia was saying, gently rocking Molly back and forth. “And I’ll hold you the whole time, sweetie. The whole time.” She flicked her blue eyes toward Phyllo and her youngest three kids. “Everything okay in there?” “‘S fine, Mama,” Timothy said. “Everyone was staring at Papa, though.” “Staring at me, indeed,” Phyllo remarked grimly. Switching briefly to Valzick he said, “As if I was the one standing idly by while a child in my care was having a meltdown.” Morgan, whose head was turned towards the door of the church, said “I think Father Clark’s starting the service again.” She looked down at Molly, grey eyes identical in shade to her father’s furrowed with concern. “Are you alright, Molly?” The small girl shrugged. Glancing up at Zuzanna briefly she whimpered, “You feel blue. But… but swirling. With green. It doesn’t hurt.” “I… I…” Zuzia tilted the child’s chin up, so that Molly’s patchwork eyes met hers. “What do you mean, I feel blue? I don’t understand, sweetie.” “It means you’re sad.” Jamie’s voice was melancholy, the eldest of the Lawson girls still staring at the ground below. “But… she likes you. You’re sad, but she likes you.” Young Laura, her dark hair twisted in a bun atop her head as she tightened her wool cloak to ward against the cold, pursed her lips. “Then why doesn’t she just say that?” the eleven-year-old demanded. “Instead of saying colours.” “She’s four, Laura,” Phyllo pointed out. “She might not have the right words to explain what she means. Please be nice, the last thing Molly needs right now is attitude.” “You said things that might not make sense to grown-ups, too, when you were four,” Alex added; he was nearly ten years older than his youngest sibling, her toddler years lived when he was already a teenager. “She’s just expressing herself the only way she knows how.” He shifted Kathleen in his arms. “And it’s good she’s talking about how she feels. Instead of keeping it bottled in.” “That’s right,” Zuzanna agreed, planting a sad, tender kiss atop Molly’s pale forehead. “It’s always okay to talk about how you feel, Molly.” She glanced to the child’s older sister. “And you, too, Jamie.” “Nuh-uh,” Jamie countered sourly. “Father Clark g-gets mad. ‘Bout her. And… the colours.” “So we noticed,” Phyllo remarked grimly. “Why?” “Well you get mad at me when I don’t sit still in church,” Tim remarked. “And that’s not even having tantrums.” “She didn't start having a tantrum until Father Clark snapped at her,” Morgan pointed out. “Not to mention she just lost her mama; I think she has the advantage over you, Tim.” Tim stuck his tongue out at his sister, but seemed to recognize the justice in her words because he raised no more objections. Shaking his head at his son and daughter, Phyllo again focused on the four year old. “Why does Father Clark get mad, hon?” he asked softly. “He… H-he says I’m demons,” Molly warbled. “... What?” Alex gawped, shaking his head as if he simply couldn’t comprehend what the little girl had just uttered. “Demons? No-- that… that can’t be right, that doesn’t make sense…” But then again, he realized with a creeping horror and nausea, that would explain the priest’s frantic prayer. “It’s true,” Jamie added shrilly. “‘Cos of the colours. And-- and her eyes. He says that… that demons went into her soul-- from the ‘Pit, and… and they make her feel stuff that’s not there, and scream real bad, and… and… her eyes bein’ that way is their kiss, like… like their mark, and...” “Don’t say such things.” Zuzia clenched her teeth. “That’s… the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Her blood was suddenly blistering. Her gut roiling. Strange, unexplained behaviours and compulsions? Throwing tantrums? A four-year-old? Oh Woo, somehow this seemed-- familiar. Too familiar. And it had nothing to do with demons. “It hurts,” Molly whimpered. “When there’s too many people, or, or when the colors are… are big. And it won’t go away. Not even with medicine.” “Zuzia,” Phyllo said, switching to Valzick. “You have an odd look in your eye. What are you thinking, love?” Zuzanna’s fingers tightened over Molly’s back. “Blocks,” she whispered, matching his Valzick. “Oh gods, Phyllo-- what if they’re blocks?” *** About an hour later, as Tim, Morgan, and Laura entertained the vastly calmed down Lawson children in one of the church’s back rooms, Phyllo, Zuzia, and Alex sat with Father Clark in the man’s office, the Panems glaring at the priest across his oak-wood desk. This was okay, though, because Father Clark was glaring right back, the priest’s jaw drawn as tight as bowstrings as he attempted to defend himself to his very angry congregants. “She’s been incorrigible,” he insisted, raking an agitated hand through his wheat-blond hair. “Hilda died a week ago, and she’s been throwing tantrums ever since. And before you start with me, I understand she’s grieving, but I’ve seen many grieving children before. They don’t act like that.” Father Clark huffed. “And it was before, too. The colours. Hilda was in here nearly every week asking me what in the world was going on. Crying to me because Molly was always rambling about feeling black, or throwing a fit because Kathleen was blue, or whimpering whenever Jamie grew red. It’s-- it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” “So of course that means it’s demons,” Zuzia growled. “The only logical explanation, naturally.” “Madam Panem!” Father Clark looked mortally offended. “ Certainly that wasn’t my first conclusion! But after examining her countless times, and eliminating other options--” “You were only left with demons?” Zuzanna cut in. “You couldn’t find a different answer, so it had to be that?” “No!” the priest insisted. “I was diligent, Madam Panem! I eliminated many other conditions, and Hilda had her examined by a physician from the city, too, in case it was medical, and only then did I begin to research symptoms of possession, and she has so many signs--” "...So based on that, you're going to destroy Molly's confidence, and humiliate her in front of everyone at her own mother's funeral?" Phyllo demanded. "A village this small, that stunt you pulled earlier is going to be all over by this time tomorrow. That girl is just four years old and she'll have people afraid of her for something she can't help." "What would you have me do?" the priest demanded. "Stand by and blind myself to the truth? Let the child suffer her curse without trying to help?" "What you're doing isn't helping her!" Phyllo returned. "You think I don't know that?" Father Clark said waspishly. "None of my prayers have granted the poor child any relief, nor any of the ceremonies for demon expulsion in the old writings." He looked away, defeated. "I'll continue to do my best for Jamie and Kathleen, as is my duty- but Molly is beyond my power to help. That's why I've been sending letters to my associates in Medieville. Some of them underwent their seminarian training in Corvus. They might know someone there willing to take on the girl's case, and who’s better trained to handle demon possession." For a moment, none of the Panems spoke, digesting the priest’s latest huffish response. Then, as it sunk in quite what Father Clark had said, Alex’s nostrils flared. He leaned forward, clenching one hand into a rigid fist atop the desk as he pointed with his other toward the priest. His entire body quaked with fury, white and hot as the sun, and sweat beaded on his dark forehead as his blue eyes turned to molten pools of rage. “You’re sending Molly away?” he demanded. “She’s an orphan, and you’re going to separate her from her the only family she has left because of an imagined demon possession? Are you a priest or a lunatic!?” “Why, I never!” Father Clark stood, glowering. “I am doing what I must, I don’t like it any more than you do!” He jabbed his finger right back at Alex, the tip of it hovering dangerously close to the man’s chest. This was a bad move; seated beside her son, Zuzanna’s palm skimmed over her wand at her hip. She did not draw it, but she was nevertheless clearly thinking about it as she spat, “If you touch my son, you will regret it, Father Clark. And”-- she squared her jaw-- “you are not separating those children. That’s not holiness, that’s disgusting, and I would have thought you a much better man than to chop apart already severed families!” “Then what do you suggest I do?” Father Clark’s voice was nearly a whine. “I can’t have her here, Madam Panem. She screams constantly, and she’s a harmful influence on Jamie and Kathleen. And I’ll hardly punish her sisters for the fact that she’s--” “I’ll take them.” The words were tumbling from Alex’s mouth before his brain had fully caught up with his tongue. But even once he realized what he’d just said, he did not rescind the sentiment, rather jutting his chin as he snapped defiantly, “Jamie, Kathleen, and Molly. My family-- we were friendly with Hilda. She came to the bakery for bread at least twice a week, and her house is only about a quarter-mile from my parents’ house. We know the girls-- and they know us. And… and I’ve been living above the bakery, alone, going on five years now. There’s space aplenty for them.” He paused for a moment, then added hotly, “ And patience, and love, and understanding, and every other quality you clearly don’t have, Father Clark, to decide a girl barely older than toddlerhood is somehow possessed by demons.” Phyllo started, staring at Alex in surprise. It was true- the young man had been helping at the bakery since he was old enough to hold a feather duster, to the point where when he was old enough to formally learn the baking trade there had never been any question as to if he would. When he'd come of age, he had moved into the flat over the bakery, vacated years before when the elderly Williston couple passed. This served multiple functions- it gave Alex privacy that was in short supply in the small Panem cottage, freed up more space in the cottage for his young siblings, and saw to it that there was someone present in the bakery to start the chores before dawn. But... "Alex, are you sure about this?" Phyllo asked in Valzick. "You work full time, and you've no wife. Going from no children to three, all of them mourning and one of them quite possibly a blocked archmage... That's not an insignificant burden to take on, emotionally or financially." “I’m sure,” Alex replied, also in Valzick, a lot more calmly than he felt. And… strangely, the more he thought about it, the more he decided this was unequivocally true. At twenty-one, Alex was unmarried just as his father had said, and although he supposed it probably wasn’t ‘normal’ in the strict sense of things, he’d never felt much of a romantic interest toward anyone. The idea of taking a wife? To him, it was almost… laughable, the very notion sending a cold, slithery prickle through his gut. The only reason he’d ever even considered it at all was because he did like children-- had always liked children, fawning over his baby siblings from the day they were born and a doting uncle to his older sister Silvia’s son, who lived with his mother out in Medieville. Yet this want to someday have a family of his own had never overridden-- and he suspected never would override-- the fact that he simply had no interest in a spouse. Even if children were important to Alex, they were not so important as to where he would want to burden some unsuspecting woman with a husband who would never truly feel for her (or at least, not in the way a husband ought to feel for his wife). To inflict such a fate on another would be downright cruel… not mention the fact that he didn’t at all like the thought of having a wife, either. But knowing these things were true did not make them an easy draught to swallow. The idea of never being a father… of never having children to raise, to love, to cherish the way his parents had always cherished him and his siblings… Even after years of internal turmoil, these potential realities still sent a knot of aching regret and anguish tangling in his throat. “Alex.” Zuzia’s voice had softened considerably as she studied her eldest son’s face, which was swirling with a vortex of simmering emotions: longing and fury; disbelief and determination. “This is a big decision--it’s not something you can decide on rashly. And coming from me? Queen of impulsive decisions?” His mother shook her head. “You need to think about this long and hard, honey.” “You said you think she might be an archmage, Mum, didn’t you?” Alex asked softly. “Yes,” she confirmed. “But--” “She’s an orphan,” he interrupted, before Zuzanna could go on. “If I don’t take her, Father Clark is going to send her to Medieville. She’ll be a human test subject for-- Woo only knows what kind of awful priests. She probably won’t ever see her sisters again. She won’t stand a chance. Not at any semblance of a normal, happy life. And if I take her, I can’t just leave Kathleen and Jamie in the church. That would be abominable. Nearly as disgusting as what Father Clark’s trying to do in the first place.” “You can’t fix everything, though,” Zuzia pointed out, completely ignoring the way Father Clark’s indignant eyes were bearing into the Panems as they continued to banter in a language he could not understand. “I know you mean well, Alex, but…” But what? She was hardly one to object to an idea simply because it was lofty or seemed unfeasible. For Woo’s sake, she’d fled her home kingdom at the age of fourteen with only a rucksack on her back and a pocket full of prayers. Not that she would ever want her children embarking on a similar journey, but… compared to that, this was nothing. And Alex was right: if they turned a blind eye to Molly Lawson now, her fate was practically sealed. No one in this village, including her sisters, would ever lay eyes on her again. And if she was an archmage? Woo knew if she’d ever receive testing, or the proper help for it. "We're going to need to do some begging from our noble friends if we're to have even a prayer of affording to have Molly archmage tested," Phyllo mused. "But... we've certainly love enough for them, and while they might make the flat above the bakery crowded, Osborn lived in it with a family of four once already- it can fit them all." "If you're all very much finished, Master Panem?" Father Clark interrupted, his voice laden with exasperation. " Phyllo gave Alex a pointed look- this was his scheme, after all- and his son simply smiled in turn, his eyes hard with determination. Then, very deliberately, he turned back toward Father Clark, looking at the priest much in the way one might glare at a rotten piece of fruit they’d found unexpectedly mixed amidst their fresh groceries. “I’ve known you since I was a child, Father Clark,” the young man said. “I would have thought you much better than this. But the Woo teaches us not to judge, and so I know it’s not my place to condemn you. However...” He brushed a strand of curly, chin length black hair out of his eyes. “Once I take those girls in, they are going to be my girls. And unfortunately, this is the only church in Sallertown. They’re still going to be brought here for weekly services, as well as any other church event. And if I ever hear any ridiculous grumblings from you about Molly…” “Are you threatening me?” Father Clark snapped. “No.” This was Zuzia. “He’s not threatening you, Father Clark. He’s simply thinking about the best interests of an orphaned child-- a child who’ll now be his. And it does not serve that child to hear absurd rantings about her being possessed.” “And if she is?” the priest insisted. “Are you just going to ignore it?” “She’s not possessed,” Alex said flatly. “And I’ll thank you to never utter such a cruel, outlandish statement again, Father Clark.” He shifted in his seat. “I’ll take them home with me today, since of course I’d hate to leave you with a grieving child who’s misbehaving. They’re already playing with my siblings, anyhow-- my family can help ferry any belongings they might have.” Phyllo nodded. “Jamie has spent the night at our place before anyway, playing with Laura.” He gave Alex a crooked smile. “She might start asking to bunk at the bakery with you from time to time now, even if she’s not having a tiff with Tim.” Alex’s cheeks warmed. “I’ll have to invest in some more blankets, I suppose.” He gulped, directing his attention toward Father Clark again as he added, “So. Is there anything else, Father, or shall I be taking the girls now?” Father Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was in very little position to object. Any church would have a tight budget at the best of times, and a bucolic settlement like Sallertown was at the bottom end of the totem pole financially. Someone willing to take the care of three very young girls- one of whom hadn’t even fully grown in all her milk teeth- would be a tremendous burden off of his shoulders. “Don’t misunderstand me, Master Panem,” he said. “I am no monster. I want what’s best for those girls. If you feel you are better equipped to handle this than I am, I won’t try to stop you. As you said, you’ve been coming to this church since you were a child- I know you are a good man, today’s outburst notwithstanding. If it is the Woo’s will that you can help her with this affliction, so be it.” He spread his arms. “Take them, then. And may the grace of the feather be upon us all.” “Of course,” Zuzanna said thickly. “A good day to you, Father Clark.” Standing, she gestured toward her husband and son. “Shall we, then?” she asked, segueing into Valzick. “Right,” Phyllo said in the same language. He gave Alex a crooked smile. “The kids are in for a surprise- yours and ours.” Part Two Kathleen was much too young to understand the situation, but Jamie and Molly took it far better than Alex had thought they might-- perhaps because both girls were simply eager to get out of the church (and, consequently, Father Clark’s untender custody). The newly minted adoptive father was fairly sure neither girl wholly grasped what it meant for him to be taking them in-- not just for now, but forever-- but he also knew that given their recent traumas and the complexity of the situation, a complete comprehension was something they’d only arrive to over time. For now, what they needed was comfort, patience, and a sense of security… and the young man was determined to provide them with all three. When the Panems had inherited the flat over the bakery from the Willistons, they’d also come into ownership of the apartment’s furnishings. Over the past five years since he’d moved in, Alex had sometimes considered clearing out the spare bedroom of its fixtures and turning it into something else-- an office, perhaps-- but he was suddenly grateful that he never had, and that there was a thus a bed for Jamie and Molly to share. Kathleen, only a year old, was more difficult, but Phyllo offered to haul by the Panems’ old cradle, long faded into disuse since their eldest child was nearly in her teens. “It’s going to become an heirloom,” Zuzia joked as she watched her husband set the bassinet up in the corner of Alex’s bedroom shortly before sunset that evening (they’d left their own children back at home, Morgan installed as a babysitter for the younger two). “We ought send a fresh thank you note to Chamile.” “Why did you pick out such an awful colour?” Alex teased back, bouncing Kathleen in his arms as the baby tugged playfully on a lock of his black hair. Across the room, Jamie and Molly were sitting on his bed, the older girl excitedly chattering with her sister about the fact that unlike the church, which smelled of stale incense and dust, Alex’s apartment came with the fragrant scent of bread and herbs. Smiling, Alex added to his parents, “It looks like pea soup. Awful pea soup.” “It was prettier, twenty-some years ago when we bought it,” Phyllo remarked. “Ah, Woo, Zuzia we’re getting old aren’t we? The cradle is older now than either of us was when we bought it.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuzia said dryly. “I’m a spry twenty-two, I shall have you know.” “I’m eight,” Jamie announced with a solemn nod, twirling a strand of auburn hair between her fingers. “Didja know Molly’s birthday was two weeks ago? She’s four now.” The girl bit her lip. “M-mama baked her a cake.” “I remember,” Phyllo replied cheerily. “She came here to buy some icing for it. Alex showed her how to make pretty flowers and rosettes.” He clapped his son on the back. “Which he has always been better at than me.” “I like flowers,” Molly offered with a timid smile. “Specially dandilion puffs. They’re fun to blow.” She kicked her feet a little. “And they’re yellow when they’re not puffy. Yellow’s the best. It’s bright and fun and nice. You all feel yellow right now.” Phyllo glanced at Jamie curiously, but the little girl only shrugged, resigned, as if she were long used to such ramblings. “Yellow means someone’s happy,” Molly’s older sister explained. “So… so it’s her favourite color. Sh-she hasn’t talked about it much. Lately.” “I can imagine,” Alex said softly, rubbing Kathleen’s back as the baby dozed off in his arms. “But from now on, I’m going to do the best to make things happy for you girls, okay? I promise.” He sighed, considering for a moment. “I know. What if we start off with happy things by… by having a nice supper? I’ve got some leftover sourdough rolls, and we can have butter, and-- and what’s your favourite fruit, girls?” “Pears!” Molly put in, bouncing a little on the bed in a gesture that was refreshingly childlike. “Pears are my favoritest!” “I think we have some pear jam we can spare,” Phyllo remarked with a crooked smile. “I’ll get it if Alex gets the bread and butter.” He winked. “We make our own butter you know. From our goats.” “Goats?” Molly whispered, sounding awed. She looked at Jamie accusingly. “You din’ tolded me they had goats! Just doggies!” Jamie pursed her lips. “The goats aren’t here, they’re at Missus Zuzia and Mister Phyllo’s house. You’ve seen ‘em, Molls. When we’re walking by on our way into town.” Zuzia chuckled. “Though you’re welcome to come by and see the doggies and the goats whenever you’d like,” the archmage said. “And we’ve got chickens, too! But they’re less fun, I know. Not as fuzzy to pet.” “Can you pet the goats?” Jamie asked. “Sure. The goats are nice,” Alex replied. “Though the doggies might get jealous.” His eyes glimmered, a feeling of pure relief swelling inside him at the girls acting like, well-- children, rather than the miserable wretches from the church service earlier. “You’ll have to pet them all,” he added after a moment. “Goats and doggies. So none of them feel sad and overlooked.” “I’ll give ‘em all lotsa pets!” Molly cheered. “Promise!” Phyllo chuckled, standing up to fetch the jam from downstairs. “I bet you will- but for now, you can enjoy some of their tasty butter. And pear jam. And bread.” Soon enough everyone had indeed eaten, Molly declaring around a sizable mouthful of food that the bread was “Way better’n the broth at the church!”. Kathleen, still far too small for solid bread, was given some crumbles that were soaked in broth until they acquired a consistency she could feasibly chew, as well as goat’s milk that Zuzia warmed up with her magic. After the rather emotionally harrowing day all three girls were out very quickly once post-meal lethargy claimed them, Jamie and Molly sleeping in a huddle on their new bed and Kathleen wedged firmly against Alex’s chest, the infant growing fussy every time he tried to remove her from the security of his body heat and put her in the cradle. “Reminds me of Mogie,” Phyllo remarked with amusement, using his old petname for Morgan. “She was like a little tick to your mother for the longest time. Wouldn’t sleep unless she was being held.” “I don’t blame Kathleen for being clingy,” Alex said softly, smoothing the infant’s cinnamon-brown hair as he and his parents settled in the living room upon the apartment’s two old but sturdy sofas. “I can’t imagine Father Clark was giving her much comfort.” He sighed. “I still can’t believe the words that came out of his mouth today. He became priest at the church when I was what-- six? Seven? And I’ve always thought highly of him. But now…” “People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Zuzia replied, though there was a decidedly bitter note to her tone. “Woo knows I unnerved some people when I was young and blocked. And that was with everybody knowing why I was doing it.” “And in a remote place like this, superstition tends to trump anything else,” Phyllo agreed. “Isolation gives a sense of security with the familiar, and a paranoia of the unknown.” With a wry glance in Zuzanna’s direction, he added, “Fortunately, I think your mother and I are well travelled enough to compensate for all of Sallertown combined. Though that doesn’t change the fact that coming up with the funds for archmage testing is not going to be easy. We’ll need help.” “ Do you think she’s really an archmage, Mum?” Alex asked, the idea still making his heart flutter a little. All his life, he’d heard from both his mother and Leif that archmages were exceptionally-- even exceedingly-- rare. The idea of one just so happening to live in Sallertown? It was at once extraordinary and unbelievable. “I mean… it’s not that I don’t trust your assessment, and obviously you’d recognize the signs better than anyone, but…” Zuzia shrugged, resting her head against Phyllo’s shoulder. “I can’t be sure, of course,” she said. “But given her age, and the way she panics over things no one else even notices…” Zuzanna smiled grimly. “And then there’s the fact that she keeps ranting about colours. As you know well from Tim and Laura”-- both of the youngest two Panems were mages-- “being able to change the colours of objects is often one of the first signs of incantational magic. And I-- I wonder if perhaps something’s gone wrong with Molly’s blocks, if… her reports of feeling colours are some strange manifestation of the usual signs. It would be unusual, certainly, but then again, many things about archmages are.” “Even if she’s not an archmage,” Phyllo put in, “I do agree whatever is wrong does seem to be magical. If Jamie’s interpretations of the colors are accurate, they’re rather dead-on the mark, at least so far. Though I wonder why this never came up before now. I liked to think of Hilda as a friend, but she apparently never mentioned Molly’s symptoms to anyone but Father Clark.” “I imagine she was scared, Phyllo,” Zuzia said. “Of what people would think. I mean-- look at the conclusion Father Clark eventually arrived to. If that was your little girl, would you have wanted to spread the word?” She sighed, straightening. “I’ve a job in the city this weekend. I can drop by Leif’s while I’m there-- see if he can’t help us with the funding for the archmage testing. I hate to impinge on him, but… if these are blocks, I want to know for sure as soon as possible. And it’ll take us ages to raise all of the money on our own.” “And… what if they’re not blocks, Mum?” Alex asked, hushing Kathleen as the little girl briefly stirred in his lap. “What… what do we do then?” “I still think it’s likely magical,” Zuzanna replied. “So-- I’ll research, if it comes to that. Incantational magic is certainly the most common form, but it’s hardly the only form. Look at Elly Finnegan-- she can communicate with animals. Or Elin Ryer-Lynn, with her mirror magic. And,” she added, “whatever it is-- I’m absolutely confident that it’s not demon possession. So… we’ll figure it out, Alex. Do our best with Molly, no matter what happens.” *** Leif agreed to assist with the funding for Molly’s archmage testing, which the Panems then scheduled with examiners in the city at their earliest availability. Unfortunately, given the highly specialized nature of the testing, and the relatively low number of qualified assessors, this proved to be over a month and a half out, during the beginning of May; until then, Alex would simply have to tread carefully with Molly and do his best to avoid overstimulating her. This proved to be easier said than done, however: while in many ways a sweet and normal four-year-old girl, in other facets Molly was like a tripwire just waiting to be snapped. Part of Alex had hoped that Father Clark was merely being histrionic in his declaration that the girl screamed ‘constantly’, but alas he soon had to concede this point to the snippity priest. She had minor anxiety attacks almost daily, and seldom passed a week where Molly didn’t wind herself up into a full-out panic at some point, her tantrums so hysterical that all Alex could reasonably do was hold and reassure her, grimacing against the shrill tenor of her wails as she sobbed and moaned in his arms. Afterwards, she was always very apologetic. Very meek. As if she half-expected him to dispose of her then, much as Father Clark had. Every time she snuffled and begged his forgiveness, Alex’s heart broke a little. His voice trembling as he stroked her straight hair, and promised her that he wasn’t mad at her, that he understood, that under no circumstances would he be getting rid of her. Beyond Molly’s breakdowns, though, he had to admit he rather enjoyed his newfound role as a father figure. It certainly wasn’t easy, and he frequently questioned himself as to whether or not he was doing everything right-- but when Kathleen giggled in his arms, or Jamie and Molly chattered to him down in the bakery as they helped serve customers “like big girls”, Alex suddenly couldn’t fathom the life he’d led before without them. Of course he wished their mother had never passed away, that he and they had never been thrust into this situation in the first place. But… given the way the fates had fallen, he had no regrets about his choice. About being the father figure the Lawson children both deserved and needed, when it seemed as if the rest of the world had so callously abandoned them. It was a warm evening during the last week of April, about ten days out from Molly’s scheduled archmage testing, when Alex just barely refrained a stupidly big grin as he locked up the bakery shortly after sunset. “Do you know where we’re going tonight, girls?” he sang to Molly and Jamie, the former of whom was helping to wrap up the unsold bread so that it would keep until tomorrow, and the latter of whom was sweeping the shop floor. “Or what day it is?” “Saturday!” Jamie chirped knowingly. “April 29th!” Alex laughed. “Not inaccurate. But not exactly what I was looking for either.” As he paced behind the counter and picked Kathleen up from the play cot he’d installed there to keep her safe when he was occupied, he added, “What about you, Molls? Do you have a guess? I’ll give you a hint: it’s why my dad wasn’t here today.” “Ummmm…” Molly tilted her head as she fussed with the wrappings for the bread. “Tomorrow's Beltane, right? I sawed people putting out the wood for the big fire out in the fields.” “Close, but still no.” Alex laughed, gently patting Kathleen’s hand away as the baby made a rogue grab for a shiny glass jar of honey that sat on the shelf behind them. “It’s my sister’s birthday,” he went on. “Morgan. She’s turning seventeen today. And my dad took her out to Medieville to celebrate-- but they should be back soon. So we’re going over to my parents’ house. And…” He could no longer hold back a grin. “Know what we’re bringing?” “A cake!?” Jamie breathed. “Yup! Know the cheesecake that’s been setting in the back all day? That’s for Mogie.” He winked. “ And us, I’m sure she’ll share.” Molly squealed. “A birthday party! Missus Mogie is nice, she let me touch her earrings last week!” The child giggled. “I sawed her out the window behind the blacksmith’s! She was kissin’ somebody.” Alex raised a brow. “Oh, was she now? I’ll be sure not to tease her mercilessly about her boyfriend.” Jamie set the broom aside, beaming. “Nuh-uh!” she exclaimed. “It was a girl. Mina Moore! The smith’s daughter.” The child tilted her head. “I like Mina. She lets me and Molly pet their dog.” From the mouths of babes. Alex only just choked back a snort. “Mina Moore is very nice,” he agreed. “And seems Morgan agrees, huh?” He glanced behind his shoulder. “Here, Jamie-- you wanna hold Kathy for a bit? I’ll pack up the cake, and then we can set off.” “Okay!” Jamie agreed. She perked up further. “... Maybe Mina’ll be there!” “I like the colors they had,” Molly put in. “It was really yellow, but also pink! It was really, really warm. Like when you lie in the sun in summer. It felt all fluttery.” Handing Kathleen off to Jamie, Alex gave Molly a soft smile but didn’t comment further. He was getting used to her prattling about colours by now, and had largely figured out what most of them meant, but even still he sometimes had to wonder how she’d come up with all of this. What exactly was churning in her brain to spit out these assessments of people, and to marry colours with feelings as if it were the most natural thing in the world for yellow to correspond with happiness, or orange with confusion, or red with anger and blue with sadness. “Get your shoes, Molls,” he said to her as he turned toward the back room. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, okay?” Mina Moore, it transpired, was not at the Panem cottage when they arrived, but all of the main members of the family were- with the sole exception of Phyllo and Zuzanna’s oldest child, Silvia, who lived in Medieville and had celebrated with her father and sister while they were in the city. When Morgan arrived home, she was wearing a pretty, hooded olive green shawl that had apparently been her birthday gift from her older sister, and petting the soft fabric with a beaming smile on her face. It accented her dark, curly brown hair and caramel colored skin well, and from what Phyllo said apparently the better part of the day had been spent letting her try on fancy dresses just for the pleasure of seeing how they looked. Now that they were home again, the family set about celebrating in earnest. There was the cheesecake, of course, as well as egg tarts, mutton stew, and non-alcoholic cider that had also been a gift from Silvia. Giddy with happiness, soon Morgan decided just eating was a very boring way to throw a party. Eyes falling on Jamie, she grinned and took the little girl’s hand in her own. “Hey, you want to dance with me?” “I’unno how to dance,” Jamie said. “But… if you wanted to show me.” Zuzanna, watching from her seat in one of the cozy living room’s armchairs with Kathleen nestled on her lap, chuckled. “Mogie’s a wonderful dance teacher. You should have seen her at Silvia’s wedding, teaching Laura.” “She made me dance with her then,” Laura objected, as she cut herself a second slice of cheesecake. “Everybody was watching.” “Because you looked so pretty, Laura,” Alex said with a smirk. “Even with your two left feet.” Morgan giggled. “Yeah I don’t know what you’re complaining about- you aren’t the one who was nursing stubbed toes for an hour.” She winked at Jamie. “Don’t step on my feet and you already have a leg up on Laura.” “She’s probably not as heavy as Laura neither,” Tim put in, his expression completely deadpan but his pale blue eyes glimmering in a way that dared his younger sister to refute it. She didn’t get the chance, however, as Phyllo gave his son a light swat on the back of the head. “Be nice,” he chided. Looking around the room he added, “Well, a dance needs music- anyone have any requests?” “Nothing from church,” Jamie said solemnly. “It has to be something fun.” “Hmm,” Alex pondered. He shared a look with his parents. “What if we did a Valzick song? You can see what words you know, Jamie.” Since the Panems largely spoke Valzick amongst themselves, he’d been teaching the girls the language since he’d taken them in. “And the ones you don’t,” he added, “we can tell you afterward what they are. So you know for next time.” Most of the songs Phyllo remembered from Valzaim were either church songs- specifically requested against- or nursery rhymes from his childhood, but he’d recited them often enough most of the family could sing them by heart. At random he chose a song called “Κoonelaki” or “Little Rabbit,” a song about a rabbit that slips into a neighbor’s cabbage patch and causes mischief- but that they can’t stay mad at because it is too cute. As Phyllo started to sing, Morgan chimed in, pulling Jamie a bit into a dance as other members of the Panem family either sang or clapped along according to their personalities. Though Jamie started out clumsy, soon she had fallen into a passable rhythm, the girl giggling as she and Morgan swung about the room. Afterward, red-cheeked and breathless, the child flopped down on the rug below, her green eyes twinkling as she reached out toward Molly, who was seated a few feet over. “What colour am I, Molls?” she chirped. “Yellow?” Molly giggled. “Everyone’s yellow,” she agreed. “‘Cept Tim. He’s yellow with little red swirls.” “He’s just trying to pretend he’s too mature for our games,” Phyllo said with a smirk. “But secretly enjoying it.” “Hey!” Tim called, indignant. “Timothy.” Zuzanna’s voice was clipped. “Be nice, we’re all having a good time here. And if you’re going to squawk like a slighted hawk, you can go up to the loft and sulk in your own company.” Laura, taking a nibble of her cheesecake, grinned. “Timmy just wishes Mogie would dance with him.” She leaned forward. “Oooh, or maybe you wish you could dance with Winona Howard! And make moon eyes at her.” “Winona Howard?” Alex quirked a brow. “The hostler’s niece?” The thirteen year old turned crimson. “She said she thinks I’m cute. At the market last month.” He fidgeted with the wand holstered at his hip, adding, “I messed up though.” “She was lookin’ at him all hopeful, and then Tim just went beet red and said nothing,” Laura confirmed, snorting. “Winnie got sad. And turned and ran away.” “Oh, my poor little heartbreaker.” Zuzia’s expression was somewhere in between pity and amusement. “It’s okay, Timothy-- you’ve still got lots of time to learn how to charm.” “You could bring her cake,” Jamie suggested from the rug, stifling a yawn. “From the bakery. And… and frost it with her favourite icing. And say sorry.” “Maybe,” Tim said softly, still fidgeting with his wand. “But she won’t let me near her. I’ve tried to say sorry like, a thousand times.” “Maybe Mogie could help?” Molly suggested, looking at Tim with concern- he was feeling very blue now. “She’s got a girlfriend! Mina Moore! At the blacksmith’s!” Morgan’s head snapped around, her jaw falling open in shock. “ How did you know that?” she squeaked. “We saw you kissing,” Jamie said. “When we came by to pet the doggie. And give him bread scraps.” Zuzanna, adjusting her hold on Kathleen as the baby began to doze, didn’t look particularly surprised. “Morgan, you’re about as subtle as the goats are when they’re hungry. Did you think no one noticed when you started spending half your time at the blacksmith’s place?” “Morgan’s in love,” Laura teased. “Morgan and Mina, so romantic, I’m gonna start sending out wedding invitations--” “Not nice, Laura,” Alex cut in. Then, he shook his head, incredulous. “By Woo, am I the only one who didn’t know?” “I didn’t know,” Tim put in, giving his older sister a skeptical look. “I thought you liked boys, Mogs. You’ve had like… three boyfriends already.” “I like both,” Morgan said, her face a delicate shade of pink. “I just never found another girl who liked girls before.” “Well you’ve clearly found one now,” Phyllo said, grinning. He absently rubbed at his face under his headband, which was sweating a little, and added, “Maybe you could give Tim advi-” Phyllo was cut off as Molly gave a squeak of surprise. “I din’ know you had a tattoo!” she bleated, staring at the man’s forehead; while he’d been rubbing it, he’d inadvertently pulled the headband further up than he’d intended, baring a stark white circle with a diagonal slash crossed through it on his otherwise dark skin. Zuzanna stiffened automatically, as nearby Laura crinkled her brow, narrowed her slate gray eyes, and-- before anybody else could stammer up an explanation-- said, “It’s not a tattoo. It’s a brand.” “A… brand?” Jamie cocked her head. “Like… like they put on cows and stuff?” Concern flooded the the child’s freckled face. “But-- but why would someone put a brand on a person?” Phyllo sighed, pulling the headband the rest of the way off. “I’ll… explain honey, but you have to promise not to talk about it to anybody outside the family, okay? It’s kind of complicated.” Molly looked down. “Is… is it okay for us t’know? ‘Cause we’re…” the girl sniffled suddenly. “Peggy McCairn said we’re not really your family, we’re j-just adopted, an’ we don’t b-belong, an’-” “Hey,” Alex cut in, rising from where he sat on one of the room’s sofas and pacing quickly toward Molly and Jamie. He crouched at the girls’ side, reaching a delicate hand out toward each of them, inviting them to take a hold. “Of course it’s okay for you to know. Being adopted-- that doesn’t mean you’re any less a part of the family, alright? I know I’m not the same as your mama, or… or your papa, but I’m taking care of you girls now. You’re my family.” He glanced toward the rest of the assembled Panems. “ They’re your family. All of ‘em. You’re in it with us for the long haul.” Jamie bit her lip, not looking wholly convinced. “But…” Her eyes fell toward her lap. “W-what if you get t-tired of us? Like… like Father Clark did? ‘Cos we’re bad or… or M-Molly’s screamin’ too much or… you j-just decide you don’t want us anymore. ‘Cos we’re not really yours.” “But you are mine,” Alex countered, his stomach pitching. This was not the first time he’d had such a conversation with Molly and Jamie over the past month, but still his heart smarted every time. He couldn’t blame the girls for feeling insecure, not really. Not given what they’d been through. But that children so young had already been jaded into such pessimism... “I took you in, and no matter what happens, you’re here with me to stay.” He smiled softly. “I’m teaching you girls Valzick, right? That’s… that’s something that’s always been just in the family. No one else speaks it in Sallertown, not at all. But my family all does. So I want you to know it, too. Why would I do that if I was going to send you away eventually?” “We’re not very good at it yet, though,” Molly said dismally. “You just started learning,” Phyllo said gently. “Any language takes a while to learn if you haven’t spoken it since you were learning to talk. It took me and Zuzia a long time to learn Kythian, right Zuzu?” Zuzanna nodded. “Mmhm. You’ve only been at it for a month-- of course you’re not experts yet.” Jamie looked up again. “O-okay.” She tentatively took Alex’s proffered hand. “... I-I can keep it secret. About your brand, Mister Panem. I promise I won’t tell no one outside the f-family.” “Me neither,” Molly said, hesitantly setting her palm into Alex’s. Phyllo smiled gently, leaning back in his chair. “You girls know how they’ve been having a war, right? Down in Courdon?” “I think I heareded about it,” Molly agreed. “It’s to free the slaves, right? The people who have to work for no money.” “That’s right,” Phyllo agreed. “Well, Courdon isn’t the only country who keeps slaves. I was born in in place called Valzaim, and just a little north of Valzaim is a country called Meltaim- Meltaim has slaves like Courdon does, only instead of keeping anybody as a slave, they only keep people who aren’t mages slaves.” Jamie’s eyes widened as she linked the pieces of the story together. “... Y-you were a slave? But…” The girl looked thoroughly distressed. “Why would someone do that to you?” “People in Meltaim have very… bad ideas,” Zuzia said, sighing. It was a mild way of putting the twisted ideologies of her home country, but she hardly wanted to give a bloody, detailed rundown to young children; such realities would only frighten them. “But it’s okay, because Phyllo lives here now. And he’s free. But… his brand is permanent, so he still has it.” “He hasn’t been a slave in a long, long time,” Alex added, dropping from a crouch into a sitting position and drawing the girls in toward him. “So you don’t have to be worried about that, okay?” “That’s right,” Morgan put in softly. “Papa came to Kyth with Mama because he wanted to be somewhere that he could be free. Where it didn’t matter if he was a mage or not a mage.” She gave Jamie and Molly a smile. “It’s very far from where they were born, but they made a new family here- not just us kids, but also from friends they made. Sometime we should let you both meet our grandpa.” “He’s not really related to us,” Tim put in. “But he’s the coolest. He’s super smart and has amazing birds and he works for the king sometimes.” “And he’s been an amazing grandpa for Alex and his siblings, even if he’s not actually their grandpa by blood,” Phyllo said, casting a smile in Zuzanna’s direction. “He lives in the city,” Alex put in. “Maybe you girls can meet him when we go down there for Molly’s archmage testing.” He kissed the top of the littler girl’s head. “He can show you his birdies. If you and Jamie promise to be good girls and not touch ‘em-- big birdies can be… feisty.” Zuzia smirked. “That’s one way of putting it.” Molly smiled slightly. “O-okay. That’d be fun. I like am-inals.” She gnawed on her lip. “Mister Alex, can I ask you something?” “Of course, sweetie.” He squeezed her hand. “What do you want to ask?” “Um…” she fidgeted. “You guys call your grandpa ‘grandpa’ even though he’s not, right?” “We do,” Morgan confirmed. “Can I…” she looked up at Alex. “Can I call you Papa, then? I-if it’s okay, you don’t hafta say yes! I was j-just wondering and- I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Shhh.” Forcing away the look of surprise that had automatically flashed across his face at the unexpected question, Alex kissed the top of Molly’s dark hair again. “Of course you can, Molly. I’m your papa from now on, right? So if that’s what you want to call me, then that’s perfectly alright.” He glanced toward Jamie. “And you, too, Jamie. If you want. You don’t have to, but if you ever want to-- feel perfectly free.” Jamie nodded reluctantly. “O-okay,” she whispered. “And…” Alex smiled wryly “When we meet Leif, if you girls want, you can call him ‘great-grandpa’.” Zuzia snorted. “Oh, I would pay to see his reaction to that, Alexander. A pity I’m staying behind to babysit this little imp.” She fondly stroked the slumbering Kathleen’s wispy hair before turning her gaze toward Molly and Jamie. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get home, okay?” “Okay!” Molly said brightly. She hesitated, then hugged Alex. “Thank you, Papa. An’ everyone. Y-you’re nice and you don’t say I’m demons ‘cause of my eyes and the colors an’ you didn’t m-make me go away an’ you’re not red and black all the time like Father Clark.” She squeezed tighter. “I’m bad. But you don’t get mad ‘cause of it.” “You’re not bad, honey,” Zuzanna said very, very firmly. Even at nearly forty-years-old, she could still keenly remember how much it had stung her as a child scarcely older than Molly to hear the titters and whispered that had traveled about the Iron Castle regarding her behaviour. How much she had hated always feeling as if she couldn’t do anything right-- and being punished for actions she could not control. “Sometimes… sometimes we do things we don’t mean to. And might not even want to. That doesn’t mean we’re bad, okay?” “And,” Alex said, “after we get you tested, hopefully we’ll be able to start fixing things for you, sweetie. So you don’t have to get so panicked all the time.” He touched her cheek. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” She sniffed. “So that it won’t hurt no more? When there’s too many colors?” “Exactly,” Phyllo agreed. “We’ll get you all fixed up, and once you get the hang of things, I bet you’ll be able to do some truly impressive things.” Molly sniffled, wiping her eyes, but she smiled. “You’re all green. But… pink swirled. Mama and Papa- my first Papa- they were like that b’fore.” She hugged Alex more tightly. “Th-thank you.” “You’re welcome, sweetie,” he said. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “I… I love you.” He looked to Jamie. “Both of you.” As Jamie smiled at Alex but said nothing, Molly whispered, “I love you too, Papa.” “Lookit you, Lexi,” Morgan said, her voice full of gentle teasing. “I’d say you’ve gone and grown up.” “Says the girl who was caught snogging in an alleyway,” Alex teased. “At least I’ve still got my wee little heartbreaker Timmy and innocent Laura.” Zuzia laughed, as she tightened her arms around Kathleen adding, “And now little grandbabies, too. Who I get to cuddle as much as I want instead of only when I visit Medieville.” “I’ll give Silvia’s son cuddles for you when Jamie, Molly, and I head there for the testing,” Alex promised. “And I’ll mock Grandpa for you, too, Mum. On my honour as your son.” “See that you do,” Phyllo remarked with a grin. “What else are families for, hm?” Part Three The day that Alex was to take the girls to Medieville dawned sunny and bright- both girls were excited for the trip, and soon enough the three of them were making their way down the lonely road that would lead west towards the Kythian capital. The walk took over an hour, but the time was easily filled by the kids chattering animatedly about things they saw along the road and asking questions about Alex’s “grandpa.”
As they arrived near the gates, however, Molly became noticeably more subdued. More people were passing on either side of them, and she glanced around nervously. Though the child tried to distract herself by engaging the conversation with Jamie and Alex, these attempts petered to a halt once the party arrived in the city properly. The streets, crowded with a veritable crush of people talking, walking, yelling, made Molly freeze up, her face going white as a sheet.
“It’s too much…” she whispered, shivering hard. “Th-there’s too many…”
“It’s alright, Molly,” Alex assured her, glancing down at her to spare a reassuring smile. But the moment her mottled eyes hooked on his, the man’s heart fluttered; after nearly two months as the little girl’s guardian, he knew the expression she wore all too well. A pending meltdown.
“I don’t think she’s ever been ‘round this many people,” Jamie commented grimly.
“But we’ll only be outside for a little while,” Alex said, squeezing both girls’ hands as he desperately prayed there was still room to coax Molly away from the proverbial ledge. “We’re going to see my grandpa, remember? And he doesn’t live all too far from here-- I promise. And it’ll be nice and quiet inside.”
Molly squeezed her eyes shut against the tears pricking at them, giving a sharp nod. But as she continued to totter after Alex, she was visibly flinching. Two people ahead, arguing over the price of a bag of sugar, sent spikes of crimson anger into her mind. Across the street, a man sitting in the alleyway, blue but fuzzy, swirled with orange as he drank something from a funny looking bottle. Just behind them, a mother scolding her son as she pricked red, and he swirled with blue and black…
“Nnng,” she moaned, clenching her hands around her arms, the tears she’d been fighting back spilling over. Her head throbbed, overwhelmed by too many sensations she couldn’t possibly process. “H-hurts… it hurts…”
“It’s alright, Molly,” Alex murmured again, sighing as he lifted the girl up into his arms before she could melt down further. Tucking her close against his side, he added, “Just close your eyes and take deep breaths, okay? We’ll be at Grandpa’s soon.” He looked toward Jamie. “I can’t hold her and hold your hand-- but stay at my side, okay? Don’t drift.”
Jamie nodded glumly. “Okay.”
True to Alex’s promise, Leif’s house wasn’t much further, but by the time they arrived, Molly was several degrees beyond consolation, the little girl clinging hard to Alex’s tunic and sobbing hysterically, having bitten her lip so hard it was bleeding. Alex knew there was little to be gained in actively consoling her-- that she wouldn’t calm down until they were away from the clamor of the streets-- but he couldn’t help but rub her back anyway, biting back a wince at her ear-splitting shrieks as he told Jamie to knock on the front door.
It was opened barely seconds later; the man standing in the doorway was already looking toward the screaming child, his blue eyes wide with concern and confusion. The latter emotion seemed to clear up at once, however; he edged aside, out of the doorway. “Alex, bring her in - the sooner she’s away from that crowd, the better.” He eyes flicked to the street - it was distant enough that the noise didn’t travel very well, but the people were still in sight.
“Right. Thanks.” He gave Leif an apologetic smile-- Alex knew well that the man he’d always called ‘grandpa’ did not have any fondness for loud noises. Nudging his chin for Jamie to step in ahead of him, the young man then shifted Molly in his arms as he followed the older girl inside. “She should calm down soon,” he added as Leif shut the door behind them. “Right, Molls?” Alex ruffled her hair. “Only good colours in here. Just me, and Jamie, and Great-Grandpa Leif.”
The girls only initial response was a pained whimper, but after a few seconds she whispered, “‘M s-sorry. ‘M S-s-sorry, Papa. All the people, all the colors, they huuuuuuurt,” she sobbed, burrowing her face into his chest.
“I know, sweetie,” Alex said softly. “I know. You don’t need to apologize.” He drew her chin back and wiped a tender hand against her teary eyes, then added to Leif, “This is… this is what she did at-- at the funeral. Why my mother, ah… well, has the suspicions she does.” Alex sighed. “It’s the worst in crowds. At home she’ll sometimes have… smaller episodes, I guess. But when we’re out, and there are people around…”
“She panics,” Jamie finished dourly. “Like it hurts her. Even though no one’s doin’ anything to hurt her.” She studied the stranger in front of her, raking Leif up and down as if he were a curious trinket she’d found in the marketplace. “... Hi,” she said finally, after she seemed satisfied with her assessment. “I’m… I’m Jamie.”
Leif nodded slightly at Alex’s explanation, before turning his attention to the older girl. “Hello, Jamie. And hello, Molly,” he added in a very soft voice; even if he’d heard enough from Zuzanna’s letter to know her problems weren’t sound-related, he couldn’t help having the reaction he had always wanted other people to have to his episodes of overload - being quiet. “Crowds bother me, too, sometimes,” he said to both girls. “They don’t mean to be hurtful, of course - but a loud noise hurts your ears whether the person making the sound meant for it to or not.”
He lightly motioned toward the foyer doorway. “Would you three like to sit down? Kirin’s just finishing steeping some cinnamon tea; as sugary as we take it, I think even the girls should like it.” With a sympathetic look at Molly, he added, “And it would probably feel good on a sore throat.”
“You like cinnamon, Molls, right?” Alex agreed, brushing her damp, clumping hair out of her eyes. “And it’ll be nice and quiet. And you can sit in Papa’s lap if you want.”
"Okay," the girl whispered hoarsely. She looked up at Leif, swallowing hard. "Thank you, Mister. For the tea. I'm not pretendin', promise. An' Papa s-says it's magic, not demons." She burrowed her face again. "I don't think I like magic."
“Magic can be hard sometimes,” Leif admitted. He managed to refrain from an explanation of why it was still good and why it was worth the struggle. Molly was four years old and fresh from overload. Not the time. Instead, he said, “And I believe you, Molly - about it not being pretend or demons. I went through something like what you’re going through when I was younger; it was definitely magic, not playing pretend or demons.”
It was very odd, almost disturbing, to hear such a young child using the word ‘demons’ so casually. Even Leif’s parents had waited longer than this to start in on the darker portions of his theology studies. Jamie, however, didn’t seem surprised by the mention, and neither did Alex, the man merely kissing Molly atop the crown of her head as he took a step toward the kitchen.
“Come on,” he said softly, indicating with his chin for Jamie to follow. “Let’s go talk with some tea, alright?”
Jamie nodded, visibly relieved now that her sister had begun to calm down. “O-okay. But… c-could I have milk in mine?”
“Hmm.” Alex pursed his lips in mock deliberation. “I dunno, Jamie.” He looked to Leif, his blue eyes glimmering drolly. “What do you think, Grandpa? Has the young lady earned herself a splash of milk?”
Leif smirked, an expression essentially unchanged from his younger days. “Hmm...well, I do have a bottle of it enchanted to keep cold, and Kirin and I don’t use all that much of it - so it would be hard to let go, but I think after coming all this way, Jamie - yes, you can have some milk in your tea.”
Molly peeked her head out from her adoptive father’s shirt, blinking owlishly in Leif’s direction with her tri-toned eyes. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. It was an exhausted smile, and there were lines of pain under her eyes that had no place on a four year old, but it was still a smile. “Jamie likes milk,” she murmured. “She drinks it by itself sometimes too. From the goats.” She relaxed a little in Alex’s arms, sighing softly. “He’s nice, Jamie. He feels all yellow and green, and sometimes a little pink. He’s nice.”
“All good colours,” Alex said, beginning down the hall that led to the kitchen. He knew by now that pink was something akin to love, while green implied a feeling of calm or comfort, and yellow one of happiness.
“What colours were you feelin’ out in the city?” Jamie prompted, as she followed after Alex. Meeting her sister’s eyes, she added, “Any new ones? That you haven’t felt before?”
It was often amidst crowds, after all, that Molly seemed to stumble upon new colours that she insisted corresponded with moods far more complex than the basic hues. Like gray for “feelin’ empty”-- which Molly had felt only once, from their very infirm and elderly paternal grandmother, back at their father’s funeral last year… and that had led to a tantrum not unlike the one she’d thrown at Hilda’s service-- or purple for jealousy, something that the girl had insisted was different than mere anger or aggravation, even if Jamie hadn’t been entirely convinced.
“Uuummm…” The girl clenched her eyes a bit, trying to sort the dregs of her memory amidst the general clamour for anything she hadn't recognized. “It wasn't a new color, but there was a man whose color… felt weird. Blurry, like there was somethin’ wrong with him. He was sitting in an alley and drinking something from a funny bottle. His color made me dizzy.”
“Drinking something from a funny bottle?” Leif repeated. “Hmm - it sounds like he might have been drunk. That would probably explain the fuzziness - it would make complete sense. It’s interesting that you can feel the difference; I wonder how that works. Magic generally doesn’t respond to things all on its own...although,” he amended, “it wouldn’t be the first time an archmage’s magic has done something like that.” And considering Leif had passed out the first time his magic had acted on its own, and the second time, working against another archmage’s magic to break a curse, it had been incredibly uncomfortable at best and outright painful at worst...no wonder Molly was so vulnerable to overload.
The house wasn’t large enough to keep them from the cinnamon-scented kitchen for long. Leif introduced Jamie and Molly to Kirin, and told Alex and the girls to sit, while he went to get the milk and then to help Kirin finish preparing and serving the tea. Jamie’s came with an extra little saucer of milk and a spoon - “I don’t want to put too much or too little in,” Leif explained as he set it in front of her. “Let me know if you need more, okay?” Finally taking a seat, Leif asked, “And Molly, are you feeling better?” He rubbed at one knee as it pulsed with a dull ache from bending, grimacing slightly. The archmage shook off the expression as quickly as he could; sore joints were nothing new these days, and he didn’t want to give off any negative emotions that would upset Molly.
“Uh-huh,” the four year old agreed, sitting on Alex’s lap as he’d earlier offered. “My head hurts still, but it’s better than b’fore.”
“And all good colours in here, I’m sure,” Alex said softly, taking a sip of his tea. He gave a thin smile to Leif. “Thanks for, ah-- well, the nice reaction. Some people aren’t so… understanding.” He set the teacup down and squeezed Molly’s arm. “Even though Molls is a very good girl who always tries her best.”
Molly tried to reach for the teacup that had been set out for her, but the coordination of a four year old was sketchy at the best of times, made moreso by her recent overload, and the liquid within the cup sloshed. Quickly, before the girl could spill it outright, Alex cupped his hands over hers, steadying the child’s grasp. “It helps when people are nice,” she said. “When they get mad it… it’s red, and spikey. Like needles. And when they’re mad at me the needles come right at my head.” She sucked in a breath sharply, her eyes briefly moistening again. “Hurts,” she whimpered, before finally taking a sip of the tea.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Alex soothed. “No needles right now, hm? Just good colours.” He sighed, shifting his focus to Leif again. “My mother thinks that-- that the colours might be some odd way of early incantational powers manifesting. That something with her blocks might have gone haywire, and so things are presenting… strangely. I can’t pretend to have much of an opinion either way, since I’m not exactly an expert in magic, let alone archmagic. But… I trust her assessment. Or, at the very least, it doesn’t sound completely crazy to me.”
Leif nodded slightly, pulling back the fingers of his gloves so he could wrap them around his cup of tea. “It’s something I’ve never seen or heard of before - but that always seems to be the case with blocks. It makes sense to me, too, even if she hasn’t called or cast yet. The blocks do seem to be something archmage’s are born with, not something that comes into being when we start showing signs of it; I didn’t cast colors until I was six or so, but I’d been having problems years ahead of that.” He paused to take a sip of tea, then added, “And she could definitely be right about something strange going on with her blocks and interfering with her casting. Blocks shouldn’t be this bad - not when she’s so young.”
“She’s always felt the colours,” Jamie said, stirring a generous amount of milk into her tea. “Ever since she was tiny. Our first papa used to get mad at her for it.” The girl shook her head, sparing her baby sister a sad, tentative smile. “But… it’s been gettin’ worse. Sh-she didn’t used to get so upset. Not like she does now.”
“It started gettin’ worse when Papa died,” Molly said softly. “Too many people, and their colors were bad. Black ‘n blue ‘n grey. It made me feel sick, and too much hurt- like… like when you look at the sun and it’s too bright, and your eyes hurt. Only lots of suns ‘stead of just one. Then Mama was blue all the time and it w-wouldn’t stop hurting and-” she inhaled sharply, her eyes spilling over again as she trembled. “I miss Mommy. From b’fore. When she w-was happy.”
“I know, honey.” Alex wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. “And it’s okay to miss your mama. It’s perfectly okay.”
“A-and… and at least we’ve got Mister Alex now,” Jamie added. “He’s nice, right, Molls? B-better than Father Clark. And…” She wiped away the tears that were suddenly threatening in her own eyes. “And you’ll feel better,” she whispered starkly. “Once y-you’ve got the testing. And they st-start to fix all the… all the colours. L-Like Missus Zuzanna said.”
Leif nodded. “She’s right - when the blocks are gone, it’ll make a world of difference. After a while, you might not even sense the colors anymore. Or if you do, they should be....” He wanted to say quieter, but that was more a word for noise than for color…
Leif glanced at Kirin, who said, “‘Muted’, would probably be the best word. They wouldn’t be as bright,” he elaborated for the four-year-old’s benefit. “Maybe it would be more like looking at moons than at a lot of suns?”
“I just… w-want her to feel better,” Jamie whispered. “So n-no one says bad things about her. And… and demons. ‘Cos she’s not demons. I love her and she’s not.”
“It’s all right, Jamie,” Leif said. “We all know she doesn’t have an ounce of demon in her; Father Clark was…” Giving my parents a run for their money? Leif thought sardonically, but he just said, “Well, wrong, of course. Probably scared, too, because he couldn’t explain it. A shame for him; now he doesn’t get to know Molly, or you, or your little sister.” Leif shook his head a little, before telling Jamie with a warm smile, “You’re a good older sister. Molly’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” Jamie replied sheepishly, ducking her head. “And… Molly’s a good little sister. So I’m glad to have her. And I wouldn’t trade her for nothing.” A beat, before she lifted her gaze and hooked it bashfully on Molly. “‘Cept for maybe orange cake. With icing.”
Molly, who had been furiously wiping away at the moisture in her eyes, stuck her tongue out at her older sister. “Well we live with the bakers now, so you don’t gotta pick. You can have me and cake.” More softly she said, “I love you too, Jamie. I hope the testin’ makes it better. So you don’t gotta be blue all the time.”
“I hope so, too,” Jamie replied. “I’m hopin’ really, really hard, Molls.”
Their tea finished, it was a few hours later that with a warm goodbye to Leif, Alex departed with the girls for his sister Silvia’s house, where they’d be spending the night before Molly’s testing began the next morning. Silvia and her husband received them warmly, and the girls were delighted to meet her young son, who was recently three-- as well as by the tasty mutton pies the woman whipped up for supper, fragrant and filling. Afterward, with full bellies, Molly and Jamie cuddled up with Alex in the spare bedroom, the three of them nestled beneath a patterned wool quilt as moonlight snaked in through the gaps in the blinds.
“We’re gettin’ up early to go to the testing place, right?” Jamie asked Alex, as she adjusted her pillow for what was probably the twenty-fifth time. “Just after sunrise?”
“Mmhm,” Alex confirmed. “We’ll get some breakfast first-- something sweet from the marketplace, maybe. Since both of you were so good today, not complaining about the long walk here.”
“Is… is there lots of people there?” Molly asked warily, her fingers clutching at the blanket.
“Yes,” Alex admitted. “But… early in the morning it shouldn’t be too bad, honey. And we can grab our treats really quick and then leave, alright?” He slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “You’ll be okay, sweetie. I promise.”
The following morning, as promised Alex took the girls out for breakfast, Silvia coming along for company with her son Micah glued firmly to her hip- despite his protests that he could walk Mama! At the testing facility Molly was swiftly pulled apart from her adoptive father and aunt, to begin the procedure that would determine if she was an archmage and, with luck, set her on the path to relieving some of the pain she was suffering. The proctors warned Alex that the testing would take several hours, and that Molly would be quite tired afterwards.
Needless to say, it came as rather a shock when the proctors emerged only a little over an hour later, Molly near to tears as she trailed after them.
“I’m sorry!” she whimpered, before the proctors could say a word. “I tried, I did, b-but, but-!”
Alex creased his brow, reaching forward to sweep the little girl into a hug. “Shh, it’s alright, hon, don’t cry.” He cocked his head toward the proctors. “What happened? Is… is everything okay?”
“Well, Master Panem, there’s been a bit of a complication,” the mage in charge replied grimly. “We managed to get her into the trance state needed to conduct the testing, but when we tried to guide her through directing her powers, we hit a brick wall. She couldn’t do it. We’ve worked with young children who’d never cast before, and it just takes patience, usually. But she simply could not.”
“Meaning,” put in another of the proctors, “That she is not only not an archmage, she’s… not an incantational mage at all.”
“What?” Silvia bleated, looking taken very much aback.
Alex gawped. “No,” he insisted, as he scooped Molly up into his arms. “That… that can’t be. My mother-- and Lord Leif Jade, both of them… they… they…”
“They said it was magic!” Jamie blurted, her green eyes wide and flickering with a combination of fury, disbelief, and devastation. She rounded on Alex, almost accusingly. “Y-you said it was magic-- you said--”
“Jamie.” Alex’s voice was crisper than he’d meant it to be, and he struggled to lower it as he stammered, “Just… calm down, alright? We’ll figure this out, hon. We’ll figure this out.” He forced a shaky breath, glancing back to the proctors. “Are you… sure? I mean… what if she just needs more time, more coaching… and…”
“We’re quite sure, Master Panem,” the lead proctor replied sympathetically. “Whatever is triggering her, it isn’t archmage blocks. I’m sorry.”
Molly gave a wrenching sob. “F-f-father Clark was right, I am demons, I’m cuuursed, I-”
“No,” Alex cut in. “You’re not demons, Molls. We’re-- we’re going to figure this out. We’ll still figure it out.” He clenched his jaw. “Th-thanks for the… answer,” he told the proctors. “Even if it’s not what I wanted to hear.” The man looked toward his sister. “Grandpa,” he said. “We should… we should go to Grandpa’s. He’ll know what to do.” Then, almost frantically “He… he has to know what to do.”
“Right,” Silvia agreed, bouncing her son on her hip distractedly as he started to fuss in response to Molly’s sobs. “He helped the Lynns and Jadran and all manner of other strange magics- he’ll help us figure this out.”
So, bewildered and discouraged, Molly nigh inconsolable, their party returned to Leif and Kirin’s house in the hope that the Jade archmage would have some clue as to how to proceed. Alex had to take several deep breaths to steel himself before telling Jamie to knock on the front door, wearing a reassuring smile that did not at all match the vortex of terrified emotions that was spinning inside of him. He was afraid it would crumble the moment Leif or Kirin answered, and sure enough, when Leif swung open the door not long later, Alex’s composure crumbled like a sandcastle at high tide, the man only barely stifling back outright tears. He didn’t even have to say anything before Leif lightly put a hand on his shoulder and urged him, Silvia, and the girls inside. “Something happened?” he guessed, as he motioned them toward the living room.
Alex opened his lips, clearly trying to cobble up a proper reply, but before he could, Jamie blurted, “She’s not a mage. They-- they said she’s not a mage at all!” The girl whimpered. “Sh-she couldn’t cast the spells. To even do the test.”
“An incantational mage,” Silvia corrected sharply. “They said she’s not an incantational mage. There’s… there’s other types of magic still.”
“That’s right.” Alex’s jaw trembled as he patted Molly’s back; the young girl was still hysterical-- and increasingly so, wailing in his arms like a banshee. “And so… it-- it’s probably some other type, right, Grandpa? And-- we can fix it this still, we can fix it.”
Leif frowned, considering this - or trying, at least; his shoulders were becoming more tense as Molly grew louder. “It’s - yes, it must be magic. Incantational is hardly the only kind. It could be like Elin’s, or -” He paused. “I wonder -” Another cry from Molly made him wince, but he forced in a deep breath and spoke a little louder. “All right - everything is going to be fine - but we all need to calm down; we’re overloading Molly.”
“I can’t calm down,” Jamie sniffled. “You pr-promised that she’d get the tests and then she’d be fixed, you promised--”
“Jamie, enough,” Alex interrupted, but he, too, was still fighting back a cascading waterfall of negative emotions: disappointment, desperation. Guilt. “Just-- let’s all take a deep breath, and--” He cringed as Molly let out yet another scream.
“It hurts, it’s b-b-black and orange and spikes, please make it stop, make it stop!”
Silvia’s son quailed, flinching against his mother with tears in his own eyes. “Wh-what’s hurtin’ ‘er Mama, she’s hurting, y’gotta make it better!”
“Shhh,” Silvia replied, trying to soothe the child in spite of flinching at Molly’s obvious agony. “It’s okay, she just… needs a minute, honey. We need to calm down and try to think happy thoughts for her, okay?”
“You c-can’t make me be happy,” Jamie huffed waspishly. “I don’t wanna be happy-- I’m not happy!”
Leif, his thumb passing over the patterns on his feather pendant, sighed and drew his wand. “Alex - does she feel colors while she’s asleep?”
Alex shook his head. “No. I don’t think so, no. She’s… she’s a quiet sleeper.” He hesitated, his eyes falling to Leif’s wand. “Are you going to…?”
“Use a sleeping spell on her, yes. It won’t hurt her - and right now this,” he gestured to the room at large with his wand hand, “is hurting her.”
“R-right.” Alex, feeling as if his eardrums were about to burst, stroked one last hand through Molly’s matted hair before turning the screeching child out toward Leif. “G-go ahead. If you think it’ll… it’ll help her, Grandpa.”
Leif nodded, and with a flick of his wand, quietly spoke a brief incantation that sent a ghostly-looking green light in Molly’s direction. The light pulsed softly outward from where it made contact, and Molly blinked sharply, her sobs falling off in volume to a soft moaning. Then, not ten seconds later, her entire body, previously rigid with pain, went limp with sleep. Only a slightly ragged quality to her breathing remained as evidence to the agony she’d been in only a short while before. At the sudden silence in the room, Alex let out an audible sigh of relief, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he tightened his arms around Molly’s suddenly-limp form.
“Thank you,” he murmured to Leif. “... M-maybe we should-- all go sit down? I can put Molly in the guest room while we talk. If… if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Leif said, also quietly, as he holstered his wand again. “She’ll be asleep for a few hours, if we wait for it to wear off on its own. That should give us plenty of time to talk.” He raked a hand through his hair - once dirty-blond, now looking much closer to a platinum shade of the color. “And to figure out what we do from here.”
Alex settled the slumbering Molly in the guest bedroom before taking a seat in the living room alongside Leif, Jamie, and Silvia with her son. Without the little girl’s hysteria, the mood was infinitely calmer-- even with Jamie still brooding like a kicked dog, the girl sitting by herself in an armchair in the corner and refusing to so much as look at anybody else. Even though Alex knew she wasn’t being sullen on purpose, his stomach still pinched as he watched her. Sometimes, given Jamie’s patience with Molly-- and her overall calm demeanour that was often wise beyond her years-- it was easy to forget that at her core, she was still just an eight-year-old… and an eight-year-old orphan, at that, who’d suffered far too much in her short life without necessarily having yet developed the emotional maturity to deal with it all.
“So for now,” Silvia said, bouncing her son on her knee. “I guess we need to figure out what we do know about the situation, and how we want to proceed from here. She’s not an archmage. She’s not an incantational mage. But we all know there are other kinds of magic. Mirror magic like what Mrs. Elin and Ivy have, the weird magic that Mrs. Rosalie does with keys, the foretelling magic that Lord Ambrose had... This is a huge block crossed off, but it doesn’t mean we’re out of options.”
“Absolutely we’re not,” Leif agreed from his seat in the room’s other armchair. “That’s a long list, but I know there were other kinds of magic I’ve stumbled across references to while researching other things. There are lots of places to look, and I still have access to the Jade library.” The archmage’s eyes flicked to his grandson. “I’m sorry, Alex - it really did sound like archmage blocks...but I should have taken a closer look.”
“It’s not your fault,” Alex replied, unable to keep his voice completely level. “My mother thought so, too. It… it did come across like that, we couldn’t have known it wouldn’t be--”
“But you promised.” Jamie’s gaze whipped toward her adoptive father. “You promised you’d fix her.” She looked next to Leif. “A-and you said so, too. Everyone said!” She choked out a strangled sob. “Everyone lies. Everyone always lies!”
“We will help Molly, Jamie,” Silvia said earnestly. “It just might not be as easy as we’d hoped. But we haven’t given up, and we aren’t going to.” The young woman bit her lip, fiddling with the wand she had holstered at her side. “I know you’ve had a lot of disappointments, honey. I know. But we’re still willing to do everything we can.”
“‘Til you give up,” Jamie sputtered. “Just like… F-father Clark. And then you’ll s-send her away. Where I c-can’t see her no more. And I won’t have anyone ‘cept Kathy. Mama’s dead, and Papa’s dead, and-- and I won’t have anybody.”
“Jamie - nobody’s giving up on helping Molly,” Leif insisted, though he still kept the volume of his voice low. “None of us are like Father Clark - we aren’t going to give up and send anyone away.” Tapping his fingers against his necklace pendant and shifting his gaze to include the room at large, Leif said, “And, actually, if she’s not an archmage, there might be a few things we can use to help her with her magic that we couldn’t do against the blocks. When Elin overused her powers, a healer gave her a dampening bracelet; Elin’s magic is dangerous to her when she overuses it, but when it was dampened, it stopped. I can’t say for sure that it will work on Molly’s magic - I have literally no idea. But I can make one for her fairly quickly, and if it at least eases the magic’s effects somewhat...she’ll be in less pain while we figure out a better solution.”
“I… I…” Jamie drew her knees up to her chest, protectively, and used her sleeve to wipe at her eyes. “I w-wanna… wanna…”
“Want to what, sweetheart?” Alex prompted gently, his heart in his stomach at the girl’s obvious distress.
“I dunno.” She sniffled, pausing for a beat. Then, she hooked her bloodshot eyes on Leif. “C-could I… could I meet your birdies?” she asked. “M-Mister Alex said you h-had birdies.”
Leif blinked, clearly surprised - but then he nodded and gave her a soft smile. “Yes, of course you can meet the birds. I’ll need to get hold of a bracelet for Molly...if someone else will go to the market for me and get that, I can introduce you to the birds while we wait for them to get back. ”
“O-okay,” Jamie whispered. “Th-thank you.”
Soon enough, after Silvia went out to the market to find an appropriate bracelet for Leif to enchant and Jamie had been calmed down sufficiently by a meeting with Leif’s raptors, the family again convened in the guestroom where Molly still dozed. The application of a reparifors spell was sufficient to have the child blearily blinking awake, her tri-colored eyes foggy.
“Papa?” She murmured. “...Mister Leif? W-was I sleeping?”
“Mmhm.” Alex, brushing a hand across her forehead, gave the child a gentle smile. “You took a nice nap, hon. And… and now Mister Leif has something for you. That should helpfully help a bit, with the colours. Won’t that be nice?”
“B-but they said it wasn’t magic,” she objected, slowly pushing herself into an upright position and rubbing her face.
“Not the kind you use wands for,” Leif explained. “But there are a lot of other kinds of magic; we think you have one of those kinds, and we’re going to start figuring out which kind it is. But for now…” He held out the bracelet, a simple but sturdy leather cord. The faint impression of runes was visible in the material if it was tilted at just the right angle, but otherwise it looked like a perfectly ordinary trinket.
Molly accepted the bracelet into her hand, her expression wary. “I put this on?” she asked dubiously.
“Yup,” Silvia agreed with a wink. “It’s a present from Grandpa. Try it out.”
The four year old pulled on the leather band, and after a few seconds her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She looked up at Alex, then her gaze danced to all of the other occupants of the room in turn. “Th-the colors. I… I don’t feel ‘em. They’re g-gone, the colors are gone!”
A grin broke out across Jamie’s face, the girl nearly catapulting herself on the bed beside her sister. “All gone?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Molly and squeezing her tight. “For real?”
Molly hugged her sister back, tears pricking at her eyes. “I s-still feel ‘em a little, but they’re all… like if someone’s yellin’ from far away. You know they’re there but you can’t hear what they’re sayin’.” She burrowed her face deeper into Jamie’s chest, a soft burble of a sob emerging from her. “But it d-doesn’t hurt. My head doesn’t hurt, I din’ even know it was hurting all the time, just it got worse sometimes.”
Alex lowered himself on the bed beside the girls, fighting back a grin of his own. “I’m so glad to hear that, sweetheart,” he said. He pulled both Molly and Jamie into a hug. “See-- I told you we were going to fix this. And this is just-- just the start. We’re going to keep researching and figuring out a way to make it better forever. So that you never have to hurt.” He glanced behind his shoulder. “Right, Grandpa?”
“That’s right,” Leif agreed, smiling both with relief that the bracelet had worked, and at seeing Molly free, at least temporarily, from the strain of her magic. Remembering something from earlier, he added, “And look - magic, after all. Still not demons.”
Molly pulled her head away from Jamie and smiled up at Leif. “Thank you. N-now I don’t gotta leave Jamie an’ the colors won’t hurt me an’ ...I don’t got demons. I… I…” She gave a soft whimper and collapsed into her sister and adoptive father’s arms again, quivering.
“You never had demons, honey,” Alex assured her. “You’re a good, good girl, and you always have been.” He kissed her cheek. “And I’m so glad that this is helping you feel better. You know I love you, right?”
Molly nodded. “Uh-huh. I… I was s-scared when I couldn't do the testing. That I would have to go away after all. But… But I can stay? With you an’ Jamie and Kathy and everyone? Forever?”
“Of course,” Alex said. “You’re stuck with me for the long haul, hon.” Part Four Needless to say, the news about what had transpired during Molly’s aborted archmage test came as a shock to the rest of the Panems. However, they remained resolute that they would figure out exactly what her magic was and help her to master it, even if it wasn’t incantational magic. They agreed that Silvia and Leif would look into the matter as best they could in Medieville, utilizing both the royal library in Raven’s Keep and the Jade Library in Solis to research rare and unusual magics for anything that matched up with Molly’s symptoms. After some discussion with Phyllo, Zuzia decided to go into the city temporarily to help them, feeling personally invested in the problem not only because Molly was now her adopted granddaughter, but also because it was her jumping to conclusions that had led them to chasing dead-end rabbit trails for over a month. So, with Phyllo and Morgan watching over Tim and Laura, and Alex taking his turn with Kathleen at the bakery, Zuzia joined Jamie and Molly at Silvia’s home and started working with her daughter and former guardian to find the real source of Molly’s distress. Of course, figuring out where to start was not an easy task. Non-incantational magic was poorly-documented, and the few books Leif had on hand that went into any description of such magics offered them no obvious clues as to where to look. “There are others I can ask for from the Jade library,” he said as he replaced a book on one of his shelves. “But I don’t remember any magic that had to do with feeling colors or sensing emotions. If there was a way to trace through sensory magics, or innate magical abilities…there just aren’t books like that, at least not in our libraries.” “Maybe if we can pin down where books like that might actually be?” Silvia suggested, absently running a finger along the rim of a mug of cider in front of her. “Mum, you’ve mentioned that there are some magics unique to certain countries or regions, right? Like the pair-bond magic in Macarinth, or the air and wind magic used by the pirates from those islands south of Tengiz and Cerrin.” “Yes,” Zuzanna confirmed. “But as far as I know, Molly’s not Tengizan, or Cerrish, or-- anything but Kythian.” She sighed. “And I suppose we could ask her and Jamie”-- the girls were presently playing with Silvia’s son in the room over--“but they’re kids. I doubt they know their ancestry like that.” “Probably not - they’re not Corvid children, after all,” Leif said with a wry smirk that quickly faded. “I take it they don’t have living relatives we could ask, if they were taken in by the church…?” “Actually…” Zuzia creased her brow. “I think they have a grandmother? Their father’s mother. She’s elderly-- very elderly-- and has health problems. Which is why she couldn’t take them in.” A look of hope suddenly unfurled on the archmage’s face. “She-- I think she lives in the city, actually. Hilda moved to Sallertown only last year. After her husband’s death.” “As good a place to start as any, I suppose,” Silvia remarked. “Assuming we can find this woman. Medieville isn’t exactly Sallertown, where no kid can get away with anything because everyone knows everyone else’s parents and whose kids are permitted to do what.” “True,” Leif said. “I think we’d eventually find her by her surname, if we asked around at shops and things - but maybe the girls would know? Jamie, at least. If they lived here up until a year ago, presumably they saw their grandmother from time to time. Even if she just knows a landmark, I’ve lived in this city most of my life, I can tell you where it is.” Indeed, when prompted, Jamie quickly supplied an answer. “Near the waterfall,” she chirped, as she supervised Molly and Silvia’s son as they played with a set of wooden blocks. “Right at the edge of the woods, on the other side of the river. She’s got a wooden cottage. We lived there with her for a little, after Papa went to be with the Woo.” The girl’s expression darkened. “But… but then she didn’t want us there no more. So we came to Sallertown.” Silvia frowned. “Why didn’t she want you to be with her anymore?” “‘Cause of the colors,” Molly replied dismally, twisting her suppression bracelet. “She said I was bad, ‘cause it hurt and I screamed. Then when she got mad it hurt worse.” The little girl hugged herself. “She thought I had demons too, ‘member Jamie? Before.” Jamie pursed her lips. “She didn’t mean it. Not like… like Father Clark.” The child fell silent for a moment, gnawing on her lip in thought, before something akin to panic flashed across her face. “You… you’re not gonna give us back to her, are you?” she squeaked. “‘Cos… ‘cos she doesn’t want us-- o-or she’d only take me and Kathy, not Molly, and you can’t separate us, you can’t--” “Nobody’s being given to anyone, or separated,” Leif promised. “You don’t even have to come with us for the visit. We’re just going to ask her some questions about your mother’s family - it might help us figure out where Molly’s magic came from.” “Grandma doesn’t got magic, though,” Jamie said, still wary. “I know,” Zuzanna assured her. “But she might know things about your family’s history, sweetheart. Things that can help us narrow down what sort of magic Molly might have.” She prompted, “So-- wooden cottage. Near the waterfall and woods. Any other details to help us find it?” Jamie shrugged. “I dunno.” “Can you tell us her name?” Silvia asked. “Or what she looks like?” “Grandma’s name is Pearl,” Molly said. “And she’s… old and wrinkly. With grey hair. She has a yellow shawl she wears all the time, an’ a woocifix.” “She’s got the same colour eyes as our papa,” Jamie chimed in, as if this helped matters any. “And what color is that?” Leif asked. “Blue, I think.” “... You think?” Zuzia raised a brow. Jamie averted her gaze. “I dunno. It’s been a long time since I saw her. Or… or Papa.” Silvia winced, folding her arms. “Right, of course honey. Don’t worry, I think we can work with what you’ve given us- how many Pearl Lawsons can there be near the waterfall?” She looked to her parents. “I’m sure Zander-” Silvia’s husband- “could keep an eye on the kids while we head over there. He finishes his patrols in two hours.” “Papa catch da badguys!” Silvia’s son Micah put in, and she chuckled, patting his head as Zuzia laughed under her breath. “Is he now, sweetie?” she asked her grandson. “How exciting! I’m sure he’s the best member of the whole city guard, huh?” Zuzanna smirked toward Silvia. “Well, as long as he doesn’t mind babysitting, that works for me.” Zander was indeed perfectly willing to watch over his son and adopted nieces, and shortly afterwards the three mages were riding in a rented carriage out to the area of town near Lake Plume’s waterfall. Out of consideration for Leif’s joint problems, Silvia and Zuzia did most of the walking around, asking the people of the area if they knew “Pearl Lawson” and could point out her residence. It came to pass, however, that Pearl was no longer living in her cottage as Jamie remembered. Instead she’d moved in with a friend and that friend’s son nearby, out of consideration for her declining health. Pearl’s friend, when she answered the door, was anything but welcoming. “What’chu want to be interrogating her for?” the old woman demanded. “I ain’t never seen you around here- none of you!” “We’re friends of Hilda’s,” Zuzia said quickly, resisting the urge to hover her hand over her wand; she knew such a move would merely come across as aggressive. “Her daughter-in-law,” she clarified after a moment. “And mother of her granddaughters.” “Hilda?” The woman relaxed, but only a trifle. “I thought Hilda was dead? And the girls left with some church or another.” “My brother took the girls in from the church,” Silvia explained. “But we need to talk to Madam Lawson about something important. Something that might be able to help the kids.” “...I’ll tell her you’re here. But if she doesn’t want to talk, or if she gets to being tired, you’re out, all of ye.” “We’ll try not to tire her,” Leif said. “But surely it’s worth it for her granddaughter?” It turned out he could still pull off the annoyed buzzard look when he tilted his head just the right way. To this Pearl’s friend seemed to have no reply, because she offered none. Instead she turned, gesturing to lead the trio of mages into the house. It was a small dwelling, only two rooms and not even sporting a loft such as the one the Panems had. There was an old woman lying in a hammock of sorts strung between two walls, who turned to survey the strangers with clear blue eyes- Pearl. “You’re here to ask me about Molly, aren’t you?” she guessed, her tone wary. “We are, Madam Lawson,” Zuzia replied, fighting to keep her voice from betraying the annoyance that was already beginning to rise within her. For Woo’s sake, Molly was this woman’s granddaughter-- she shouldn’t be bristling at the mere mention of her! “We just have… some questions,” the archmage added after a moment. “If it’s not too much of a bother, madam.” “I can’t tell you what the fits are over, if that’s your question.” Leif, who was very much resembling a bird of prey again, said, “We already figured that part out. ...Mostly. She has some kind of magic.” “Magic? I’ve never seen or heard a mage throwing tantrums over colors.” “It’s not ordinary magic, we don’t think,” Silvia put in, putting on the most genial smile she could muster, drawing on her experience working as a waitress at inns and taverns. “Poor kiddo has something rare. There are some kinds of magic that are so strong they hurt the person who has it, because they don’t know how to handle the power or don’t even realize what it is.” “And,” Zuzia added, “that’s where we hope you can help us. If you could give us some-- general family history, we might have an easier time figuring out what exact ilk of magic Molly has.” She did not share her daughter’s false look of cheer, on the contrary only barely biting back an outright scowl. “Do you have any ancestors who came from somewhere else aside from Kyth?” Pearl looked between the three visitors, her brow furrowed in what looked almost like confusion. “Rare magic…” She blinked, slowly, then seemed to refocus. “Hm. The family’s been in Kyth for generations - and not just in Medieville, we’ve come from all ‘round the provinces.” She paused a moment, her lips pursed. “I remember there’s a story about one of my many-greats grandmothers first seeing her husband getting off a boat and into Kyth. And I suppose there’s the couple on the other side of the family, who came from the west…” “What about Hilda’s family?” Zuzanna asked. “Do you know anything about them?” The old woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “No, not terribly much. Hilda didn’t tell me very much about herself, let alone her ancestry. I’m sure she had non-Kythian relatives at some point. Where they were from? I don’t know.” “Do you know if she has any other relatives anywhere in the city at all?” Silvia asked. “Or any other members of your family who might know something?” Hurriedly she added, “We really do appreciate any help you can give us ma’am- we’ll be out of your hair soon, we just want to do everything we can to help Molly.” The old woman regarded Silvia for a long, stretching moment...and finally said. “I know her maiden name was… Darzi. Something like that, anyway. That doesn’t sound Kythian to me. I don’t know what it does sound like…” Her eyes trailed over to Leif’s jade-colored, well-tailored clothes and his silver pendant. “But I guess with the right learnings, you could find something somewhere.” Pearl cleared her throat; the noise turned into a cough, which quickly drew the woman’s friend into the room. “I think that’s enough questioning for one day,” she warned, and the three visitors took their leave. “Darzi,” Leif repeated slowly as they made their way to the carriage. “Hmm. I should maybe send a letter to check, but... it sounds like it could be Mzian.” Zuzia raised a brow. “Mzia? You know anything about their magic there?” “I know they have incantational mages,” Leif answered, “and some people in the desert tribes there have something called heat-magic. It’s...not used pleasantly. And it focuses outward, so it’s not a terribly good comparison for Molly’s magic. Considering how far away Mzia is, though, there could be a lot of other native magics that I just haven’t heard about. ...You know, forget sending a letter just to check on the name; if there’s going to be translating work, let’s see if Ms. Kidde would be willing to help us.” “Lydia?” Zuzia asked. “Because I think she’s otherwise occupied at the moment, Leif.” A beat. “... Unless-- oh. Her daughter. Ruby. Is she still in the city?” “Sorry - yes, Ruby, and yes, she’s still living here. Maybe, as long as we’re renting this,” Leif said, motioning toward the carriage, “we can pay her a visit in person.” As it turned out, Ruby’s small flat off the River Macarinth was not very far out of the way, requiring merely a slight deviation from the route back to Silvia’s house. Whether or not the woman would actually be home was another question altogether, but fortunately they caught her just as she strolled up to her apartment block on the way back from a trip to the market. As she spied Leif a broad smile broke out across her face, quickly eclipsed by a look of confusion when she spotted Zuzanna and Silvia beyond him. “There a party I don’t know about?” she asked, a canvas shopping bag clutched in one hand as she held with her other to the wrist of a young, sandy-haired boy who was perhaps around Jamie’s age. Though she spoke Kythian, her accent marked her as anything but, with a heavy amount of throatiness and rattle to it. “Jadran is not home,” Ruby added after a moment. “I could fetch him for you, Master Leif, but… it might take him a bit-- he’s working a small job. Near the south gate.” “That’s all right - we wanted to speak with you, actually.” Leif glanced back at the women accompanying him. “You know Zuzanna, of course, but I’m not sure if you’ve met Silvia Panem? Zuzia’s daughter.” “Right.” Ruby nodded politely toward Zuzia and Silvia. “It’s been-- awhile, Madam Zuzanna. And nice to meet you, Madam Silvia.” She squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Say hi, Xavier.” “Hi.” The boy blinked owlishly; his accent was far less pronounced than Ruby’s, so as to be nearly unnoticeable. “Are you two mages like Jaddy an’ Master Leif?” Silvia smiled at the little boy, patting the wand she had holstered at her hip. “We sure are, kiddo. It’s nice to meet you.” To Ruby she added, “And a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Ruby. It’s a pleasure to meet the relative of an old family friend.” Ruby laughed. “Ah, yes. My mother and uncle are ever-popular.” She ruffled the little boy’s hair. “Named the wee one after Uncle Xavier before I even knew he was my uncle.” She glanced back to Leif. “So-- what did you need to speak about, Master Leif?” “Well - I wanted to ask for your help with researching something. Zuzia and Phyllo’s son Alex adopted some children, and one of them has...well, we’re not sure what kind of magic, specifically. It seems like it lets her see and feel other people’s emotions - she’s about four, so we’re not necessarily working with a clear description,” he cautioned. “It sounded like archmage blocks at first, but...evidently it’s not. About the only clues we have are that we can dampen it, and something we just found out - her family on her mother’s side is Mzian. At least, we think it is - the maiden name is Darzi?” Ruby nodded. “That’s Mzian, yes. A common last name, really? Through my life I’ve probably met dozens of people with it.” “Well we’re on the right track then,” Silvia said cheerfully. “We ask because it occurred to us that the little one- her name is Molly- that Molly’s magic might be something common to a certain area of Avani, which can help us to pin it down. Like the desert tribes in the Anvil with their heat magic. Have you heard of any sort of magic in Mzia that involves sensing emotions?” “No,” Ruby said, at the same time that Xavier brightened and blurted: “Uh-huh!” Zuzia narrowed her eyes. “So… is that a yes, or…?” “I have no idea.” Ruby studied her son. “What are you thinking about, Vi? There’s no-- emotion magic.” “In the desert,” the boy insisted, obstinate. “When we ran away from Mzia. The tribe people!” “What tribe people, Xavier?” Silvia prompted, tilting her head. “The same ones who can do the heat spells?” “I dunno.” Xavier shrugged, gnawing on his lip, and glanced up toward Ruby. “But-- the… the lady, Mama. With the sash. Remember?” For a moment, Ruby continued to scrutinize her son as if he’d gone and grown four heads-- before recognition seemed to spark in her. “ Oh.” The redhead laughed. “Right. I-- I, gods, I’m surprised you even remember that, Vi. You were so small.” She turned back to Leif, Zuzanna, and Silvia, clarifying: “In Mzia, some of the desert tribes raid. Taking slaves from Cerrin and-- elsewhere, and bringing them across the desert. But others? They do not like slavery. They think it is a sin to the gods, that their fellow tribes have fallen to such evil practices.” Leif nodded. “An understandable view.” “They were sympathetic,” Ruby went on. “To escaping slaves. They gave us shelter one night after we escaped, as we were heading north. It was a… bad time for Jadran. With his shaking fits. And I was sick with worry, and…” She sighed. “The tribe leader. An older woman, with-- yes, Vi, you’re right, after all-- a sash, she offered to entertain Xavier while I comforted Jadran. But she kept lamenting how sad Vi was, and how it hurt her heart, for a little child to be so sad. I was confused-- he looked happy enough to me, happier than I’d seen in him days. But when I told her this, she just shook her head. She said he could look happy, but he was not. And that she knew I was very sad, too. That I was… empty. Guilty.” Ruby shrugged. “At the time, I thought she was just-- how you say, eccentric? But we stayed with them for a few days. Until Jadran felt better. And the whole time, the leader… she was like a book. Knowing how we felt. And when I finally mentioned this to her, asked her how she did it, she just laughed. And said it was a gift from the gods.” Silvia looked sharply towards her companions, her blue-grey eyes wide. “That… that sounds like it could very well be what we’ve seen with Molly.” She gave a wry laugh. “Thank the Woo for your good memory, hm Master Xavier?” Xavier beamed. “She was real nice. She sang me songs ‘til I fell asleep. In a funny language, not Mzian or Kythian or Courdonian, even!” “So it must be tamable,” Leif said. “Some way to stabilize it so you’re not overwhelmed by negative emotions; if her tribe regularly shelters escaping slaves, she must be around a lot of painful feelings, and she isn’t overwhelmed by it. But how would that work, it’s such reactive magic...though, maybe it isn’t supposed to be? Maybe there are ways to close it off, or narrow the scope - or shield yourself from it?” He tugged at the edge of one of his gloves demonstratively and added, “Like I do from touch, but something more internal? ...Or, if it’s like Elin’s magic enough that the damper worked on it - maybe she’s using it without realizing she’s doing something to activate it. One of the things Elin had to learn how to do was sense when her magic was being triggered; it’s not necessarily something she’d feel without instruction. But, ah - I guess we should do some actual research, first, before I start getting too attached to any theories.” He smiled self-consciously, then asked Ruby, “If we can get our hands on Mzian texts, would you mind helping us translate? I can get reference materials, but translating from dictionaries does take a while.” “Of course,” Ruby said. “I’d be happy to help with whatever you need, Master Leif. I could never completely repay you, for how you’ve helped Jadran, so-- anything I can do.” “You’re literate?” Zuzia asked, seeming genuinely surprised. Ruby nodded. “I grew up in the royal palace of Mzia. The sultan, ah--” She spared a look at her young son beside her before finishing softly, “He’s my natural father. And he doted on me, in his own strange way, when I was young. He’d have me read to him. I can’t write my letters well, but-- I can read, at least. In the Mzian alphabet.” “That would be an enormous help,” Silvia said with obvious relief in her voice. “Thank you so much, Miss Ruby. Molly’s been in a lot of pain from her powers, so it’ll be wonderful if we can learn enough about them to help her get some control. She’s… she’s just four, and from the way she describes it it’s like she constantly feels all of the emotions of every person in the area around her- she doesn’t even know how to process it all, and it’s awful watching her struggle.” “Of course,” Ruby said. “I’m glad to help. Just let me know whatever you need.” *** It took about another week and a half before the first books regarding Mzia came in from the Solis library, but once they did, the research party got to work. Most of the books were in Kythian, and those Leif, Silvia, and Zuzanna divided up amongst themselves. There were a few volumes in Mzian as well - one came with a half-finished translation, but otherwise, they were relying on Ruby to translate. The books written in Kythian proved largely useless, with very little reference to and even less detail about the Anvil tribes’ magics. One of the books did list a mage college in Mzia, however, and when Ruby remarked that the author of one of the books she was working through had listed his credentials as an instructor at that academy, it was decided that Ruby would switch to working on that book; a mage college would obviously be more likely to care about individual magic types in their home region than would an author looking to write a broad piece on a country in general. That was where they finally found something useful. “Here,” Ruby breathed, staring down at a page smackdab in the middle of the weighty tome. “It says-- ah, there is no… perfect translation, but roughly it would be… empathy magic? Does that sound like it might be right?” “Empathy?” Silvia repeated. “That means understanding how someone else feels right? Sounds like a pretty apt name to me.” She tilted her head, leaning forwards on the table excitedly. “So what all does it say? About the magic?” “It is… not very long,” Ruby said apologetically. “Just one among a list of many, many powers observed in the native desert tribes.” She squinted her eyes, reading hurriedly onward. “It says it is most commonly found in women. It’s not, um-- symbolic, I think is the best translation?” She paused. “Does that… make sense?” “Symbolic?” Leif repeated, brow furrowing - but then his expression cleared and he said, “Oh - like using symbols, runes in this case? Well...I suppose that’s a reasonable conclusion; Molly’s already using her magic to the point of being overwhelmed, and she’s still working on Kythian, let alone learning rune chains.” “Right.” Ruby continued to read. “Ah, it says… it is passive magic? Must be turned off, as opposed to on.” “Which would explain why Molly’s so overwhelmed,” Zuzia mused. “The flame’s always been burning, and she doesn’t know how to snuff it.” She cocked her head. “ Can it be turned off, though?” “Let’s see…” Ruby pursed her lips, adding after a moment, “Yes. Yes, it says it can be controlled. That the tribesman teach the younger generations how to manage it, once they notice the magic. But it can be difficult on younger children who do not yet have strong grasp on self-control.” “I imagine so,” Silvia remarked. “Kids don’t have the best ability to concentrate, especially not when they’re already distressed. And Molly doesn’t even fully grasp what it is she’s doing, if the color and texture descriptions are any indication. Does it say anything else?” “And,” Zuzia added, “speaking of the colours-- does it mention those at all? Why she… ascribes different emotions to different colours?” “Um… nothing on the colours, no,” Ruby said. “But-- hm.” She lifted her eyes from the page. “It says that different people will describe emotions in different ways. Like, ah-- the woman the author spoke with most, she would describe them as different animals. Anger was scorpion, for example. And…” She smiled. “Yes. There’s a little bit on how they control it.” “Excellent - what does it say?” Leif asked. “Is it something we can do here?” “I… don’t know.” Ruby’s face fell a bit. “It is not very specific. Only that the adults, they practice… regulation techniques? With the children. It uses…” She shook her head. “Analogy, I guess? It says-- it is like a soundproof jar full of flies, set in a room that’s buzzing with more flies. Most people-- normal people-- are born with this jar closed. Their flies stay their flies, and they’re closed off from everyone else’s flies. But empathetic mage? It is open. Air gets in. And sound. They can barely even hear their own buzzing over the sound of the other bugs. So they… need to learn how to screw on the lid. And focus only in, not out.” “Hm… so self-discipline and introspection. That is going to be a tall order for a four year old.” Silvia drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “But it’s at least a starting point- which is much better than what we had before. Mum? Grandpa? What do you think?” “It could certainly be difficult, teaching her such stern self-control,” Leif agreed. “But not impossible. Especially if she understands that it should eventually help stop the pain. I know some ways to calm yourself down and shut out the rest of the world as much as possible - not meditation, precisely, but it would set a stage for that introspection she needs. Or at least, that was sort of how it worked for Elin.” “As long as we approach it positively… there’s nothing to lose,” Zuzia said. “It can only help her, not her.” Firmly, she added, “Just so long as we make it comfortable for her-- the process. No… aversives or punishments or anything like that.” “I think Alex would have a fit if we did,” Silvia said, snorting with amusement. “C’mon, Mum, what kind of people do you take us for?” Zuzia smiled wryly. “Oh, so is that an admission, my love? That I raised a kind, well-adjusted child in spite of the fact that I was so very cruel to you every time you were naughty?” “My poor ears may never shed the sensation of being yanked,” her daughter replied mournfully. To Leif she added, “And Grandpa, you just stood there while she did it! Smirked at me even! When my poor world was coming to an end because I couldn’t touch the bee!” “It’s a wonder you survived with your spirit intact,” Leif said with a shake of his head. “After we did our best to be horrible guardians. Bee stings build character, after all.” “Oh of course,” Silvia agreed sagely. Turning to Ruby she added, “You let Xavier hold live bumblebees in his hands all the time, right? You would never slap his hand and drag him inside by the ear while he squeals about how the bug was his new friend!” “When he was two and a half I caught him trying to pick up a live scorpion,” Ruby said cheerfully. “He cried for an hour after I wrenched him away. But”-- she smirked-- “a bumblebee? Harmless, of course. Such cruel traumas you faced, Madam Silvia.” “Alas,” Silvia said mournfully. “I fear Molly is doomed. Maybe we should just let Ambre raise her- elven falcons are good magic teachers, right? I mean it was a bird that helped Grandpa with his wild magic.” “Perfect idea,” Leif agreed. “A little nick, some glowing, and Molly will have excellent control and a fancy new tattoo.” *** Molly was confused and not a little awed when Leif, Zuzanna and Silvia gave her an abbreviated explanation of what exactly her magic was. Her awe ebbed somewhat, however, when they explained that she would be learning to control the magic- and that this would involve taking off the suppression bracelet. “B-but it hurts without it!” she objected pitifully. “Why can’t I just keep the bracelet on?” “Because,” Zuzia said softly, wearing a firm but sympathetic smile, “the bracelet is like... a bandage, honey. It covers things up, but it doesn’t fix them. And so we need to take it off in order to fix the real problem and make you better for good.” In spite of the little girl’s protests, eventually she conceded to the training. In order to avoid straining her too much, it was decided to have as few people as possible in the room when she was working without her bracelet- usually only Leif and Zuzia- and wards were set up in the room to keep any stray emotions from the outside seeping in. Initial attempts were not encouraging. Leif’s techniques for focusing inward came in large part from his tactics to avoiding overload, and those had not exactly come from a mentally-healthy four-year-old. Sitting still and hyper-focusing on one thing was not easy for a child like Molly, especially when being quiet and still didn’t make her magic react any differently than if she were loud and running around. The only thing he could think of was trying to modify what exactly she should focus on to try and tune everything out; repetitive patterns had worked well for the Kythian archmage, but Molly proved to be easily distracted- more inclined to notice her internal colors and textures than an external tactile object. One thing that did seem to help, however, was music. If Molly focused on the repetitive lyrics of a simple song or rhyme, especially if someone would consent to singing along with her, it gave her a better object to concentrate her focus on. This moderate success gave them enough confidence to start working with her back in Sallertown, only visiting Leif once a week in the more emotionally dense Medieville. From this relatively simple springboard, they tried to move her to focusing on a single emotion from a single person, and then closing out that emotion. This frustrated the child, because she insisted that if she tried to notice the color she would forget her rhyme, and if she forgot the rhyme she would notice all of the colors. “What if one of us said the rhyme, or sang the song?” Leif suggested when they brought this issue to his attention. “Could you still focus on blocking out the colors while just hearing the rhyme?” “Um… I ‘unno,” she replied. “M-maybe? I could try.” She fidgeted. “I’m really trying, honest I am. It’s just hard.” “I know, sweetie,” Zuzia said. “You’re doing your best-- you just got to keep with it, okay?” She glanced toward Leif, smirking lightly. “I know. Why doesn’t Leif sing for you? Just ask his birds-- he’s a lovely singer, right, Leif?” “They might say so, but do you remember how pleasant Ayleth and Hadrian sounded?” Leif asked wryly. “But ah, I can sing, I suppose.” He considered which one to use; he’d been informed of the “no church songs” decree and that eliminated a lot of his repertoire. There were a few children’s songs he’d picked up in his years as an adoptive uncle and grandfather...but then he got a better idea. “All right, I have a song - maybe I’ll have to go through it once so you aren’t surprised by the words, but it’s about a friend of mine named Sieg, and a friend of his named Orrin.” “O-oh, okay,” Molly said, sounding surprised. “What are the words?” Leif grinned and started, “Far over the misty height, In a land o'run with blight; Two come nigh to set all right, These strange fellows in armor bright…” As Leif got into the song, Molly smiled, bobbing her head a little bit to it. Then, at a gesture from Zuzia, she bit her lip and shifted her gaze towards her adoptive grandmother. Zuzia was green, the comfortable and calm color, but also a little bit yellow, a slight smile ticking at her lips with the lyrics to Leif’s song. Molly could also feel yellow coming off of Leif, but she tried to focus only on Zuzia’s green-yellow mix. Her foot tapped absently to the tune of the song as she tried to focus, imagining that she was pushing Leif’s yellow out of her head like she pushed Jamie when she was being annoying and touching Molly with her foot… Molly’s eyes snapped open in surprise, and she gave a loud, excited squeal. “I did it!” Zuzia grinned. “Who’d you close off, honey? Me or Leif?” “Leif, I did Great-Grandpa Leif!” she bleated, her three-toned eyes glowing with joy. “He was yellow but now I dunno what he is, you’re yellow right now, you were green but now you’re yellow, but I can’t feel Great-Grandpa Leif’s colors at all! I did it, I made the color go away! I really did it!” “Reflecting the desire to ward away the off-key notes, I’m sure,” Leif said, but quickly his grin became less sardonic and truly genuine. “Well done, Molly! That’s excellent.” The little girl bounced happily in her chair. “It’s like when Grandma Zuzia’s puppy Boo gets into the house sometimes, and we gotta push him out. He doesn’t want to go out, and he wiggles and licks your face, but you gotta keep pushing and then close the door. The colors kept wiggling away, but I finally did it!” “I’m proud of you, honey,” Zuzia said. “I knew you could do it. And all without your bracelet!” “But…” the child’s face fell. “But what if I can’t do it again? Or by myself? I still needed help with the singing part…” “We’ll keep practicing,” Zuzanna assured her. “The first is always the hardest time-- we can take a break now, since you’ve been concentrating so hard, but I bet once we practice again, you’ll get it again so quickly, hon. After all, you’re such a bright girl, aren’t you, Molls?” Molly grinned bashfully. “I can’t wait to tell Jamie I did it.” She looked at Leif. “Can we do some tea, Great-Grandpa? With honey and milk?” “Certainly we can.” Leif got to his feet. “I think an occasion like this might even call for a little pie to celebrate.” “Pie?” Molly squealed, her eyes bright. “ Yes! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!” Part Five With Molly spending a lot of time with Zuzanna as the child practiced her self-control techniques-- both in Sallertown and the city proper-- for the first time in her memory, Jamie began to quite often find herself apart from her little sister. Although in some ways this was nice, and certainly Jamie was excited to see her sister’s progress, in other facets she found herself feeling… lost. Monitoring and soothing Molly had been nearly a full-time venture for her since the younger girl’s toddler years. It had both occupied her time and given her a sense of purpose. Without it? Sometimes, Jamie wasn’t quite sure how to feel.
This sentiment was not helped at all by the fact that by its very nature, Molly’s conditioning process was a massively time- and effort-intensive ordeal. She had adult attention on her almost constantly: Zuzia’s, of course, but also Alex’s, and then there were the visits to Leif’s place, during which the older girl was usually left behind in Sallertown. Jamie knew this wasn’t Molly’s fault, that of course she both deserved and needed the investment… but at other times, this didn’t stop her from somehow feeling as if she were merely a third wheel to Molly and her magic. As if the only reason she’d even been taken in by the Panems in the first place was because of her sister’s powers. Without Molly’s tantrums, and Father Clark’s threat of sending her away… would any of her new family members have even cared about Jamie’s fate?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was neither Alex nor Zuzia who finally noticed Jamie’s growing despondency, but the member of their family who had a great deal of personal experience with feelings of jealousy and inadequacy around magic- and one who conveniently spent almost as much time at the bakery with the girls as Alex did.
“Jamie, sweetie?” Phyllo called out to the girl one morning, as the two of them were alone in the shopfront while Alex was in the kitchen with Molly and Kathleen. “Are you okay? You’ve been tearing up that bagel without eating it for ten minutes now.”
Jamie shrugged, taking a bird-like bite of the bagel as if merely to make a point. “I’m… I’m okay,” she murmured as she swallowed it down. “Just… tired, I guess.”
The former slave frowned, setting down the rag he’d been using to polish the counter and coming around to the table where Jamie was. In a slightly garbled pidgin of Valzick and Kythian- the young girls still hadn’t quite mastered Phyllo’s birth tongue- he asked, “Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little out of sorts for a while now. You’re not taking sick, are you?”
She shook her head quickly. “Nuh-uh.” The child hesitated a beat, then asked softly, “Is… is Molls goin’ to the city again this weekend?”
This question set off alarm bells in Phyllo’s mind, and he folded his arms. He’d fielded similar evasive questions from Morgan, when her two younger siblings were going into Medieville to buy wands or get potions materials or other similar things that she, as a nonmage, could not share.
“Probably,” he admitted. Reaching out a tentative hand and putting it over Jamie’s he asked, “Have you been feeling left out, honey?”
The child blinked sharply. “I dunno,” she whispered. “She’s just… away a lot. And… and when she’s here everyone practices with her. And tells her how good she’s doing, and how proud they are, and then I’m just… I’m just…” Jamie gulped. “N-no one even needs me anymore.”
Phyllo didn’t say another word- he just scooted his chair closer and pulled Jamie into a hug, the girl stiffening for a moment at his touch before she allowed herself to relax and lean against him.
“That isn’t true,” he said after a moment. “I know it must seem like that, and I know it’s hard for you with everyone focused on Molly. But that doesn’t mean we don’t still love you too, Jamie.”
“You w-would have left me, though,” Jamie retorted. “W-with Father Clark. Me and Kathy. And if it weren’t for Molls. You… you can say you love me now, but you would have left me anyway.”
“What might have happened doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “I might have stayed in Meltaim forever, and been a slave my whole life. If Zuzia hadn’t decided to take me and run away. But I didn’t. Worrying about that doesn’t change what is now. And right now, you are here, and you are part of our family, and we love you.” He tilted the child’s chin up. “Jamie, I felt just like you do, a long time ago. When we first got to Kyth, a lot of people were afraid of Zuzia, because she was an archmage from Meltaim. They arrested her. But they weren’t afraid of me, because I wasn’t a mage or even born in Meltaim. So I was terrified for a long time they would take Zuzia away, and I would be left behind because I wasn’t a mage, so I wasn’t important.”
“I l-love her,” Jamie said softly, “but… I don’t know. I know it’s bad and… and I shouldn’t wanna be-- miserable, but… s-sometimes I wish I was the one with magic. Not just so Molly feels better, b-but… but so people like me, too.”
Phyllo drew her closer. “Jamie, tell you what; what if the day after tomorrow, we go into Medieville? Just you and me. It’ll be your day, to do whatever you want to do. All day long.”
Jamie narrowed her green eyes, wary. “... Just you and me?” she asked, as if she didn’t quite believe it. “Not… not Molly?”
“Nope, not Molly,” Phyllo confirmed. “She’ll be okay with Alex for the day. They can watch the shop.” He smiled. “And hey, I haven’t been to Medieville in a while- it’s been Zuzia and Alex going most of the time. So we can both have a good time, hm?”
“Could… could we visit the birdies again?” Jamie asked. “And Missus Silvia?”
“I don’t see any reason why not,” Phyllo said. “I’ll send a courier up to let Leif and Silvs know we’re coming. If you want, I could even ask Leif if he’ll meet us out somewhere that we can let his falcon chase a lure- she’s very fast and it’s fun to watch.”
Jamie let a smile slip. “Really? That’d be really neat. Th-thank you.”
Phyllo explained his intentions to Alex and Zuzanna, who were slightly confused at first but readily agreed to the plan once Phyllo explained what had prompted him, and sent along the letters to his friend and daughter. Then, when the appointed day arrived, he rose bright and early to pick up Jamie from the bakery and make the trip up to Medieville. The girl, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, yawned as she and Phyllo began the lengthy walk, saying very little to him until he took the initiative to engage the girl, first drawing her into a game of twenty questions, then into a pseudo-philosophical debate about the pros and cons of cookies versus handcakes.
“I only care ‘bout the flavours,” Jamie said with a sage nod. “If it’s got fruit, I like it no matter what it is.” She paused. “Except lime. I don’t like lime, it’s gross.”
“Limes are definitely an acquired taste,” Phyllo agreed, amused. “Lemon cookies are my favorite, personally. Your Aunt Silvs loves them. Your great-grandpa Leif prefers pie though- with blackberries.”
Jamie glanced up at him. “M-Molly calls ‘em all names like that,” the girl murmured after a moment. “Aunt and… great-grandpa and-- everything.” She looked away again. “And Kathy c-called Mister Alex ‘papa’ last week. For the f-first time.”
Phyllo glanced at the girl with a sad smile. “Does it still make you uncomfortable, honey? I know you must miss your Mama and Papa.”
“I dunno,” Jamie said after a moment’s thought. “It’s not uncomfortable, it just…” She twined a finger through her long, red-brown hair. “Molly barely even remembers our papa. But I do. And… I w-wouldn’t want it to seem like I’ve f-forgotten him. Or… let him be replaced.”
Phyllo put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I understand. You know something? My Papa and Mama died when I wasn’t much older than you are now. I still miss them, every day.”
“Th-they did?” Jamie asked, cocking her head. “D-did you get a new family, too?”
“Not for a long time,” he admitted. “I grew up as a slave, by myself in Meltaim. From the time I was eight years old until I was fifteen. I was sad, and lonely, and I missed my family terribly.” Very softly, he added, “I had a little sister too- she was just a baby, like Kathleen. I still don’t know what happened to her.”
Jamie’s face went pale. “Th-that’s.. that…” She shook her head. “I c-can’t imagining losing Molls or Kathy. Mama and Papa going to be with the Woo hurt so much, but… but them, I… I would want to die, too.” Hesitantly, she reached out toward Phyllo, an open invitation for him to take her hand. He accepted, letting his warm fingers curl around hers.
“It was very hard, going on by myself,” he admitted. “I was angry a lot of the time. I wondered, why me? What did I do wrong? Just because I didn’t have magic, I was alone and afraid. But someone did finally come along and save me- Zuzanna. She became my friend, and then she became my wife. My family. And we came here to Kyth, and met Leif, and he became our family too.”
“W-what about when I’m a grown-up, though?” Jamie asked. “W-will you still wanna be my family, then? Like… like you are to Missus Silvia?”
“Of course,” he said instantly. “Family doesn’t stop being family because you grow up. We love all of our kids, and all of our grandkids, and we always will.” He squeezed Jamie’s hand, adding firmly, “And that includes you. You’re always welcome to come see me or Zuzanna, any time of the day or night. We’ll help you, and love you, no matter what.”
Jamie gave him a shaky smile. “Th-thank you.” After a moment more, she admitted softly, “I-I like Missus Zuzia better’n my real grandma. She’s n-nicer. And… and so are you. E-even though I’m… I’m not special. Not like Molly.”
“Well Zuzia liked me, and I’m not special,” Phyllo said with a smile. “Wanna know something? Before she married me, she was supposed to marry someone else. The nephew of the Meltaiman emperor. The emperor is like their king- and his nephew had been raised as a prince.”
“A prince?” Jamie seemed dubious. “Was… was she a princess?”
“No, but she was the daughter of a lord,” Phyllo replied. “Well… technically she was adopted. But not like we adopted you. The Meltaiman lord took her away from her family because she was an archmage- her Mama and Papa and sister. When she was just four. So in a way, she’s just like you or me. She was separated from her family when she was young too.”
“And she picked you instead?” Jamie asked. The girl squeezed Phyllo’s hand. “I b-bet it’s ‘cos you’re nice. And funny. And… and you make good cookies.”
Phyllo grinned. “Thank you for that, I’m glad you think so. Certainly she ate a lot of my cookies when she was pregnant with Silvia. We used to say Silvia was our cookie child. You wanna know something? When she got pregnant with Alex, she called him a ‘cake’ the whole time he was inside her. When he was little sometimes we still called him ‘Cake-baby.’ If you want to see him get really embarrassed, try calling him that sometime.”
Jamie’s eyes glimmered. “Okay. And… and…” She took a deep breath. “D-do you think he’d think it’s weird? If I-I started calling him ‘papa’, too, even though I d-didn’t before?”
“No, not at all,” Phyllo said with an affectionate smile. “I think he’d like that a lot. He wants you to be happy too, Jamie.”
“And… could I-- could I call you ‘grandpa’, too? Like Molly does?”
The dark skinned man leaned down, kissing Jamie on the head. “Of course you can; that would make me very happy.”
Jamie’s cheek flushing bright red, the two of them continued the rest of the way to Medieville in much better spirits, joking and playing games as they went along, until finally the city gates came into view. Instead of heading to Leif’s house, however, Phyllo took his adopted granddaughter to a wide open park area within the walls, where the Kythian archmage was waiting with a small basket in his hand and an orange-breasted falcon on his shoulder. “Good morning,” he greeted, letting the falcon step onto his gloved fist as he approached. “How was the walk?” The bird piped and fluffed her feathers, and Leif chuckled. “Yes, darling, we’ll fly you in a minute. Jamie, you remember Ambre?”
Jamie nodded eagerly, a grin ticking at the corners of her lips. “Uh-huh. She’s… she’s an ap-lo-mado falcon, right? And-- and she likes to hunt!”
“That’s right! And, well, all raptors like hunting - but what we’re doing with Ambre today is a little different.” He stooped, setting down the basket and pulling out of it a long rope wound around a thick wooden pin at one end, and tied to a small, roughly triangular piece of stuffed cloth with bird feathers sewn into the sides to look a little like wings. Ambre chirped excitedly at the sight of it and puffed her feathers again, but didn’t try to leave Leif’s glove. “This is called a lure,” he said, showing it to Jamie. “Aplomados usually hunt birds - most falcons do - so she likes the feathers on this one. What Ambre’s going to do is called ‘chasing the lure’. It’s like playing with a toy, but for birds.”
“And it makes her hunt better?” Jamie asked. She glanced toward Phyllo. “Like with your doggies! Lettin’ em play and chase stuff so they’re better at chasin’ off foxes!”
“Exactly,” Leif said. “It also works off some of her extra energy - I make sure she’s fed even if she doesn’t manage to catch something herself , so sometimes, all that food turning into energy but not getting used makes her restless. And we both like showing off her flying - don’t we, girl?” Ambre glanced in Leif’s direction, but quickly turned back to watching the lure with anticipation.
“You enjoy showing off your raptors in general,” Phyllo noted with amusement. “But Ambre gets special attention because she’s the one you’ve had the longest.” To Jamie he explained, “She was bred by the elves who live down in Corvus, or so Leif told me. So Ambre has lived a lot longer than most birds of her species do.”
“How old is she?” Jamie replied. A devilish glint in her emerald-green eyes, she looked to Leif and added, “Is she as old as you are?”
“Not quite; she’s only thirty, and they keep having to make up new numbers to track my age, after all,” Leif said with a grin and a wink as he got to his feet. “The elves breed birds that are longer-lived already, and being around magic seems to help stretch their lifespan a little - and their intelligence, too. But for a thirty-year-old bird, Ambre’s still very agile.”
He took several steps back before raising his fist and letting Ambre spread her wings, consider the wind, and finally, leap into flight. She quickly circled back around to keep close to Leif, beating her wings hard to stay roughly in place as her falconer unwound some of the lure, and finally started swinging it in a wide circle. Ambre darted off, then made a swift, sharp turn and came back around, stooping for the lure. Leif swung the lure out wide, keeping it just barely ahead of the swooping falcon, until Ambre rose back into the air and Leif brought the lure back in again.
“See that turn?” Leif called as the falcon whirled around in the air again. “A hawk or eagle or owl can’t pivot that sharply; falcons are the fastest and often the most agile raptors.”
“How fast can she go?” Jamie shielded her eyes against the bright sun overhead as she gazed up at Ambre. “I bet she could fly all the way to Sallertown in like, five seconds.”
Leif laughed, swinging the lure out as Ambre dived after it once again. “Not quite that fast, but probably less time than a messenger pigeon could make it. She’s fastest in dives, not necessarily straight flights. That’s phoenixes who cover long distances almost supernaturally quickly.”
“Have you ever seen a real phoenix?” Jamie said. “I bet they’re real pretty. And you can ride ‘em! Like horses, ‘cept in the sky.” She gnawed on her lip. “Though-- what if you fell off? That’d hurt.”
“The people who ride phoenixes are usually strapped to the saddle with buckles,” Phyllo put in. He gave the girl an impish grin. “Not only has Leif seen phoenixes before, he’s ridden them. I know it because I was with him one of the times he did- Zuzanna and I rode them too.”
“They’re incredible birds,” Leif said. “You’re right they’re very pretty - they each come in two colors, and the tips are shiny, like a raven’s feathers - and they can set their feathers on fire as well, it’s a complete mystery how it works, but - “ He paused to increase the speed of his swing to prevent Ambre from snagging the lure, then continued, “But it’s fascinating. And they make all sorts of noises, apparently - any bird call or hawk shriek or owl hoot, you can think of! ...Though, ah, yes - they do fly quite high,. and that’s worrying. But Phyllo’s right, there are straps that keep everyone riding them on their backs. And they’re very smooth flyers. Or, at least, when traveling; I imagine it’s a lot rougher when the fireknights have to go into battle with them. Fireknights are the ones who usually ride them,” Leif added.
“You got to ride a phoenix, Grandpa?” Jamie raised a brow at Phyllo. “Were you… in a battle?”
“No,” Phyllo replied. “There were fireknights with us, but we were just riding them because it was a fast way to get from where we were- south Kine- to Medieville. I wouldn’t be very good at fighting on a bird anyway- the only weapon I know how to use is a dagger, and I am admittedly a bit out of practice even with that.” He gave Leif a grin. “I imagine Great-Grandpa Leif would be quite impressive flying into battle on phoenixback though, spells flying every which way and an army of falcons at his back.”
Leif laughed. “I’d try, and the falcons would definitely be impressive - but I am not a trained fireknight by any stretch of the imagination, and I don’t know if I could dare take a hand off the reins to use my wand. ...It would be interesting to learn how to fly properly on one, though. And they’re quite friendly, apparently, they let their riders pet them - which you should generally avoid doing with raptors like mine!”
“Do you have any birds I could pet?” Jamie asked.
“Hmm...well, Anselm might tolerate it; he’s a red-tailed hawk, they’re excellent beginner birds, very easy to hunt with because they’ll take such a variety of prey. ...Oh - ah, once Ambre’s been fed, she might let you give her a little pet. Raptors aren’t very much like dogs or cats,” he explained, drawing the lure back and watching as Ambre soared high up on a strong gust of wind. “Most of them are very independent, and even the ones who hunt with people see us just as hunting partners. Well, there are Harris Hawks, they’re a bit of an exception. Harrises hunt in packs - it’s quite a remarkable behavior difference, and they’re a lot of fun to fly - and, er, since they live in packs, they’re a bit more dog-like, so they form bonds a bit more like dogs do. Sometimes.” Ambre swept in close behind the lure, and changed directions again so fast Leif had to hurry to throw it out for her again. “Raptors definitely have minds of their own.”
“At least you can pet some of our animals back home,” Phyllo put in. “We have the dogs who adore being petted, and the goats don’t mind it either. When the kids were younger we used to get them one chicken in particular that was just supposed to be a pet, even. Though chickens aren’t quite what you have in mind for birds you can pet, I imagine.”
“I remember those pet chickens,” Leif remarked. “Buff Orpingtons, right? Very lovely gold coloring. I still haven’t seen one of the full-sized breed as opposed to the bantams, though.”
“The chickens are dumb,” Jamie announced. “Not like Ambre. They’re not good pets. Even if the doggies love ‘em like they’re babies.”
“Well I’m afraid even if falcons let you pet them, peasants aren’t allowed to keep raptors,” Phyllo said apologetically. “Hunting like they need to keep fed is only for nobles. And most songbirds that people keep as pets have to be imported from other countries like Tengiz or Cerrin. So they’re a little out of our price range. Tim likes to bemoan the same thing- he loves Great-Grandpa’s raptors as much as you do.”
“When we lived with Grandma Pearl, she had a kitty,” Jamie said. “Named Scamp. He used to sleep with me and Molly. He’d catch little animals! Like Ambre does, I guess, but smaller.” She wrinkled her nose. “Once he brought in a lizard. It was still alive but he’d bit its tail off. Grandma Pearl screamed her lungs out.”
Phyllo snorted, amused. “Leif, you said that your kite Hadrian used to drop rats on your desk when he was courting Ayleth, didn’t he? I don’t think you’ve kept a male and female of the same breed since then.”
“Hadrian did indeed. He was...not a gentleman,” Leif answered wryly. “I haven’t kept pairs since, no. Though mostly because since I moved to Medieville, I haven’t had enough time that I think I could take care of hatchlings or find homes for them.”
The younger man grinned. “At least that means none of your birds are leaving you dead vermin. Though speaking of vermin… it’s not a falcon, Jamie, but if you like while we’re in the city we could maybe look into getting a nice shop cat for the bakery. To keep the mice and rats away from the bread. A kitten is a better pet than a chicken, right?”
“A kitten?” Jamie squeaked, her jaw falling open. “Like… like a real kitten!?”
“What do you think, Great-Grandpa?” Phyllo asked nonchalantly as Leif turned to follow Ambre’s latest dive, spinning the lure again. “Does this little lady deserve to pick out her own kitten?”
“I think that’s a good idea - if she can’t get a bird, I hear cats are the next best thing in terms of self-importance.” He swung the lure out as Ambre passed - this time, she snagged it in her talons and drove it to ground, where she snapped at it with her beak between proud chitters. As Leif approached her, pulling out a treat to distract her from the lure and reward her for the successful catch, he admitted, “And they are much nicer about petting and cuddling.”
“Well that’s two votes yes,” Phyllo said, smiling towards Jamie. “What do you say? You feel like poking around the market later for anyone with a litter of kittens for sale? If you get one young, it’ll sleep with you in your bed, just like the one your Grandma Pearl had.”
“Can I get a stripey cat?” Jamie asked.
“If we find some stripey cats, you can certainly have a stripey cat,” Phyllo agreed. “And maybe if you ask nicely, Great-Grandpa will let you have some feathers to play with the kitty with.”
Jamie beamed toward Leif. “You could come with? To get the kitty! And help me pick. ‘Cos… ‘cos I like spendin’ time with you.”
Leif looked up from the lure he had just pried out from under Ambre’s talons, his expression momentarily surprised - but quickly it shifted into a warm smile. “Of course; I’d love to come along. ...Let me get Ambre back to the mews first, though; she should behave now that she’s eaten and played chase, but I don’t think she’ll make the kittens especially comfortable.”
“You and Grandpa can help me with names, too,” Jamie said cheerily. “‘Cos I already have so many ideas, and I haven’t even met the kitty yet!”
Phyllo laughed, readily agreeing to this suggestion. Once the three of them had dropped off Ambre back at Leif’s house, they headed out into the central merchant’s market of Medieville, looking for any people out selling kittens. Initially they found a basket with expensive, silver-pointed purebreeds, but not only were these well outside of Phyllo’s reasonable price range, none of them matched Jamie’s qualification of “stripey.” After a bit more poking around- stopping occasionally to let Jamie gawk at a merchant’s stall or shop that caught her eye- the found an elderly couple under a canvas awning that had before them a crate emitting plaintive mewling noises. A quick peek inside revealed not one, but five stripey kittens- a brown tabby, two ginger tabbies, a brown and white tabby, and a tortoiseshell tabby.
Jamie’s eyes went wide as moon. “Oh my Woo,” she breathed. “They’re so cute.”
“Six weeks old,” said one of the sellers, wearing an amused expression. “The ginger ones are both boys-- the rest are girls.”
“They’re certainly energetic, aren’t they?” Phyllo noted, watching as the tortoiseshell tussled with one of her ginger siblings. “Well Jamie, any of these little ones meet your fancy? You can pick one to take home with us.”
“I like the orange ones,” Jamie replied. “And… the multi-coloured one, too. And… and…” She giggled as the brown tabby began to chase its own tail. “I like all of them.”
“Well I think five cats is a bit much for one shop,” Phyllo said. “We’d never be able to buy enough meat for them all- we’d have to buy almost as much as Leif does for his birds.”
“We could get a pair, though,” Jamie suggested. “So they can play with each other! Like me and Molls do.”
“Hmm…” Phyllo didn’t decline or approve this suggestion immediately, glancing sideways at Leif as if to gauge his opinion.
Leif hesitated, glancing between the cats and Phyllo. “Er - well - if you think I’m the person to ask, considering I have an entire mews built in my backyard and am clearly not good with moderation when it comes to animals...my friend Morgaine had two cats, and that seemed to work out well for her. Having two of them saved her life once, actually,” he mused, remembering - not without a tug of pain in his chest, the little stab of sadness he felt even now at the fact that one of his very best friends had passed on - how Mercury had been able to draw Leif’s attention to the Lock and Key shop where both Morgaine and her other cat, Rust, had been badly injured. “And,” he added after a pause, “you do live in a bakery with very talented cooks - I’m sure there are lots of rodents who would love to get their paws on some of those delicious cakes and cookies.”
“Uh-huh,” Jamie agreed hurriedly. “I saw two mouses last week, eatin’ crumbs together. And Papa had to hit them with a broom. So if we got two kitties, each kitty could take one instead!”
Phyllo gave a sigh that sounded half exasperated, half amused. “Alright, alright. You can pick two. But no more, alright? And it’ll be up to you and Molls to change their sandpans. Two cats is twice as much cat dirt.”
Jamie let out a literal squeal of delight. “Should I get matching ones?” she asked, pursing her lips as she continued to study the cats. “Like-- both the gingers! Or… or I could get ones that look different, so they’re easier to tell apart… or…” She looked up at Leif. “Which would you pick?”
Leif studied the cats, considering. “Well...if Hadrian taught me anything, it was that behavior is important to consider in an animal you’re taking in.” He glanced up at the couple overseeing the basket. “Maybe she could try to pet some of them and see if any make themselves obvious choices that way?”
“Just be gentle,” said the older woman. “They’re all pretty friendly, dear. Some feistier than others, but sweet enough.”
Jamie nodded, crouching down and extending her hand toward the basket. “I’ll be careful,” she promised, smiling as the brown tabby began to nuzzle her palm. The girl glanced back toward Phyllo. “Should… should we get two boys or two girls? So they don’t make kittens? ‘Cos that’s why Grandma Zuzia said you’ve got two boy doggies.”
“Probably a wise idea,” Phyllo agreed. “Especially since they’re brothers and sisters. If they made kittens those kittens wouldn't be very healthy. Although if you get two girls, you have to remember not to let them out of the shop when they’re in season, or they’ll make kittens with the stray cats in the neighborhood anyway.” He grinned. “One of our old dogs, Samson, got loose once and made puppies with the neighbor’s sheepdog because she didn't keep the sheepdog locked up.”
“Baby animals are cute, at least,” Jamie chirped. She scratched behind the brown tabby’s ears. “I like this one, I think. She’s sweet. And… Molls and Kathy would like her, too.” The child furrowed her brow, deep in thought. “But… I dunno which other to get with her. I like ‘em both!”
“Choosing is hard sometimes,” Phyllo said sympathetically. He knelt down, petting the brown kitten in question. “This girl does seem very nice though. I bet she’ll be great at the bakery. And whichever of her sisters you bring along will be good too.”
As he spoke, the tortoiseshell tabby sniffed curiously at his hand, and he smiled crookedly. “I guess she smells the bacon rolls I had for breakfast this morning, hm?”
Jamie smiled. “You like her, Grandpa?”
Phyllo smiled back, “She certainly seems to like me.”
Indeed, the kitten had given Phyllo’s dark hand a few licks, and now was batting at hit with her paw, mouth gaping on a minute pink tongue as she tried to get Phyllo to play with her. Jamie giggled, her fingers still rubbing behind the brown tabby’s ear, and raised an inquisitive brow toward Phyllo.
“We could get her, too, Grandpa,” the girl said. “As our second. If you want.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Phyllo said, giving the little girl a one-armed hug. “Then we have two stripey kittens who are easy to tell apart, and we know that they like kids and grownups.” To the kitten, in a mock-stern voice, he added, “But no bacon rolls for you, young lady. Kitties eat kitty food.”
The cat only responded by rolling on her back and kicking Phyllo’s hand with her back paws, both forelegs wrapped around his fingers.
“I guess she doesn’t like that decree,” Leif remarked, stepping a little closer and crouching to better see the kittens. “You said you already had a lot of possible names, Jamie - any luck narrowing them down now that you’ve seen the cats in question?”
Jamie shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I’ve still got so much ideas.” She grinned toward both men. “But once we get ‘em, I can think! After I cuddle more… maybe some names’ll seem better than others, you know?” She nodded sagely. “The brown tabby an’ the one you like, Grandpa. Those are the ones I want.”
“Alright,” Phyllo agreed with a smile. Turning to the elderly couple he said, “How much?”
Soon enough the trio was walking away with two energetic, squirmy kittens accompanying them. Phyllo held on to the tortoiseshell while letting Jamie hold the brown kitten, lest they wriggle out of the girl’s grip as she tried to hold both of them at once, while the younger girl excitedly debated different name ideas.
“I can loan you a box or a basket for the trip home,” Leif offered to Phyllo. “So you’re not carrying them in hand the entire way to Sallertown.”
“They’re squirmy,” Jamie said chipperly, clutching the brown kitten against her chest. “Kinda like Kathleen. I bet she’ll like ‘em, don’t you think? But I want them to sleep with me and Molls, not her. They can warm us up!”
“Kitties are pretty independent, so I imagine they’ll sleep wherever they want to,” Phyllo said with amusement. “But if you don’t force them, they’ll probably sleep in the bed with you. Just let them come to you in their own time and be patient.”
Jamie nodded. “Okay! I want them to like me. So I’ll be patient.” She grinned up at him. “And… and thank you, Grandpa. For lettin’ me get them. And… taking me to the city.” The child gulped. “I… I love you.” She looked toward Leif. “And… and you, too.”
Phyllo smiled warmly, kneeling down to kiss the little girl on the top of her head. “I love you too, Jamie. And you’re very welcome. I’m glad you’re having fun.” He looked up at Leif with a knowing expression. “Nobody should ever have to feel like they have less worth or are left out because they don’t have magic.”
“Absolutely not,” Leif agreed. “A lot of my very favorite people - most of them, really - don’t have a bit of magic in them, but they’re some of the best people you could ever hope to meet. You and your grandfather included,” he added, glancing at Phyllo to include him in his smile. “I love you, too, Jamie. Shall I pass your affections onto the birds as well?” Leif winked.
The little girl giggled. “Birds don’t talk Kythian!”
“Not most birds, but Leif’s are very smart,” Phyllo said. Conspiratorially he added, “And your great-grandpa talks to them like they’re people all the time. Just one of the many reasons a lot of people think he’s craaaazy.” Phyllo winked at Jamie, giving Leif a smirk.
"Ah, but birds are creatures of the 'Woo," Leif said, his tone chastising but his expression amused. "I wouldn't want to disrespect our feathered lord's noblest servants, even if it's at the cost of my reputation."
"Fair enough," Phyllo agreed. With a smile, he added, "But see, that just goes to show - if even the crazy bird man has a family that loves him, how could you possibly not, Jamie?" Epilogue The addition of the kittens to the bakery was met with no dearth of enthusiasm from Molly, who was equally glad to find her sister’s mood improved- “You felt blue, and I din’ know why. But now you’re yellow again!”
Over the next few weeks, Molly continued to work hard on her magic. Though she was young and there was a limit to how much she could reasonably do- she still had trouble shutting out crowds, for example, and was prone to overload if she slipped her bracelet in the streets of Medieville- the young girl’s control improved by leaps and bounds. Soon she was about to readily isolate a single person out of a small group, and out and about in Sallertown she was able to protect herself to the point that other people’s emotional states were muffled, if not blocked outright.
As her control improved, so did her self-confidence. From a skittish, sad child Molly bloomed into a happy one, who readily shared her affections with her adopted family.
By the end of July the Lawson girls were nearly unrecognizable as the sad, desperate youngsters whom Alex had taken in. Now they positively glowed with health and happiness, and were looking forward to the family’s next upcoming big event- the forty-first birthday of its patriarch.
“C’mooon, Papa!” Molly squealed at the bakery late in the afternoon. “We’re gonna be late! Can’t you frost the lemon cake faster?”
“This isn’t an appointment, Molls-- it’s okay if we’re a couple minutes late,” Alex replied, his voice firm but a soft smile between his lips. “We want to make this cake pretty for Grandpa, don’t we?”
“I still think we should have made two cakes,” Jamie put in, bouncing Kathleen on her hip. “One lemon, and one raspberry.”
“I’m pretty sure we’ll have enough sweets, honey,” Alex said. “We’ve got this cake, then Grandma already picked up a batch of cookies earlier, remember? Your sweet tooth won’t go unfulfilled, I promise.”
“Tim is gonna be a butt,” Molly said sullenly. “He’s always a butt when people aren’t at a thing on time. It’s annoying.”
“Be nice, Molly.” Alex set down the frosting knife. “And if he’s being grouchy, my mum and dad will deal with it, alright?” The man smiled. “Now go get your shoes, we’re leaving in five minutes, okay?”
“Can I carry the cake?” Jamie asked.
Alex laughed. “Nope. You may not.” He glanced at the girl’s bare feet. “You need shoes, too. Go on-- wouldn’t want to delay us any further, huh? And give Timmy more to gripe about?”
The girls rushed to obey, and soon enough the bakery had been locked up for the day and they were on their way to the cottage where Alex had grown up. Along the way there they bumped into Silvia and her family- they’d rented horses for the trip from Medieville to Sallertown- and as they were finally rounding the hill that marked the turnoff onto the Panem cottage lane, a carriage came into view ahead of them.
“Looks like Grandpa made it after all,” Silvia remarked cheerfully. Raising her voice and waving at the figure who was emerging from the carriage she called, “Grandpa! Good to see you!”
Leif waved back, pausing beside the carriage to wait for the cluster of Panems to reach him. “Good to see you all as well! ...Do you need a hand with the cake, Alex?” Leif asked. “I’m definitely not volunteering so that I can sneak a sample. Why would you think that?”
Alex laughed, shifting the massive cake platter in his arms. “No, I’ve got it, I think, but--” He glanced toward Jamie, who was juggling Kathleen-- recently eighteen-months-old-- as the toddler began to fuss, demanding ‘down!’. “If you could maybe take Kath before she overpowers her dear sister? I’d let her walk, but sadly she doesn’t yet understand the part of walking where, you know, you walk and stay by Papa instead of darting away like a cat after a mouse. And I doubt either of us is in the mood to chase her through a field right now.”
“No, not particularly. I can take her for a bit.” He stepped toward Jamie to relieve her of her squirming sibling. “Come on, Kathleen, how about enjoying a bird’s eye view for a little while?”
“Walk?” Kathleen chirped as Jamie passed her off. “Me walk!”
“You can walk when we get inside, Kathy,” Molly said.
“I can walk!” Micah put in, beaming proudly. “Won’t run ‘way neither, Papa! Down from horsie?”
Alex smirked as he glanced back at his sister and her family, still in the process of dismounting from their horses “Ah, toddlers,” he said brightly. “They’re lucky they’re so cute, huh?”
“You’re lucky you skipped the infant stage with yours,” Silvia observed as they dismounted from their horses and approached the door- her husband tying the beasts to a nearby tree. “Squalling and shrieking at all hours, and you can never be completely sure exactly what is wrong. Does the nappy need a change? Nope, it’s clean. Hungry? Nope, won’t latch. Gassy? Doesn’t seem to be. Just being a fussy brat? Buuut of course!”
As she pushed the door to the cottage open, the group was immediately plunged into the thick of things, the rest of the Panems already assembled in the house’s airy great room, spread between the various couches, chairs, and rugs. The first to notice them was the youngest of Zuzia and Phyllo’s children, Laura, who smiled broadly at her relatives as they strode inside, her freckled face alight with joy.
“You’re here!” she exclaimed. As her eyes fell on the cake in Alex’s arms, she added, “Oooh! Spice cake?”
Alex raised a brow. “Hello to you, too, Laura. And no-- not spice cake.” He skimmed the room until his gaze reached his father, who was seated in between Zuzia and Morgan on one of the sofas. “What do you think it is, Papa?” he teased.
“Hmm,” Phyllo mused. “Well considering it’s my birthday, and everyone here knows what my favorite flavor of dessert goods is…”
“It’s a lemon cake!” Molly chirped. “With ‘nilla frosting! Papa drawed a pretty flower on top!”
“Molls, you’re not supposed to tell!” Tim chided. “That ruins it for Papa guessing!”
“Tim, lighten up,” Zuzia replied sternly, as she gestured toward a space on the counter that had been cleared to hold the cake. “There, Alex-- we’ll cut it up after we eat dinner. I’ve got a good stew cooking.” She smiled toward Silvia, her husband, Micah, and Leif. “And you all made it from Medieville! It’s so nice to see you.”
“Hey Mum,” Silvia said cheerfully, walking up to her mother and hugging the older woman, before pulling away and giving a hug to Phyllo. Micah tugged on Zuzia’s skirt, squealing, “Grandma, Grandma!” as Kathleen, seemingly jealous of the little boy’s freedom of movement, bucked sullenly against Leif’s hold and demanded: “Down!”
“Only if it’s all right with your father,” Leif countered. “And are we at the ‘please’ stage with her, Alex?”
“It’s never too early for the ‘please’ stage,” Alex replied. Then, to Kathleen: “You know the magic word, honey.”
The tiny girl sniffled, stricken. “Down now?”
“Try again,” Zuzia chimed in, barely holding back a laugh.
“... Down puh-wease?”
“Very well,” Leif said with exaggerated formality, setting the girl down. “Just remember, I have a lot of practice as a prison guard, so don’t get into trouble now.” He smiled at the toddler, and Phyllo covered his mouth to hide a smirk.
“Imagine Zuzia,” he remarked, “if he tried to make Kathleen draw dov runes for three hours. We would have a mutiny on our hands.”
“I like drawing!” Molly said, looking up at Leif with glee. “Can I draw with you, Great-Grandpa?”
“It’s not that kind of drawing, Molly,” Morgan said from her place on one of the cottage’s sofas. Looking to Leif she added, “You can sit with me, Grandpa, if your joints are paining you.”
“They’re fine for the moment - but it might be good not to work them too hard from the start. And Molly,” he motioned for her to follow as he joined Morgan on the couch, “I can show you how to draw some runes if you like, but anything more interesting, either you’ll have to show me how to draw, or you’ll have to ask Great-Grandpa Kirin to show you how next time you visit us. And ladies,” he said, including Jamie in his stern look, “I expect to hear kitten stories from both of you before you leave.”
Jamie grinned. “They’re both so sweet! You should come by after we eat and see ‘em! They like getting petted.”
“They don’t just like getting petted-- they love it,” Laura put in with a bashful grin. “Whenever I come by, they chirp at me until I pet ‘em both. And the brown one loves to be held. She’ll climb up your shoulder like a bird, Grandpa!”
“Less skilled in catching vermin, but hopefully she’ll get the hang of it,” Zuzia added dryly. “Her sister, meanwhile, is already regularly bringing everyone ‘presents’-- always so nice to wake up to a disemboweled mouse at the edge of your bed, right, Alex?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Better than the baby newt she caught. And released still alive in Molly and Jamie’s room.”
Molly shuddered. “It ran under the bed,” she informed the room. “And Papa couldn't fish it out. The newt was gross”
“Could still be worse,” Morgan noted. Grinning at her parents she said, “Remember Samson? The dog we used to have with the treeing hound in him that the seller wouldn't admit to?”
Phyllo groaned. “How could I forget? No other guard dog we’ve had would bay at the top of its lungs because it thought it treed a squirrel.”
“Remember that time he did corner an actual fox, though?” Morgan needled. “That was going after the chickens? And held it in that hole under the tree in the yard?” Morgan needled.
“He was very proud of himself,” Zuzanna said with a smirk. “That he actually did something right for once.”
Molly giggled. Abruptly, she scurried over to Phyllo and tugged his shirt. “Grandpa, can I sit with you?”
“Sure,” he said, surprised. He pulled her up onto his lap, and she squirmed a bit before settling. “Comfy?”
“Mm-hm,” she agreed. “Everybody is green and pink. It’s nice.”
“There should be no bad colors here today, I don’t think,” Leif said. “Unless Kathleen or Micah gets fussy, I suppose, but I think there are enough people here to distract them, hm?”
Kathleen, indeed, seemed very happy, the little girl giggling as Laura pulled her up into her lap. “I wonder if she’ll like the lemon cake,” the older child mused. “Or if it’ll be too sour.” She ruffled the toddler’s hair. “It might be kind of funny.”
“I remember the first time Alex got the bright idea to stick a lemon wedge he swiped off of the counter in the bakery in his mouth,” Phyllo mused, glancing at his eldest son with a smirk. “It went something like this.”
The Panem patriarch made a startled, puckered expression, sputtering theatrically, as Alex rolled his eyes and Jamie let out a small giggle.
“I would usually call out such an egregious insult to my dignity, but I’ll give you a pass because it’s your birthday, Dad,” Alex said lightly. “Speaking of-- happy birthday. How’s it feel being ancient, Papa?”
“I’ll get back to you on that when I actually am ancient,” Phyllo replied with assumed haughtiness. “Let’s ask a more reliable source- Leif, how does it feel to be ancient?”
“Ancient, am I? Well, I suppose looking after two very stubborn wards when I was in my forties did age me.” Leif smirked.
“Wards?” Zuzia raised a teased brow. “I have never heard of such a thing-- stop making up silly stories, Leif! Old age must be catching up with your head.”
“What’s a ‘ward?’” Molly chirped.
“It means Leif had to babysit your grandma and grandpa when they first came to Kyth,” Silvia explained with a broad grin. “Make sure that Mum wasn’t going to blow anything up or summon any dragons to terrorize the countryside.”
“I was very dangerous,” Zuzanna added cheerily. “Especially once I was super pregnant with Aunt Silvia, Molly. I could have outrun any authority!”
Laura laughed. “Mum, were you a bandit?”
“The worst kind of bandit,” Phyllo agreed gravely. “The kind who fought off Courdonian slave raiders and didn’t resist at all when the Kythian knights arrested us. She was so very, very dangerous.”
In a dramatic stage-whisper, Leif said, “Don’t forget her partner in crime, who did the same thing and then went on to learn how to bake. The power of food should never be underestimated!”
“And now look at us,” Zuzia said. “Such a high-stakes life!” She waggled her brows dramatically. “Why, last night I caught one of the goats trying to steal a dress from the laundry line!”
Molly giggled grinning at Jamie. “Grandma and Grandpa should tell us the story. ‘Bout how they came to Kyth. I bet Tim ‘n Laura ‘n everybody knows it!”
“We can let the birthday boy tell it,” Alex suggested. “Now that you’re ancient, Papa, you love sitting around and regaling young ones with yarns from your youth, right?”
“Yes well certain parts of the story are perhaps a little mature for three and four year old ears,” Phyllo noted dryly. “But I can hit the highlights, I suppose. Provided someone fetches me a slice of cake. Y’know, ancient and all, my legs clearly don’t work as well as they used to.”
“Stew first,” Zuzia said sternly. “You don’t get dessert before supper, old fogey.” Kissing him on the cheek, she stood. “I’ll start serving while you wax about our adventures, love.” She winked. “Make sure not to tell them about the hippogriffs-- they could never deal with such excitement!”
“Hippogriffs?” Jamie breathed. “Oooh! Those are real?”
Phyllo chuckled. “Yes, they most certainly are real- the army in Macarinth, a country just west of Lyell, has them. But that gets ahead of things a bit. To tell the story properly I suppose I should start at the beginning- when Grandma and I first met. Back then, I was a special kind of slave that was used for unpleasant Meltaiman religious ceremonies, and when I was ten years old I happened to get picked to be used in a ceremony for the margrave- the highlord of that region of Meltaim...”
Molly cuddled against Phyllo’s chest, shooting a grin in Jamie’s direction again and then another towards Alex. The man’s eldest son returned the glance with a soft smile of his own, before trailing after his mother to help her ladle out the stew. Jamie, for her part, sprawled down on the rug, nesting her chin in her hand as she gazed up at Phyllo, enraptured already. Leif leaned back against the couch, pulling back the fingers of his gloves one by one as he listened to the familiar story. Phyllo, gazing out at his family, adopted and blood, couldn’t help by smile despite the grim nature of his story’s beginning. He hugged the little girl in his lap, content in the knowledge that like himself and Zuzia all those years ago, she and her sisters too would lead long, happy lives. |
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Post by Tiger on Feb 13, 2016 16:30:32 GMT -5
Core of Goshawk
Another tiny Leif story that attacked me and wrote itself in like two days. Tiny Leif, please teach everyone else in my brain to write themselves faster. Natalia had been to Accipiter Manor three times before, but it had been at least four years since the last time - and now she remembered why she had been rather grateful for the lack of work from Raylier’s ruling body, despite the good pay.
It had started out all right - Richard Accipiter had greeted her cordially-enough, met her at the gate and everything, escorting her to the house and asking if her work the past several years had been good. Even his wife, Cateline, had been decent at the outset, if a little distant. That could easily be exhaustion, however; eight children much take a massive toll on one’s energy, especially with the latest two being three years old and twins. Natalia didn’t really blame her for being so tired - and certainly it was better than completely alert disdain.
Still, Natalia turned the conversation, as politely fast as she could, to the reason behind her visit. “So - your son is in need of a wand, is he?”
“Yes - he just cast colors a few months ago,” Richard said. “We can summon him to the parlor, if that would suit you?”
“As long as you don’t mind my tools on your end tables,” Natalia said, raising her wandmakers’ toolcase slightly and smiling. Cateline didn’t seem to see the joke at all, and Richard’s smile was brief and never reached his eyes. Right - these were very stiff clients. “The parlor will be fine, my Lord.”
Remembering that started to trigger other memories as well, of when Natalia had been here last. She had been crafting a wand for their eldest daughter, whose name she couldn’t quite remember - Renata, or something like that. Natalia remembered the wand a little more clearly - ten inches, sturdy, apple wood - the core had been difficult, wolverine and mongoose working equally well, and crystals making not a lick of difference. She had wound up suggesting wolverine be the final choice, as it also indicated tenacity - but really, she’d been hesitant to combine that with the wand she had made for the Accipiters’ second oldest son a few years before. Ten inches, holly stained dark at the boy’s request, core of spectacled cobra scales - it would have made for an uncomfortable pairing.
At the parlor door, Natalia smiled and tried to act as if she would be left alone in the room. It had been years and three children since the last time she had been here; maybe the Accipiters had learned not to be so domineering. But evidently, no - they had time enough time to sit on on the wandmaking session. Cateline remained behind to keep Natalia company, while Richard went to fetch his son. Natalia knew already that neither of them would be leaving even once the boy had been brought in.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable small-talk with Cateline, the door opened again and Lord Richard herded a small boy with dirty-blond hair into the room. Natalia tried to read the expression in his eyes - you could tell a lot by small tightenings and widenings and little shifts of movements as a person scrutinized a stranger - but the young Accipiter’s eyes were solidly turned down. About all Natalia could see was that he’d inherited his father’s sharp nose. Strong blood on that side of the family. Let’s see - stiff posture, kid’s got his hackles up...not aggressive, though, he’s moving too light for that.
“Madam Natalia, this is our son, Leif,” Richard said after a moment, when it became clear the boy wasn’t going to say anything.
That fact remained clear, and so Natalia smiled and said, “Hello, Lord Leif - did your parents tell you why I’m here?”
The boy finally looked up at her; his eyes were a sharp blue that might have been pretty if there hadn’t been such a guarded expression on his face. He met Natalia’s eyes for all of half a second before looking away, toward the large parlor window. At least he was leaving his head up enough for the wandmaker to read some facial expression, and he finally did speak, answering Natalia’s question with a simple, “You’re the wandmaker.”
“That’s right. My name’s Natalia, if you want to call me that.”
“...Okay.”
Hm - well, she didn’t think there would be any wolf in his wand. “Would you like to sit down, Lord Leif, and I can ask you some questions?” She hesitated, but added, “Nothing we talk about leaves this room.” Which didn’t have much point if his parents were going to hover, but maybe that would be a suitable reminder to them not to pick on the boy for anything he might say.
Leif nodded in response to her request, and moved over to the couch opposite the wandmaker. He sat very carefully, keeping quite a lot of space between himself and his mother - Natalia could see him checking the gap between their legs. He set his hands on his knees, and Natalia realized he was wearing gloves. It was May - hardly glove weather. There must be a reason, but she couldn’t imagine it.
“So,” Natalia began, not unused to having to pull shy kids out of their shells and be the first one to speak, “you cast colors a few months ago, huh? What did you turn?”
“A cer-yoo-lan warbler - that’s a bird. I turned it brown. But I fixed it.” Leif’s eyes flicked between Natalia’s case of materials and the tall parlor window looking out onto the forest.
Natalia raised an eyebrow; it was rare children were able to uncolor the thing they had cast upon; of course, it generally didn’t occur to them to try. As she opened her case of materials, she asked, “How were you able to touch a bird to cast on it in the first place?”
Leif glanced at his mother, and with a slight hesitation, said, “I - I picked him up. His wing got hurt and I wanted to take him to the bird-doctor.”
“We have an aviary,” Cateline explained. “Songbirds and the like, nothing overly-exotic. Leif wasn’t supposed to be in the aviary unsupervised,” she said with a clearly scolding tone, and the boy grimaced. “but someone forgot to lock the door behind them, and he got in and found it.”
“I see.” And this was just the sort of thing Natalia didn’t like parents in the room for - she would have liked to pursue this character lead, see why Leif snuck into the aviary if he wasn’t allowed, and how he had figured out the door was locked in the first place - little things like that would be clues as to how he thought. However, she was unlikely to get truthful answers from the boy in front of his parents. Nor did she want to get him into trouble with said answers.
Well, she could probably follow up on something else. “So you knew it was a cerulean warbler just by looking at it, hm?”
“Mmhmm - ‘cause he was cer-yoo-lan, before I touched him,” Leif said. “‘Cept that only works for boys. Boys are blue and girls are brown. That’s how it is for songbirds - boys are bright colors and girls are brown. It’s ‘cause the girls like pretty boy birds, and the girl birds gotta cam’flage with their nests when they’ve got eggs.”
“...Oh,” Natalia said, blinking. That was quite the sudden tirade. “That’s very interesting, Lord Leif - and very true. I collect a lot of very pretty dropped feathers from, ah, boy songbirds. You like birds, I take it?”
He nodded, a very small gesture, and a smile actually appeared on his face. “I love birds. They’re the best!”
Natalia did not miss a small tap of Cateline’s fingers, or the way Richard’s frown increased slightly at that. What, did they not approve of their children having interests now? She ignored them, however - it wasn’t their wands she was crafting.
For a moment, Natalia thought Leif had perhaps noticed his parents’ discontent, too; his expression went nervous again. But then he glanced up at Natalia, and made a brief second’s eye contact as he asked, “Can - can I have a bird feather in my wand?”
“Leif,” Richard scolded, “We talked about this - you have to let the wandmaker choose your wand core.” Leif winced - but he didn’t rescind his comment, either.
Natalia withdrew a long metal case from her bag. “I don’t know for sure, Lord Leif - if a bird feather isn’t the best core material for you, it’ll have to be something else - but we can certainly try a few and see how they feel.”
The boy nodded again, the gesture more certain this time. “Okay.”
“So what happened to this bird you rescued?” Natalia asked. “You picked him up, he turned a little brown - then what?”
“He turned all brown,” Leif informed her. “I took him to Mother, and she got mad at me, but then we took him to the bird-doctor and Mister Bertran fixed his wing with magic!”
Natalia glanced up at Cateline. “He turned the entire bird brown?”
Lady Accipiter nodded. “Mister Bertran - our aviary-keeper - couldn’t recognize the species until Leif told him that he’d changed the bird’s color.”
“I see.” Natalia pulled out an insert of her case, revealing a stack of what looked like several wands - except for the solid line of space down the center of each one. Natalia pulled three of the wands, each made of a slightly different variety of oak, and pulled the tops off to reveal that each wand was, in fact, hollow. One half of each also had an empty wooden frame meant to hold a gemstone, but still keep them easily swappable. He might need a gem as well - it sounds like he has it finely controlled, but a bit of help coiling that strength might be handy for larger spells later. “I’m glad your bird had a happy ending.”
“Me, too.”
Natalia glanced sideways at the Accipiter parents, but decided to ask anyway, “Did you know you’d get in trouble for being in the aviary?”
Before Leif could reply, Richard said sharply, “Of course he knew - we’ve told him a hundred times not to go in there alone. If he gets hurt, or one of the birds - “
Natalia raised her hands quickly, sparing a glance at Leif - he had squeezed his eyes shut at his father’s loud scolding. “I meant no disrespect, Lord Richard. Knowing why a mage chooses to do something is just as - if not more - important than knowing what they do.”
Richard nodded slightly. He did not offer an apology, which Natalia recalled finding irritating in the past as well. She tried to brush it off, looking back at the boy. “You knew you were going to be in trouble, right?”
“Right,” Leif said quietly, looking at the hollow wands Natalia had laid on the table.
“So why did you bring the bird to your mother?”
Leif’s brow pinched and he glanced up at Natalia again. “...’Cause he had a broke wing and I didn’t know where Mister Bertran was. And I was gonna tell her ‘bout the magic. But later.”
“You could have left him the bird in the aviary, and waited for Mister Bertran to find him.”
“But - but then he would’ve been hurting and sad - birds shouldn’t be hurting and sad!”
“Don’t yell at Madam Natalia,” Leif,” Cateline said.
“It’s all right, Lady Cateline, he’s not yelling at me.” It was very hard for Natalia not to ask her - Richard, too, while she was at it - to please shut up and let her do her job. But if that happened, she was likely not going to get her payment for the commission - not to mention the damage that would do to her reputation.
“All the same,” Richard said, “it’s not polite to shout. ...Leif?”
“Hm?”
“I think you owe Madam Natalia something?”
Quickly, Natalia said, “No, that’s all right, there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Oh,” Leif breathed, and said quickly, “I’m - I’m sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean to.”
...This kid was strange. But at least not malicious. Natalia had seen worse, like the brat of an older son who had taken her cobra scales. There are snake-eating eagles… That would be going a little too far, though, she decided.
“That’s fine, Lord Leif - no offense taken.” She smiled, but doubted the boy saw it. “So, you like birds, you like the aviary - obviously you know a lot about birds, but you wouldn’t learn their names just by watching. Did somebody teach you about them? Mister Bertran maybe?”
“Mister Bertran told me some of them. But I read the books in the library. Some of the words are too big, but I know the little ones. And I learn aaaaall the bird names.”
“It seems so. I don’t think most six-year-olds would know the word ‘cerulean’, let alone what kind of bird it goes with.” Bird-fascination aside, he might be good for a cat - maybe not a housecat, and probably nothing flashy...but a puma, or a lynx, maybe. Or I could try an owl…
“So, I know you have older siblings - I helped them figure out their wands, too; do any of them ever read bird books with you, or go to the aviary?”
“Sometimes they take me to the aviary, if - if they get told to. But they’re loud. They scare the birds. And they don’t wanna sit and watch them. ...And I don’t like getting read to. It’s loud.”
Huh. Natalia wanted to ask about that, but a glance at the Lord and Lady’s face and she realized this was perhaps not a good idea - they seemed freshly annoyed by the mention. “So you like it quiet,” she said instead. “Hmm. All right - I think I have a few ideas.”
Leif looked up, edging to the front of the couch to see. Natalia smiled, despite the stress of the situation; it was cute how fascinated kids were by the whole process, the mystery of the huge wandmakers’ cases and their secret compartments and boxes. “We’ll try oak as your base wood to start with,” she explained, picking up the tin. “And let’s see…” She opened the case, keeping it low enough for the boy to see the contents when she opened it - not to her surprise, he gasped appreciatively at the array of feathers.
“There’s so many!” he whispered. “And you got some from raptors? The girls and boys are the same colors with raptors,” Leif informed Natalia. “And the girls are bigger than the boys!”
“That’s right,” Natalia agreed.
“What kinda feather are you picking?”
“Well...let’s start with this one.” She pulled a tawny, black-flecked feather out of the pile.
Leif, studying the barbs and apparently not noticing the tag hanging from the feather’s shaft, said, “It’s a - uhm - is it a Great Horned Owl?”
“Yes, yes it is.” Leif’s eyes went wide with excitement and he watched very carefully as Natalia carefully pulled the tag free, and lowered the feather toward the hollow wands. “Any one of these in particular you’d like to try first, Lord Leif?”
“Uhm - uhm - that one?” Leif pointed - not reaching his hand out very far - to the palest oak wand. Natalia obligingly settled the feather into that hollow, and carefully clasped the other half back on top of it.
“Give that a try - the way you cast colors, but through the wand instead of your hand.” Natalia pulled a wooden block, painted white, out of her case and set it on the table, then handed the wand to Leif.
Leif held the wand reverently for a moment, then carefully turned it to point at the block. He took a deep breath in, then a breath out...another breath in...and then on the second exhale, a fine, fast-moving haze of green light struck the block, flickered, and disappeared - and left the block a rich crimson.
Natalia rubbed her chin. “Hmm. Fairly close - but I don’t think you had the easiest time with that. How did it feel, compared to casting with your hands?”
“Uhm...”
The fact that he was waffling told Natalia enough. “Let’s try something else.” She held out her hand for the wand.
“...Can we try another bird feather?”
“I have a few others that might work,” Natalia said, and Leif, though clearly reluctant to do so, put it back in Natalia’s hand. He was surprisingly good at keeping their fingers from touching.
Natalia delicately shifted through the feathers, thinking over her next choice. Well, I think raptor for certain - but owl might be too broad. Need something swifter. She had long ago given up trying to deduce the reasons behind her terminology - no, the size of an animal or its parts didn’t factor into anything, nor did levels of power - a weak mage or a strong mage might have an owl feather, one from the same bird, even. But after long enough in this business, a wandmaker started to get a sense for why a particular ingredient wasn’t working, probably built out of tiny cues in the timing and the spellcast and the mage testing the wand, cues the wandmaker might not even be consciously aware of. In Natalia’s case, those subtle instincts manifested as feelings she could only translate as shapes and speeds and the description of movements.
“Maybe a falcon,” she said, pulling another feather free. “Would you like to guess the kind?”
Leif studied the feather carefully. “Not peregrine...not a kestrel…is it a merlin?”
“Yes it is - maybe you’d make a good bird-doctor someday, hm?”
To her surprise, Leif shook his head. “I’m gonna be a priest.” Oh - right. The ‘trained-from-childhood’ thing. Nobles.
“Well, maybe you can do it part-time - Lord ‘Woo would approve of that as community service, I’m sure,” Natalia said as she replaced the owl feather with the merlin’s. “There you are.” She drew her own wand and recast the block to white again before handing the test-wand to Leif. “Go ahead.”
Leif took the deep breaths again - this time he didn’t take nearly as long, but the block - a rather unpleasant shade of yellow-green - wasn’t evenly colored. Frowning at the wand in his hand, Leif said, “Nope. Not a merlin. Feels like trying to grab something wiggly.”
“Let’s not do that one, then,” Natalia said, again accepting the wand back. Hmm. Maybe he needs something right in the middle - a hawk of some kind. Something reclusive, and quiet… Her fingers paused over a gray-white, black-banded feather. Hmm - goshawks are quiet, but they will be fierce when protecting their nestlings…
“Goshawk,” Leif said at once when she plucked it free. “Falconers use goshawks.”
“That they do - that’s where I got this one, actually, a falconer friend of mine.” Natalia fit the feather into the wand and gave it to Leif. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
Leif titled his head. Richard said, “The third time’s lucky, is what she means, Leif.” Natalia was not surprised Leif was scowling when he returned his attention to the block; why did his father have to sound so exasperated? Yes, it was a strange phrase not to know, but the boy was six.
But Leif’s expression calmed as he took his first breath in, and his second - and when he cast his spell again, the block turned a rich, even indigo.
“How was that one?” Natalia asked with a grin.
“Good!” Leif stared at the wand reverently. “I like goshawk!”
“I think it likes you, too. I notice it takes you a while to start the spell, though - can I try adding something?”
Leif hesitated, but handed the wand over. “Different bird?”
“Nope.” Natalia withdrew a small pouch from her case, and carefully tilted its contents onto the table - numerous small crystals and gemstones rolled onto the fine, polished wood. “Let’s see...I think kunzite...quartz...or maybe rhodochrosite might fix that problem,” she said, separating one chalky-white, one semi-transparent, and one pinkish stone from the pile as she named the corresponding crystal type. “Why don’t you pick this one out?” she suggested - and instantly regretted it. Children who didn’t yet understand that gemstones and crystals were worth a lot of money could often pick a gemstone that was at least close to what they needed - but with parents involved…
“White is one of House Accipiter’s colors,” Cateline pointed out.
Natalia could feel her grin becoming rather fixed. It isn’t about prettiness, it’s about a wand that gives him the best spell-casting ability! ...Though it seemed Leif wasn’t exactly leaping to follow his mother’s orders; he studied the gemstones carefully, finally reaching out for the quartz. “Can I try this one?”
“Of course, Lord Leif.” Natalia plucked the quartz off the table, fit it into the loop on the test wand, and passed the boy the instrument again. Another recast on the block...she has a good feeling about this, maybe that would be the last recoloring for the day.
Leif pointed the wand at the block - barely at the end of his first breath, the block changed color to orange. He nodded, slowly but surely, and looked down at the wand the way she imagined he might look at a scruffy baby bird. “This one - I want this one.”
“Oak, core of goshawk feather, quartz crystal,” Natalia recited, as was formal. “Your father sent me arm measurements already; from those I’d say between nine and nine and a quarter inches.”
Richard nodded, and asked for an estimate of the cost, which Natalia quickly calculated and gave. She saw Cateline frown a little, but the lady didn’t raise any objection - which didn’t stop Natalia from coming up with the counter that they could sell any small number of their manor’s fancy decor and probably have enough to pay for the thing, so that was definitely for the best for everyone.
The Accipiters at least didn’t haggle with direct commissions - that would, after all, imply they needed the lower price. They had also received Natalia’s services several times already, so the wandmaker made only a cursory mention as she repacked her case that she would be sending the receipt for the cost of materials when she began working, and that the final bill would come along with the wand’s delivery.
“I think that covers everything, then,” Natalia said, replacing the tin of feathers into her case and then latching the chest shut. “I hope you’re happy with the wand, Lord Leif?”
Leif nodded, still not actually meeting her gaze. “Yeah - it’s a real good wand, it’s gonna have a real raptor feather in it!”
Richard cleared his throat. “Leif? Madam Natalia spent quite a bit of time with us, helping you find a good wand. ...Isn’t there something you say to people who spend a lot of time helping you?”
“Oh - yeah. Uhm - “ He put his hands together and, Natalia presumed, tried to bow his upper body. The motion was off and spoke of inexperience. “Thank you, for the wand.”
“You’re very welcome.” The kid wasn’t exactly high on social graces, but maybe that was no surprise, considering his parents. Hopefully for his sake, he would grow out of it.
Richard escorted her back out to the gate, the two of them accompanied by an Accipiter knight. “So,” Natalia said. “Six when he first cast, hm? Most of your children have been early casters or callers.”
“Yes, I know. We were rather surprised.”
“I almost wonder if he cast earlier than the bird,” Natalia mused. It might explain why the magic had been stronger, turning a living animal entirely another color.
“I don’t think so,” Richard said. “He’s been around mages his entire life - he knows what casting and calling are, and he would know to tell us as soon as it happened.”
Natalia nodded slightly, though she wasn’t so sure. Then again, this wasn’t her home, her children, or her relationships - maybe they were just oversensitive about how their kids acted in front of company. ...Even if not, there wasn’t really much she could do about it.
“And your other children? Their wands have been working out well?”
“Yes, quite well.” They stepped out of the manor and into air that smelled like rain. Oddly early for today, Natalia would have to hurry to drop off her supplies back at the shop and then go see if one of the trees at the edge of town had dropped its loose branch yet.
Richard went on, “It’s good to have a reliable wandmaker whom we can call upon - you’ve always done very well for us.”
“Thank you, sir.” She considered making a joke about wanting only the best for the people who were going to be ruling the city, but decided against it. Not in the best taste, even if the Accipiters hadn’t been lacking sense of humor. “I certainly appreciate the chance to take commissions for your family - it’s always very interesting work.”
Yes, Natalia thought, as the gates were opened and she headed back toward the city proper, between the snake scales and the wolverines and the rampant obsession with birds...the Accipiters made very interesting customers. |
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Post by Tiger on May 23, 2016 18:07:35 GMT -5
Into Thin AirMay 1312 An adventure with Markus Accipiter and his squad of knights! Reference image here Tiny Prologue”Tell him the one about the disappearing cattle,” Leif called. “I want to see if Sieg can guess what was behind - Oh ’Woo, that’s a beautiful kestrel!”
“That one’s cheating,” Markus retorted, but Leif, distracted by practically cooing over the tiny raptor Master Delacroix had brought to him, only gave him a slight and dismissive wave. Rolling his eyes, Markus said, “All right, disappearing livestock story it is.” Part OneMarkus Accipiter had seen a lot of cattle in his life; it came with serving as a knight of House Curys and thus protecting the largest expanse of flatland in Corvus. Usually he didn’t mind cows; they didn’t cause much trouble, they tasted good, and they were even sort of cute if you looked at them the right way. Right now, however, tromping through a freshly-cleared cattlepen and pretending all the brown and wet and reeking mess on his boots and greaves was just mud, Markus could happily have gone without seeing another cow ever again. Apparently someone else, however, couldn’t get enough of cows. Or pigs. Or goats. If the village of Bexley had been wealthy enough to afford horses, those probably would have been disappearing in the night, too. The previous night’s stolen cow, snatched just hours before the arrival of the squad of House Curys knights that morning, matched the reports of all the other thefts - gone without a trace. The only evidence the cow hadn’t simply been years of miscounting on the herders’ part were the blood-spatters against a nearby fence-post. At least, they presumed it was the missing cow’s; none of the other cattle were injured so it seemed a fair assumption. The owner of the small herd claimed to have been woken by the sound of the cows panicking and rushed outside, but found nothing there. “Didn’t see any wolves or cats or nothin’, and the dogs didn’t bark,” he’d told the knights gruffly. “I thought maybe it was just some animal the cows scared off with their stompin’ around. Couldn’t have been, though, if it actually got somethin’ - the cows would’ve panicked again.” Aside from the bloodstain, however, the herder claimed there were no bones or signs of anything being dragged off - which did fit the pattern the knights had been told to expect. This didn’t deter Captain Alden from declaring that he would have some knights search the pasture for any clues, while the others searched the surrounding area. As if they would find anything, given how much the cows had obviously stirred up the muck with their midnight panic. Unfortunately, Jamison Blackburn made this comment a little too loudly as they were walking toward the field, and Alden had replied to it by announcing that Jamison could take the first of the three wooden rakes propped against the cattleyard fence. Brandt, who had been carefully gathering pieces of straw for a draw to see who would take the shovels, removed one of the shortest pieces before holding it out to the others. Markus knew immediately that the tiny straw he drew was one of the other short ones; the third was plucked by Tanner Attwater, the squad’s youngest knight. Captain Alden, Brandt, and Desmond had been gone in their search for any sort of animals, predatory or predator ized, for almost an hour. That was a long time to stand in cow muck. “So are they coming back?” Markus asked Tanner as their paths crossed. “Or was that ‘we’ll totally trade shifts with you later’ thing a lie, you think?” The younger knight, distinctive by the contrast of his dirty-blond hair and deep-brown skin, grimaced and squinted his blue-green eyes at the sun to gauge the time. “Well, we’re almost finished; I don’t think they’re going to make it back in time to do any work.” “The camaraderie of knights,” Jamison grumbled sarcastically as he tromped over to join them. “Yes, truly - just like getting them assigned to it in the first place because they couldn’t keep their comments to themselves.” “Tanner, did Markus Accipiter just judge me for saying something stupid?” “I think he did, but I’d have to hear it again to be sure,” Tanner replied with a perfectly innocent expression. “Maybe it was just the wind?” Markus waved a finger admonishingly. “Don’t you two act like I’m being hypocritical - I’m not. You were complaining; I, however, am a charming sarcastic prat.” Jamison nudged Markus’ hand aside. “Could’ve fooled me.” “Aw, thanks; it’s nice to hear you think I’m not a prat.” Tanner said, “I think Jamison’s about to show you what he really does think of you, Markus - and I think it’s going to involve what we’re standing in. So if I duck out of the way…” “I understand - after all, you’re a knight, you have to show proper knightly camaraderie.” “It’s not my fault you two are out here, anyway,” Jamison said, ignoring the diversion. “The captain would have sent two more knights out either way; the fact it was you is the straws’ fault - the ‘Woo must’ve wanted you raking up today.” Sighing and crossing his arms, he groused, “But there’s nothing in this blighted field to find. Or if there ever was, it’s lost under all this…” It was clear Jamison tried, but in the end, he couldn’t censor himself from describing the field’s contents in a way the cows would probably have found very hurtful had they understood Kythian. “If there was anything to find, it should’ve been over by the blood on the fence, and we’re pretty far from that now,” Tanner agreed. “And we went over that ground at least twice each. I think the cattle-herder’s right; it’s not a predator.” “I’m inclined to agree.” Jamison wiped sweat from the back of his neck, just below the base of his curly black hair. “We should probably wait for the captain to get back with a report of what they found - but if this is a predator, what’re the odds that this has been going on almost a week and not one farmer has found so much as a bone or a patch of fur?” Markus set his rake, tines-down, on the field and almost rested his chin atop his hands - fortunately the smell of the field hit him before he could lower his face even closer. “Well - could be that the report was missing things. But you’re right, it seems pretty weird that hasn’t happened. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of options - really clever heisters, or magic, right?” Both Tanner and Jamison nodded, Jamison elaborating, “I guess we always have to consider the mundane first - but this really strikes me as a magical problem.” Jamison’s family were almost entirely mages; even though Jamison himself was an exception to that rule, he did know quite a bit about the subject. “Sounds reasonable. But there aren’t spells for vanishing entire cows, right?” Markus guessed. He was also from a family of mostly mages, after all, though only a few of the Accipiters came even close to rivaling the Blackburn mages in terms of power and skill. “Vanishing spells wouldn’t work on them, no. Full-grown cows are too big, and using Vanishing Spells on any animal is hard, even if it’s small. The spell wouldn’t leave blood, anyway. Now, a camouflage spell - that would work just fine. And the mage could use it on themselves, too, to boot.” “I almost hope that’s not the case,” Markus said. “Tracking camouflaged mages is a pain.” Tanner frowned, tilting his head at Jamison. “But what about the blood? Camouflage spells wouldn’t do that either, right? Something attacked it.” “Yeah, that is weird.” Markus agreed. “I mean, whoever took the cow probably wanted to butcher it - but they ought to be smart enough to get it somewhere else first.” “You’d think.” Jamison smirked wryly, but his expression quickly clouded. “Though that’s a good point; a wounded animal’s not going to be very cooperative, and it would probably panic the rest of the herd. Unless that’s the point, panicking the herd as a distraction...though all that noise is exactly what gets them almost-caught in the first place.” Jamison shook his head. “But as for what could have caused it - with the spatter, I’d guess a cutting spell.” “With a lot of force behind it,” Markus agreed with a slight grimace. Like no small number of Corvid knights, Markus had personal experience with what exactly a forcefully-cast Dwoofindo could do. “But what, was this guy trying to slash the fence open and missed?” Tanner suggested, “Maybe we should wait until we talk to the reeve, and see what the captain and the others found?” “Yeah, probably. Hopefully our dear, dutiful brothers-in-arms found something useful.” Markus carefully lifted the rake from the mucky ground. “They’ve been gone a while, too - shall we get cleaned up and see if we can find them, then?” ******* Fortunately for the knights, three men in Curys colors and on horseback rode into view just as Markus, Tanner, and Jamison were finishing cleaning their boots of cow droppings. “About time,” Jamison muttered. “I was starting to wonder if they’d abandoned their horses and gone to search the woods on foot.” “Maybe they did.” Markus said. “But at least we don’t have to mount a rescue - we probably smell enough like the field back there that they wouldn’t be especially grateful to us sweeping them out of danger.” Tanner suggested, “Could be they found something?” “I’d hope they’d have sent someone to fetch us as backup.” “Let’s stop bickering about it and go find out,” Markus said, motioning for Tanner and Jamison to follow as he started for the mounted knights. Captain Alden pulled his horse to a stop as the two trios came close enough to speak without shouting. He was noticeably older than the knights under his command, with already-evident frown-lines indented in his long face, though his blond hair hadn’t yet started graying. The knights behind him came to a stop as well - immediately behind Alden was the heavily-tanned, black-haired Desmond Clay, and Brandt Foster, a pale-skinned, white-blond haired knight who looked almost like he might be a close relative of the captain, brought up the rear, a bow strapped to his back. Markus, Tanner, and Jamison saluted, and Alden returned the gesture curtly and quickly. “Anything to report?” he asked them. “No, sir,” Jamison said. “The field’s nothing but muck; we went through it a few times to be sure. Nothing.” “That matches the reports, then,” Alden said. “Sorry we left you high and dry there,” Brandt said with an apologetic but still-cheery grin. “Or...not-dry, as the case may be. We found a few things of interest and wound up farther in the woods than we thought.” “Woods?” Markus repeated dubiously. “Yes - you know, Markus, one of those places with lots of clustered trees? It’s not much of a wood, granted, but it’s there.” “It’s woods enough to have wolves,” Desmond said in a husky voice. “We tracked some prints a ways. Looks like a small pack.” Desmond eternally sounded as if he were getting over a sore throat, but a glance in his direction would suggest an alternative - the long scars along the left side of his face disappeared into his short beard, but Markus knew they only grew grislier beneath his high collar and down his shoulder and side. Desmond had been quite lucky to survive the werewolf attack that had inflicted those wounds, that it had been his vocal chords and not his jugular that had been damaged. “But if it was wolves, someone would have found prints near the pens by now,” Tanner said dubiously. “And more likely, they’d have seen actual wolves, too.” “As near as we can tell, the pack hasn’t left the forest,” Alden said. “And they made no move to engage us, so it’s reasonable to think they might be shy of humans.” “Hmm - not a good trait for livestock-thieves,” Jamison agreed. “Could be they just weren’t sure what to make of the horses,” Markus said. “Couple hundred pounds of something that smells like deer but sure doesn’t look or act like it? I’d be cautious, too. But I think I’m with Tanner; they’re not going to have gone unnoticed for this long.” “And they wouldn’t need to take cows and pigs every night.” “That, too,” Markus said with a nod to Tanner. Jamison said, “We’re thinking magic is pretty likely at this point.” “It could very well be. We can’t rule anything out just yet.” Alden adjusted his grip on his horse’s reins and said, “I’ve arranged for us to speak to the reeve when we get into the town proper; it’s already later in the day than I intended, so if you three are done here, let’s get going.” ******* After speaking briefly to the cattleherder, Markus, Jamison, and Tanner re-saddled and mounted their own horses, and the six-man company made their way onto the trail leading to the village - a little town called Bexley - proper. The path was only barely wide enough for the knights to ride in single-file without trampling the grass on either side of the trail. Markus kept expecting a wall to come into view past Desmond and Alden and their horses, but no - it was the roofs of taller buildings he saw first. There was a small wall around this central part of the city, but it would have been easy enough to climb over, if anyone were minded. Now, could wolves get over it, is the question, Markus mused as they paused to let Alden give verification and present his knight badge to two men in padded leather armor on either side of the rather rickety-looking gate. Each of them had a small bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as a few spears leaning against the fence - taking down bandits or animals at a distance would be much safer than letting the walls be tested. Markus gave the guards a nod and a smile as his horse filed into the city after the others; one of them nodded back. Both of them looked a little uneasy, maybe because the six knights were rather large fish, armor and combat wise, entering a small pond. Or maybe it was the strange goings-on and the fact that it had brought knights from House Curys to their door. A bit of both, perhaps. Shrugging it off, Markus turned his head to take in Bexley. His first impression was that it was tiny. He could see the opposite wall if he looked carefully between the buildings, most of which seemed to be houses. A few slightly taller buildings stood near the center of town - one had a steeple that identified it as the church. It looked like there might be a little space in the center of some of the taller buildings for a bit of a marketplace, but everything else was rather cramped and short. The paths were at least wide enough for the horses to spread out a bit.. The second thing Markus noticed was not lost on his comrades. From behind him, Jamison muttered, “It’s very quiet here.” “Sure is.” Markus looked around. “Where is everyone? They didn’t evacuate the town and not tell us, right?” “Everyone must be in the fields,” Tanner said, spurring his horse forward a little. “This is a farming village, too, right? Peaches and cashews, the report said?” “Sounds right.” “Isn’t May a little early for harvesting?” Jamison asked skeptically. “Maybe for peaches. But the cashews should be ready by now. The cashew trees we had back home were always grown by now, anyway.” Tanner, unlike the rest of the company or most knights in general, had been born essentially a peasant, his hometown a small village on a river tributary. The village had not, however, been small enough to escape occasional drafts into militia that occasionally backed up knights and warmages and other trained soldiers. Tanner’s father had wound up caught in one of these drafts, and that was how he’d come into the position of protecting a man at the cost of his own life. That man turned out to have had access to both money and sway with House Curys - enough to offer his rescuer’s son a position as a Curys knight. It was kind of a twisted gift, Markus thought - but then, it was a decently-paying job that could help him provide for his family, and the honor and prestige that came with the title had its uses, too. So did his small-town life experience, however - the company certainly found it a useful perspective. It helped make them seem a little less stupid when there were helping out little towns like this one, guided their expectations and inquiries… And sometimes, it was fun asking and getting answers to questions the knights would never have thought to ask on their own. “So what’s a cashew look like on a tree, anyway?” Markus asked. “I’m imagining something like grapes, but a cluster of nuts instead of fruit.” “They don’t grow like that,” Tanner assured him. “There’s a sort of...pod, I guess, like peas have, and the cashews are inside that. The pod comes off the bottom of a fruit called a cashew apple. We used to pick the cashew apples sometimes, although we left the nuts alone because of the acid, but - “ “Wait wait wait - what, Tanner?” Jamison demanded. Markus managed to turn in time to catch the incredulous look on his comrade’s face as he demanded, “ Acid?” Tanner shrugged. “Acid. Or something like it - If you break open the nut, there’s this liquid inside that’ll blister your skin and burn pretty badly. One of my brothers-in-law has some scars on his hand from the time he tried slicing one open with a knife when he was a teenager. ...He’s a lot more careful now.” “Wow,” Markus said. “Well, I was going to throw in something about grape-harvesting and the timing on that...but now grapes seem downright tedious compared to acid-spitting pods, so I’ll just shut up now.” Brandt called up from the back of the line. “What's that? Surely I didn’t hear Sir Markus say he was going to shut up?” “Everyone seems remarkably hard of hearing today,” Markus noted. Jamison called back to the archer in a regretful tone, “Only about grapes, I think.” “Ah, well - we’ll have to take what we can get. Desmond, did you hear that? A moment of silence from Sir Markus!” Desmond turned his head to look Markus over with critical green eyes. “It’s a start.” “Not a start that’ll last long, sad to say,” Markus replied, beaming. “Can’t teach an old Markus new tricks. Well, unless you’re the captain.” “Duly noted.” Alden’s voice was dry as Desmond’s, but it was hard to say he was joking.Thinking it might be best to get off that topic as soon as possible, Markus asked, “So, what horrors lurk in peaches, Tanner? Poisonous thorns? Spontaneous combustion? Ooh - violent explosion with seed shrapnel?” ******* They were met just outside the church by a man with a neatly-pressed tunic and dark, scruffy hair. Markus noticed shadows under the man’s eyes as he came to greet the dismounting soldiers, but the man’s voice was warm with gratitude as he said, “The knights from House Curys - thank the ‘Woo you’re here! Welcome to Bexley, Sirs.” “Thank you,” Alden said, shaking the man’s hand. “You’re the reeve we were told to meet, yes?” “Yes, that would be me.” He tilted his head slightly. “Our cattleherder’s son said you stopped to check his pasture for any clues - I don’t suppose you found any?” “Nothing that tells us for certain what this is. Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private?” The reeve nodded, absently ruffling his hair with his hand. “Yes, of course - come with me, I’ll take you to my office. That’s where all my records of these attacks are, anyway. ...Unless, you needed rest? The letter we received from House Curys said you were on the road already.” Alden glanced over his shoulder at the squad, but turned back quickly and told the reeve, “We’ll be fine. The sooner we get started solving this problem, the better.” The reeve lead them to a small house next to the church. A desk was placed awkwardly near one wall, and judging by the other furniture scooted out of the way of the six chairs, only a few of them matching, set out in a half-circle on its far side, this was a temporary arrangement. Markus saw a door leading to another room that might be a proper office, but given the house’s small size, he guessed it was a little too small to fit seven people even close to comfortably. “So,” the reeve said, taking his own seat behind the paper-strewn desk. “You weren’t able to find anything from the cows?” Alden turned his head slightly to look at Jamison, Markus, and Tanner. “Sir Blackburn?” Jamison shook his head. “No, nothing their herder didn’t see. Just blood spatter against the fence, and there’s not much we can do with that beyond speculation.” “Any thoughts?” the reeve asked . “It could be from a cutting spell - but it doesn’t make much sense for anyone to use a cutting spell while trying to steal an animal, especially one as big and heavy as a cow.” “A cutting spell - so, it might be a mage.” The reeve’s tone suggested this was an idea he had considered before. “It might be, but - “ “But,” Alden cut in, “hearing more about these thefts would help us determine if that has to be the case, or if there might be other things we should be keeping an eye out for.” “Right. Yes, of course.” The reeve fumbled through a few of the papers on his desk, raking his fingers through his hair again. “All right, well - this all started exactly a week ago last night - so, seven times. We’re not sure what started it; nobody noticed anything unusual, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone new in the area - certainly not in Bexley.” The reeve separated a sheet of paper from his stack and slid it toward Alden. “This is a list of all the animals taken. It’s been every night since the first. In total, we’ve lost two pigs, three goats, and now a second cow.” “Any obvious order to it?” Brandt asked, peering over the captain’s shoulder. “No.” Alden passed him the paper to Brandt so he could look for himself. “These are in date-order, and if there’s a pattern, it’s obscure.” “Crimes of opportunity, then?” Markus suggested. “It’d make more sense, whoever’s doing this obviously won’t want to be caught.” “But after seven thefts, who wouldn’t be on guard?” Desmond countered. “Everyone here works long, hard hours, Sirs,” the reeve put in. “Some people can spare someone to watch their animals, or take shifts, and those fields seem to be safe - but for most of them, it’s not possible. Usually dogs do just fine, but, well - did they tell you they haven’t been barking until after the animal’s been taken?” Alden nodded. “That was mentioned, yes.” “So no dogs barking until the animals are spooked, no tracks, the animal completely disappears… Sounds like magic to me,” Jamison said. Desmond rasped, “I can think of something else - what about a dragon?” “...What about one?” Jamison asked. “It could be taking the livestock. The way a hawk takes a mouse.” Desmond held out one hand, raised his other arm high, and mimicked a bird swooping down onto an animal, even lifting his other hand a few inches to round out his demonstration. “I - I don’t think it’s a dragon,” the reeve stammered. Markus wondered if he was just hoping that wasn’t the case, until the man added, “These attacks only happen at night, and the only nocturnal dragons - in this part of the province, anyway - are prowlers. They only get to the size of big wolves, that isn’t big enough to swoop down and take away a grown cow. ...Right?” “It would have to be an unnaturally large prowler,” Brandt mused as he passed the paper to Desmond. “But even if you did get an especially big one - they’re ground-hunters, right? Their feet are more paw-like than talonish. You’d be more likely to get swooping with a wyvern or a crestie or the like than a prowler.” “Yes - that exactly.” The reeve’s words were almost a sigh of relief. “I’d say you’re likely right about this being magical, Jamison,” Brandt said before turning back to the reeve. “Are there any mages in town?” The reeve protested, “I don’t think anyone on Bexley would take them. Where would anyone be hiding them, anyway?” “You’d be surprised, actually,” Markus said, taking the list of stolen livestock as Desmond passed it to him. “Some people are real inventive with storage space. I can’t count the number of makeshift basements we’ve seen, and with mages, it’s even worse. Like there was the time we were attacked by a good twenty bandits coming out of what looked like a normal closet - ” “Don’t forget the one hiding in the fireplace,” Tanner said ruefully. His tone was understandable, as he’d been the one nearly stabbed by said bandit when she had lunged out of hiding. “Oh, of course not - but she was in a different abandoned house. I was going to go in chronological order, tell him about the stolen horses locked up in the spare barn on their owner’s property first.” “We’ll be searching a lot of ground,” Alden said, making a gesture with his hand to indicate Markus should shut up. “But if you do have innocent mages here, then their help uncovering evidence would be appreciated.” “None of you are mages, then?” “No,” Alden said simply. “We were close by. Did you specify needing mages in your report to Araydian?” “Ah...no, I did not,” the reeve admitted. “It seemed a little...presumptuous. But, of course, I mean no offense, Sirs.” “I assumed not,” Alden assured him. “Now - should I take it you don’t have mages here, then?” “Well…” The reeve raked his hair back again. “We do have one mage here. I guarantee he isn’t responsible; he has no reason to be. And I’ve already asked him to investigate the first several sites for any signs of magic, but he found nothing.” “Nothing?” Jamison repeated dubiously. “He told me that doesn’t mean nothing was ever there, just that he couldn’t detect it by the time he investigated.” Jamison insisted, “We’ll need to speak with him, Captain.” Alden nodded. “Agreed. What is this mage’s name, and where can we find him?” The reeve hesitated. “He’s...Master Wortham is likely not going to be...overly cooperative with you, Sirs.” Markus’ eyes flicked toward Captain Alden, who, sure enough, had raised a single eyebrow at this statement. “Pardon?” Looking very much how Markus felt when Alden gave him that same look, the reeve edged back, dropped his gaze, and said with a sigh, “Master Wortham...he means well. He helps the people living here, sometimes at no financial gain to himself, and I can’t think of a reason he would suddenly turn on us. He is a little...bitter toward certain people, however.” “Knights, I take it?” Brandt guessed, brow furrowed with confusion. “No, not knights...nobility. And I know, knights are technically not always very high noblemen - no offence meant to any of you, of course - but he often doesn’t make that distinction.” Markus glanced at Tanner, and they exchanged brief, wry smirks. Between an Accipiter who, purely by blood, outranked everyone in the room, and a peasant whose knightship had been a gift, this squad would give Wortham both more and less nobility than he expected. Probably he’ll just figure the two cancel each other out. Good thing the captain sticks with “Sir Markus” most of the time.. “Bitterness or not,” Alden said, his tone unflinching, “we’ll need to speak to him. If he really does care about the people in this town, he’ll set his feelings aside.” “Out of curiosity,” Brandt asked, “why is he bitter about nobles? Probably best we avoid setting him off even more.” The reeve sighed. “Master Wortham comes from a town near Araydian. His family wasn’t very well-off, so they weren’t able to give him very much mage-training. From what I gather, Master Wortham thought he could get a noble’s sponsorship to complete his studies...but clearly, that wasn’t the case. He might not have been a powerful enough mage to interest them, but he seems to feel it was more a deliberate exclusion; nobles wanting to keep their power within their own ranks.” Alden nodded curtly and said, “I see. We’ll try not to stir your mage up - but we still need to speak with him.” The reeve relented and gave them the address; as he copied it onto a scrap of torn parchment, Markus finally looked down at the sheet Desmond had passed to him. He couldn’t see any patterns in the types, quantities, or dates the animals were stolen, either, and passed it on to Tanner as the reeve handed the small scrap to Alden. “Thank you,” the captain said, tucking the scrap into a pocket. “I expect he’ll be compliant enough.” “I hope so, Captain.” The reeve shifted some papers around again, and finally pulled out a large, creased parchment, which he turned toward the knights. “This is a map of the town and the surrounding land; you can see the church here - and this is the cattleherd you started in. I’ve marked every field where an attack has taken place” The knights leaned forward to examine the map more closely. “There are attacks inside and outside the wall?” Markus asked, motioning to pens on either side of a thick line wrapping around the central buildings. “Yes,” the reeve said, adding, “There are fewer attacks in town than out, but I’d be careful to secure your horses somewhere safe tonight.” Tanner tapped at one large open but light-bordered space, marked with an icon of a tree. “These are the orchards, right?” “They are. We farm peaches and cashews.” The reeve sighed. “Obviously the past few years have been hard, what with the drought - we were hoping this year would be much better, but now we’re having trouble with pests. I’ll warn you, you may have some trouble finding people to question, if that’s something you wanted to do; fending off the bugs is keeping the farmers tied to their fields.” “Not to mention it looks like half the houses aren’t in the town proper,” Desmond noted in his rough voice. “Even with the horses, questioning people’s going to take a while.” The reeve recommended, “Go out in the evening to do it, if you can. The farmers will be back in their houses instead of the fields, and I’m sure some of them will stop by the inn for a drink if they can.” He tapped a building not far from the church. “If only to see the visiting knights.” Alden leaned forward to study the map, and after a moment, traced a finger around what looked like a long crack drawn in a northern section of the forest west of Bexley. “What is this?” “A ravine. Every so often, older children wander out that way and get hurt somehow. It’s not exceptionally deep, but the walls are sheer, so it’s more-or-less a straight drop downward. ...You don’t think thieves are hiding out there? It’s not much of a hiding place. Far too narrow.” “Again, you’d be surprised,” Markus said. Alden nodded slightly, and said, “We’ll scout it as well. It can’t hurt to be certain.” He looked up at the reeve and continued, “I think searching the forest will be our priority tomorrow, but in the meantime - if the pattern holds, there will be another attack tonight. I’d like to set up a patrol, but would prefer my men get a chance to rest first. Is there a particular time these attacks seem to be occurring?” “Not immediately after dark - generally between midnight and the early morning hours. The latest one was between three and four in the morning, but there was a heavy storm most of that night that I think explains it.” “Weird they didn’t skip all-together,” Markus said, frowning at the ink buildings and fields on the map. “I get it, midnight cravings, but if the sky’s dumping enough water to flood Jade Manor, you let it go.” “Well, if they’re mages, it wouldn’t be too hard to protect themselves from the rain,” Brandt pointed out. “It might make decent cover as well.” “Then why would it take so much longer?” Tanner said, “Clearly you’ve never tried getting a cow or goat left in the rain to do anything that doesn’t involve getting out of the rain.” Alden interrupted, saying, “It seems there’s time to get settled, then. You mentioned an inn - or is there a place you recommend we pitch tents?” “You’re welcome to stay at the inn - there won’t be competition for rooms, there aren’t any traders or the like in town at the moment,” the reeve assured them. “And thank you - if you can catch whoever’s taking the animals, that would be a huge relief for everyone in town.” The tavern was a little place compared to the local taverns in Araydian, or Raylier, or any of the actual cities Markus had visited over the course of his training and career - and yet, it was still probably the biggest building in town after the church, and made slightly larger still by having a small plot of land outside. Goats grazed in the penned area, a hencoop hugged the tavern wall, and what Markus guessed were tomato plants curled around stakes in a section fenced off from the goats. There were indeed rooms available, and the innkeeper beamed when Alden handed her the coin for the reservations. Meals, she said, would be on the house; this visibly pleased the knights - they were all sick of travel rations. First, however, they needed to tend to their horses and pack ponies. The innkeeper offered them space in the barn, which was a glorified way of referring to a small stablehouse just across from the inn. A cow and her calf were already housed in one of the stalls, but to Markus’ surprise, all the others were empty. A rather overwhelmed-looking stablehand explained that the innkeeper had been keeping space open for the Curys knights’ horses, since “they got you here faster, and you might need ‘em for fighting the bandits or whatever’s doin’ all this.” “We might not be all that popular, taking up this much space.” Markus warned as he got to work unsaddling his horse, a palomino charger named Millicent. “It seems like some farm animals could be kept in here, and that might be safer.” “Well, like the stableboy said - we need the horses so we can investigate quickly and fight effectively,” Brandt said from the next stall over. “The faster we handle this, the better - and for everyone’s livestock, not just the ones they can cram in here.” “That doesn’t mean everyone will like it,” Tanner said grimly as he wiped the sweat from his horse’s fur. “We could have some hard feelings toward us.” “We’ll handle that,” Alden said as he stood from checking his horse’s hooves. “We aren't here to make friends, and if they can't comprehend that being cooperative gets us out of town faster, point it out to them.” “Permission to try being friendly first, Captain?” Markus ventured. “Within reason.” “Yeah, make sure you're not getting too friendly,” Jamison said in an almost sing-song voice. “Or someone back home’s going to be jealous. And possibly vengeful.” “Rest assured, Jamison, I have no desire to see how quickly and neatly Linnea can slice me into a bunch of cubes. Not to mention I’m a gentleman.” “Oh, pardon me.” “Poor Jamison - you’re just nervous you have to rely on your own charms this time, aren’t you?” Brandt chided from the half-wall he was sitting on to better dry down his horse’s back. “I have charm - plenty of charm! Markus was always borrowing it from me.” Desmond laughed. The stableboy twitched in surprise at the sound; the harsh rasp made it a startling sound the first few times one heard it. “And yet Markus has had a girl for almost two years now, and you’re the one still looking. Funny how the ‘charm’ seems to be divied out.” “Aww, don’t pick on him,” Markus said. “Maybe it was Linnea’s doing more than mine.” “And the people before that?” Brandt asked. “...He’s got a point there, Jamison.” Jamison snorted, and his horse mimicked the sound. “No judgement from you,” Jamison told his charger, lightly tapping her nose. “Well, the point is, Brandt - I don’t need Markus’ help. I’ll do just fine on my own.” “I’m sure,” Desmond said dryly. “Not having Markus along means he won’t interrupt your stories with how they really happened, after all.” “We’ll have a night out when we get back to Araydian,” Brandt said. “We can bring Tanner, and Desmond, if he’s feeling like joining us.” “Not if Desmond’s going to accuse me of lying,” Jamison said with mock-threat in his tone, pointing currybrush at the scarred knight. “Name one time I’ve exaggerated a story, Desmond. Go ahead.” “Where to start - let’s see, how many bandits was it we fought at Pike’s Hill? And how many did you tell that girl from Iscaria?” “That doesn’t count, I thought aht was the number right up until you corrected me right in front of her!” Alden interrupted the conversation by very firmly clicking his stall door into place. “I would prefer you don’t get this friendly with the townspeople, Sirs. The stew in the inn is probably done by now, by the way.” The knights got back to work very quickly. ******* The tavern floor was at least a touch bigger than it looked from the outside, but Markus still felt like the six knights were an obvious imposition as they found seating. A woman in a stained apron hurried over to their table. “The soup will be ready in just a few moments, Sirs. ...Can I get you drinks in the meantime?” “No alcohol,” Alden reminded the table, as if any of them would consider such a thing while on duty and sharing a table with their notoriously stern captain. “Just water, then?” Alden nodded, but Markus said, “Actually, I’m curious - Sir Attwater here - “ he jerked a thumb toward Tanner, “says cashew trees grow a fruit called cashew apples? Now, he could’ve been playing me for a fool - it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tricked me into asking a stupid question - but if cashew apples are a thing, are they a thing one makes juice out of?” The woman nodded. “Yes, we grow cashew apples, and yes, we juice them - it turns alcoholic in a couple days, but we usually heat some of our batch to knock the alcohol out, if you want that? ...Though as a fair warning - we haven’t had a real good harvest this year, so it’s not exactly choice fruit every time. And I’ve heard it doesn’t taste like juice from apples like you get from Rindfell. Peach juice may be more to your taste.” “Well, I’d be interested in finding out what cashew apple juice does taste like,” Markus assured her with a smile. “And I’ll pay for peach juice as a replacement if need be, Captain. Any of you gentlemen willing to brave the perils of new fruit juices with me?” “Sure, I’ll try anything once,” Brandt said jauntily. “I’ll have a pint, please?” Tanner volunteered. “I’ve never had cashew apples juiced.” “One for me as well.” Jamison smirked across the table at Markus. “You aren’t going to get to say you tried something I didn’t, especially when it’s just fruit juice.” “Good choice - we Raylish take drinks very seriously,” Markus said with a slow, stern nod. From the corner of his eye, he saw a smile flick across the serving girl’s face. Much better. And anyway, building goodwill in at least a few places now would make investigating a lot easier down the line. Desmond remarked to Captain Alden, “I suppose if the rest of the table’s getting it, we might as well try some.” Alden nodded, and the woman left to tend to the pot hanging over the fire. The stew wasn’t exactly a luxury meal, but it was far better than travel rations; the knights tucked in eagerly. Their cashew apple juice arrived, and while Markus didn’t exactly see himself seeking it out in the future, he didn’t regret trying it. The taste was good - sweet, at first, not entirely unlike a peach, then rapidly sharpening into something rather like a citrus. Less pleasant was the dry feeling it left in his mouth afterward. He was quite relieved when the serving girl brought them water just a few minutes later. As they were finishing their soup and awaiting Alden bringing up the topic of patrol, Markus heard the door to the inn scrape loudly open. He glanced up and saw a bronze-skinned man probably a few years younger than Markus’ current twenty-six trying to haul in a small barrel. He looked to be having trouble getting it over the slightly raised hearth and then around the door; after a moment’s struggle, he paused, shaking brown hair out of equally caramel-brown eyes and huffing in frustration. Markus got out of his seat. “Need a hand?” he called. “If you could hold the bloody door so it stops - “ The young man glanced over his shoulder and his eyes darted over Markus’ attire. “Oh! Sir - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - “ “You’re fine - it sounds like it’s the door that owes people an apology.” Markus reached out and held back the errant entry-barrier. “Thank you, Sir - usually my dad and brother help me out, but they’re finishing work at the orchard tonight.” He heaved the barrel a little further into the inn. It still didn’t look particularly easy. “I’m guessing you don’t bring two people along so they can both hold open the doors, eh?” Markus looked over at the table; Tanner was watching the two of them and happened to be closest. “Hey, Attwater - mind giving us a hand?” Tanner blinked sharply, but hurried out of his seat. “Right - of course.” The farmer looked a little dubious, probably because Tanner was a noticeable few inches shorter than the rest of the company, and built less like Markus and more like Brandt. Tanner, however, showed no signs of struggling with the barrel’s weight as he helped the other man lift it. In fact, the farmer was prompted to say, “Be gentle - they’re peaches, very soft-skinned.” Markus closed the door behind the two men as they wrestled the peaches into the inn, and quietly followed them as they took the barrel to the bar and set it just behind the counter. “There - I was wondering how long it’d take to get that across the room by myself.” The farmer wiped some sweat from his forehead with a sleeve, then held out a hand - the opposite hand - to the knights. “Thanks for the help - name’s Kent.” “Hullo, Kent - call me Markus.” “I’m Tanner Attwater - nice to meet you, Kent.” Before they could say anything more, the innkeeper stepped out from a back room. “Ah, there ya are, Kent! Was wondering if you were coming tonight. Lemme get your payment - like a drink, or d’you need to be getting back?” “Well, I’m in no rush - got done speaking to Master Wortham earlier than I thought.” If Markus had been a dog, his ears might have pricked. Wortham - that was the uncooperative mage, wasn’t it? “But I’d better not,” Kent went on apologetically. “Not with money tight as it is.” Markus interjected slowly, “Actually, if you’re not needed elsewhere - Mister Kent, if we bought you that drink, would you mind talking to us about some things? We’re still trying to get a feel for the whole town and all - figure out what’s normal so we can tell when something isn’t.” “Oh - well, I wouldn’t mind helping you there. Much as I can; I farm peaches, so I’m out in the field most days. And y’don’t need to buy me a drink, Sirs, not when you’re here to help with the livestock problem.” “Are you sure?” Tanner asked, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear. “We could at least get you a water, you look - ah - like you could use something to drink. If you’re going to be talking to us anyway...” Markus glanced briefly at his fellow knight, but only remarked, “And hey, I’ve already tried cashew apple juice tonight, might as well try the peach as well - and if I’m doing that, I might as well get a pitcher for everyone, right?” “If you’re sure,” Kent said. “Thank you, much appreciated.” After a brief loop to the table so that Markus could let Captain Alden know what he and Tanner were doing, the two knights and the peach farmer settled at the bar and placed their order with the innkeeper. “So, “ Markus asked, “what part of town are you from?” “Southeast - we’re lucky enough to be close to the city walls and we’ve got a house in the city. It’s only a few minutes’ walk to get to our fields.” “I’m sure that part’s pretty nice at the end of the day,” Markus guessed. Kent chuckled. “It is - though it means we’re always working close to sunset, while everyone else‘s heading back to beat the dark. Mixed blessin’, I suppose.” “That seems risky,” Tanner said. “Cutting it so close to dark, I mean - some of the other knights said they found signs of wolves in the forest..” “There’re wolves out there for sure - sometimes we can hear them howling and it riles up the dogs something fierce. But for the most part, they’re not any trouble. Seems there’s plenty of prey for ‘em in the forest, which we definitely can’t go after or it’s poaching. Besides - the wolves seem t’know spears and the hounds are nothin’ to trifle with. They don’t get too close, and if people get too close, they skulk off. ...Though they did try their luck during the drought.” The innkeeper returned with a pitcher of peach juice and three glasses. After thanking the woman and picking up the pitcher to start pouring glasses, Markus asked, “How’d that go for them?” “They managed a calf and...I think it was two pigs, in all - but the rest of the time, they were driven off before they got too close. And it was nothin’ like what’s been going on lately, least as far as I’ve heard - the dogs were always barkin’ at the wolves and people saw them coming, it was just a matter of how fast the wolves were and how many people were there who could tangle with them. This...this is completely different.” “So it most likely isn’t them this time around,” Markus surmised. “Unless they’ve learned magic from the dragons and can turn into puffs of wind or something.” Tanner asked, “Has there been anything strange going on in the orchards?” “No, nothing strange. Our problems are pretty straight-forward, no mystery to ‘em - the usual pests, just a whole sight more’n usual. Maybe it has somethin’ to do with the drought, but who knows? It’s not as if we get much experience with ‘em.” Kent sighed and took a drink from his mug. “Yeah, I’d have figured Elacs would outlaw snakes before Corvus went more than a week without rain,” Markus agreed. “The reeve did mention that, the pest problem being worse than usual.” “What kind of pests are they, exactly?” Markus raised an eyebrow in Tanner’s direction. There was really no such thing as useless information, Markus supposed, but this was definitely straying away from the problem the knights were supposed to be solving. Tanner’s blue-green eyes, however, were on Kent, and if he noticed Markus’ look, he ignored it. Kent answered, “‘Woo help you if you want a whole list, but for starters - we’ve had peachtree borers trying to dig into the trunks since the rain started coming back; fruit moth caterpillars’ve been at the buds since March or so; we’ll be fendin’ off plum beetles ‘til the last peach is off the tree… Usually we don’t have to deal with nearly so many of them.” The peach farmer paused to finally take a long drink of his peach juice, tilting his head back. “Ahh - this is much appreciated, Sirs - we can’t eat our peaches very often, as thin as the harvests’ve been, but being surrounded by the smell all day can drive you crazy.” “Very little’s quite as sad as food you’re not allowed to eat,” Markus joked. “I’ll say.” Shaking his head a little, the farmer conceded, “We’re at last not dealin’ with the birds and bats on top of it all.” “Oh?” Tanner had evidently found his voice again. His eyes flicked toward Markus, and something about the older knight’s expression made him quickly pick up his glass and take a rapid sip. Swirling his glass a little, Kent answered, “Master Wortham - our town mage - he found this potion that uses some magic plant called dragontails; he uses those, add a little bit of cashew shell juice, and then soak some wood in it. After he lets it dry, we take it around the fields and burn it - the smoke covers the fruit and it keeps the birds and bats off it, and it gets rid of the bugs for a while, too. The bugs don’t stay off, though - we have to smoke the fruits two or three times a day. And it doesn’t get rid of the ones in the trees, so that’s a problem.” Tanner’s eyes had gone a little wide, and Markus suspected he had a similar expression on his face. Glancing at his peace juice, he asked, “And - uh, what does that do to people?” “It’s fine once you wash it off,” Kent assured them. “We’ve sampled a few of these after givin’ ‘em a wash, and none of us are sick - and Mary,” he called as the innkeeper walked past. “Mary, aren’t the peaches fine once you wash them?” “I’ve been serving them here since they started blooming - nobody sick so far,” the innkeeper confirmed. “Master Wortham says they shouldn’t be dangerous even if we don’t wash it off,” Kent added. “Well,” Markus relented, “I’m no mage, so I guess I wouldn’t know.” Something made with dragontails - we’ll have to ask Jamison about that later. “But it keeps birds and bats off, huh? Maybe the livestock people could use it on their fences.” “They tried that,” Kent said, pausing as he raised his juice glass again. “Nora and Annette, they keep pigs - they got two sides of their fence smoked before they realized their pigs were avoidin’ that side of the fence, too.” “Ah - well, I guess that wouldn’t be much help, then,” Tanner said. “...Master Wortham, he’s the mage around here?” “The reeve mentioned him,” Markus supplemented. “Ah. Yes. I take it he said you should give him his space?” “More or less.” Tanner asked, “Can you tell us anything about him?” “Not particularly - not anything the reeve couldn’t have told you,” Kent said with a slight shrug. “Master Wortham...he keeps to himself, mostly.” “Did he try warding the pens any?” Markus asked. “Don’t think he can - warding spells are complicated, aren’t they?” Kent glanced between the two knights, and frowned. “If he could, he would have offered - he may be a bit reclusive, and maybe he’s got a chip on his shoulder, but he’s always been good to us here in Bexley.” “Oh - of course,” Markus said quickly. “We’re not trying to blame anybody, just figuring out what’s been done or not.” Still frowning a little, Kent said, “He’s good with potions. Spellcraft, not so much. I know the reeve talked with him about things he could do - I s’pose he came up empty-handed, though, or he’d have told you what they found.” “That makes sense,” Markus agreed. “We’re still going to have to talk to him, though.” Kent sighed. “Well, best of luck when you do. The reeve told you he’s not fond of nobility, or close to it? I can’t say for sure if he considers knights the same thing, but...well, I hope he doesn’t. You seem like nice enough folks, and he might be...less polite than he oughta be.” Brushing some hair off his forehead, Tanner said, “Well - I doubt he’s as bad as some of the people we’ve run into. I’m sure we can handle it. Right, Markus?” he added with a glance at his fellow knight. “Oh, the curses we could list,” Markus said in a wistful tone. “Some of them are actually really clever - my personal favorite is the one about chickens, the Kingfisher, and our mothers.” With a glance at his fellow knight, Markus added, “Maybe Tanner can share some of the good ones sometime, eh? If he needs to talk to you again for some reason?” Tanner managed to limit his reaction to a very sudden tenseness in his shoulders. Kent looked puzzled, but said, “Sure. Certainly would be interesting to hear about how you ran into some of those curses; I imagine you’ve seen a lot in your work, eh?” He sounded wistful - but then glanced toward the small window and sighed. “It would have to be another time, though, sorry to say. I ought to be getting home before dark; my family’ll be worried about me if I’m gone too long.” “We’ll let you go, then,” Markus said amicably. “Thanks for your time - much appreciated.” “Yes, very,” Tanner agreed. Markus had to swallow a snort of laughter. “Thank you, Sirs, for the help with the peaches - and the drink. If I can be of any other help, let me know.” Markus leaned back against the bar, watching from the corner of his eye as Tanner watched the farmer go. When the door had shut behind him, Markus asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking?” “Ah - “ Tanner picked up his glass of juice, then hesitated. “Well - we definitely need to talk to Master Wortham. About those...dragontails, right?” “Dragontails, yep. And you’re right that guy needs a talking-to. Preferably with Jamison along.” Markus titled his head. “I don’t think that’s what you were actually thinking about, but you’re right.” Tanner winced. “I was trying not to be obvious…” “You weren’t, at least, probably not to him,” Markus said in a low voice. “I just know that you don’t fuss with your hair unless you’re around a pretty lady or handsome gentleman.” He turned his head in time to see Tanner brush almost agitatedly at his hair, as if he were suddenly conscious of it; with a smug grin, he added, “See, you’re doing it right now!” Tanner forced his hand to his side. “I’m sorry - I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I shouldn’t be - well. I know we’re on duty. I really wasn’t trying to start anything.“ “I know you weren’t, and you didn’t - it’s okay,” Markus assured him in a less-teasing tone. “You really weren’t that obvious, promise. And you mostly kept things focused. He probably had no idea what was going on.” “And if he did? I didn’t want it to be obvious; what if that made him uncomfortable, or makes me look unprofessional?” “If you’d been flirting with him, that would’ve been out of line. But you weren’t - and trust me, I would recognize flirting. ...But you’re allowed to find people attractive. It happens, even to us stodgy, stoic knights, you know that.” Nudging Tanner with his elbow, Markus added conspiratorially, “And even if he did notice, I’ll bet he’s flattered - a handsome guy like you getting a little flustered while talking to him? I’d be feeling pretty self-confident after that.“ “ Markus!” “I’m serious, Tanner - c’mon, you’re surrounded by a bunch of stuck up aristocracy, when’re you gonna get a little egotistical, hm?” Tanner sighed, but finally smirked a little. “I don’t know. It’d take a long time to get to your level.” “That’s right - but you’ll get the hang of it. And until then, you can rent space with my ego, there’s plenty of it to go around.” Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Markus looked back over at the knights’ table. Alden was looking right at them, his arm lowering from what Markus guessed was a summoning motion. “In the meantime, looks like we’d better report back to the captain so he can dismiss us to bed.” “You mean dismiss you to bed - I have first patrol, remember?” “Alas, you’ll have to wait a few hours to dream of your handsome prince!” “You’re lucky I’m out of juice, Markus, or you’d be wearing it.” After a few hours of sleep, Markus, Brandt, and Desmond headed to the barn to retrieve their horses, and headed off one-by-one as Captain Alden, Jamison, and Tanner returned from their patrol. It was a quiet night; the rain had ended several hours ago, and for the most part, the only sounds now were crickets, the creak of the saddle, and Millicent’s hooves on the soft path. A little light bounced around them, courtesy of a clay disc hanging from Markus’ belt; the magelight was enchanted to glow when triggered by a firm press of the thumb. While the horses could navigate well-enough in darkness, Markus thought that who or whatever was after the livestock ought to know the town was being guarded, and the sight of armor and a sword shimmering in the magelight would speak to that quite clearly. Or at least, that was what Markus thought until he rounded a curve and found Brandt, Desmond, and two grim-faced women standing on the side of the road. “Uh oh,” Markus muttered. Millicent snorted in reply as Markus gave her a nudge to hurry and cover the remaining distance. “What happened?” he asked as he reached the group; they had clustered at the end of a short path leading to a small house...and a fenced yard. “One of their pigs was taken,” Brandt said. “Just like the other times - no barking dogs, just sudden panic from the pigs and one of them was gone.” The taller and darker-haired woman, scowling, added, “It couldn’t have been even an hour after you’d last gone by!” “They must be watching our movements,” Desmond said in an undertone to the other two knights. “Planned an attack between our rounds.” Well, that wasn’t good. Markus’ hand drifted to the hilt of his sword as he suggested, “Let’s look around. Maybe we can find something now; they haven't had a chance to come back and clean up any evidence.” “There’s nothing to find,” the dark-haired woman who had spoken earlier complained. “It took a good ten minutes for the first one of you to show up - we already looked, there’s nothing!” “Hm - well, we still need to check. ” Markus said in as optimistic a tone as he could manage. The woman looked ready to argue, but the blonde beside her put a hand on the taller woman’s shoulder. “Just let them into the pigpen, Nora. If they find something, it could help stop this whole mess.” “Yes, yes, of course.” Nora sighed. “This way.” She motioned for the knights to follow her and started off. The blond woman sighed and said in a low voice, “This is the third pig we’ve lost; I can’t blame her for being so angry about it.” “The third?” Markus repeated. These must be the pigkeepers Kent had mentioned - the name ‘Nora’ did sound familiar. “I’d be in a temper, too. We’ll figure this out,” he promised, giving the woman a smile before following Brandt, Desmond, and Nora. The knights dismounted near the pigpen, and Brandt pulled his bow from his back and an arrow from his quiver. “I’ll stay with the horses and keep an eye out for anyone coming this way,” he informed them. Markus and Desmond searched the area by the glow of their magelights, moving slowly to avoid disturbing anything. The gate was low enough to swing over if one was sufficiently strong, though Markus saw no signs of the heavy landing in the mud that would have followed such a maneuver. And mud was everywhere - yet the only prints were ones left by pigs and, as Nora confirmed, the two pigkeepers themselves. Though Markus kept hoping he would hear Desmond’s scratchy voice declaring he’d found something, by the time they both reached the opposite corner of the pigpen, it was clear neither of them had been successful. “Anything?” Markus asked, anyway. “They need to build barns.” “...That’s nice. Anything we can actually tell the captain?” “Not offhand.” Desmond rubbed his temples. “No footprints, no blood, no damage to the fence...” “Unless they were hovering, there’s no way they couldn’t have left some damage, or cleaned it up that fast. I’m liking Jamison’s mage theory more and more.” “Could even a mage be this good? Not one slipup, not one error, in an entire week of attacks?” “What’s the alternative?” Markus asked. “I don’t know,” Desmond admitted. “But it’s very lucky. Even for mages.” The three knights convened and decided that Brandt would return to the inn to report the theft to Captain Alden - who would surely be thrilled by the news - while Markus and Desmond remained behind to see if the pigkeepers could give them any more information. There was finally a proper exchange of names; as had already been established, the dark-haired woman was Nora, and the blonde woman was her wife Annette. He and Desmond were invited into the house to talk. Nora pulled an undyed curtain back from a small window that looked out onto the pigpen, letting in the warm night air and the sound of the pigs rooting around directly outside. She gestured for them all to take seats at the table up against the same wall. “So just to make sure we’re not missing anything,” Markus began as he sat down, “you didn’t hear anything before the pigs started making a fuss?” “No,” Annette said. “The pigs panicking was what woke us up.” “What did you do then?” Nora answered, “Rushed out to the pen. Whenever this happens, they panic and we have to get in there and force ‘em apart - or else they’ll hurt themselves and each other ramming into the fence.” “So they’re close to the fences?” Desmond surmised. “Which ones?” “What do you mean, which - oh, I see where you’re going with this?” Nora frowned, then looked over at her wife. “You notice them favoring certain sides, ‘Nettie?” The blonde woman thought a moment. “Well, there were fewer of them at the...west fence. I think. We were herding some of the extra pigs there.” Nora nodded and said, “That’s right, we were. So whoever did this, they came from the west?” “Most likely,” Desmond said. “ Something came that way that they didn’t like.” Markus looked out the window, studying the pigpen. The animals had plenty of room to wander around, so if they had been stacked along the fences, they’d been there of their own volition. He nodded at Desmond. “We’ll check for anything west of here. Do you remember if it was that way last time, too, or…?” Annette and Nora exchanged a glance. “It might have been,” Annette said, “but I can’t be sure. We weren’t watching for it.” “Fair enough. So - did the panic come out of nowhere, or was it a gradual build? Somewhere in between?” “Like I said, we were asleep,” Nora answered. “But it sure seemed like it came out of nowhere.” “So when they finally go for the animal,” Markus surmised, “it’s fast. Hmm.” They asked the women a few more questions, but the information was nothing they hadn’t already heard from the reeve or the cattleherder. Markus was racking his brain for anything he’d missed, any connections he hadn’t made, anything he could ask for more detail on, when there was a knock at the door. Desmond accompanied Nora to answer it, and unsurprisingly, Brandt stood at the entryway. “Captain Alden says to have one of you two come back to give a full report when you’re done,” the blond knight announced. “The other’s to stay with me, search the outside area again, and then we’re to get back to patrol if we don’t find anything.” Markus got to his feet. “Right - I’ll take the report.” The longer Desmond had to speak, the scratchier his voice became, and the more force he had to exert to make himself intelligible. “Thank you for the help, ladies - we’ll figure this out soon.” ******* Captain Alden was waiting in the inn at the same table they’d eaten dinner; Tanner and Jamison, both looking rather bleary-eyed, were in the seats beside him. The captain’s already rather sour expression looked even more pinched than usual, but his voice was curt and steady as ever. “Sir Foster told me the basics of the attack already, and I’ve passed it on to Blackburn and Attwater. Did you learn anything from the pigkeepers?” “Well.” Markus sat down heavily; he was tired, too, and the idea of parsing through all this additional information was not helping - nor were his squadmates’ tired faces, a reminder of the sleep they were all missing out on. But a knight’s duty didn’t stop when he was tired. It stopped when he was dead, and Markus didn’t think he was quite that far gone yet. “They might be coming from the west,” he said. “We think that’s where this attack came from, anyway - but we don’t know enough about it to be sure that means anything except it was most accessible - the house is right up against the east side of the pen. It seems like it must be fast - the animals don’t start kicking up a fuss until right at or right after the attack. Whoever’s doing it somehow cleans up right away, too. …Or, maybe they’re not leaving anything to clean up.” Markus rubbed his eyes as he realized this for the first time. “Yeah - they must not be. Annette and Nora - the pigkeepers - were outside waiting for us, so they’d have seen or heard anyone coming back, probably. Unless they were totally invisible, I guess.” “Even then, if they used magic, there’d be the green flash,” Jamison said. “So, you didn’t find anything there?” “Not so much as a stranger’s boot print.” “Could the pigs have churned that evidence away?” Alden asked. “In the pen, sure. But there wasn’t anything outside the fence - no pig prints, no bootprints except ones in Annette and Nora’s sizes. Which we didn’t find anywhere else. There were definitely no prints heavy enough to be from a bunch of bandits carrying a pig over their heads.” Jamison sighed. “So, not really anything useful - just more confirmation we’re right to be worried.” Tanner muttered, “They’re fast, silent, sneaky…” “Sir Blackburn,” Alden interrupted. “How, precisely, would you say a mage could pull this off?” Lifting his head, Jamison said, “Well - there are spells for muting your own sound, and dulling your scent - they could use those to get close, and past the dogs. Disappearing footprints...well, more likely they just flop mud over them. There are also camouflage spells that get rid of footprints, and I want to say a potion or two.” Sighing, the dark-haired knight said, “But, Captain - none of those spells are easy to cast. Why would a mage with that much skill be poking around a tiny town’s livestock?” “It’s not as if this is the first mage we’ve come across on the wrong side of the law,” Markus reminded him. “Not even the first skilled one. Some mages are just overgrown brats.” “Their motivations are irrelevant.” Alden’s tone was curt. “Our job is still to find and catch them, and anyone assisting or benefiting from their thefts.” “Definitely,” Markus agreed. “How we’re gonna do it, I’m not so sure - but I’m betting on Squad Knights.” “You had best be.” Alden’s stern expression didn’t shift one small bit. “We’ll scout the western area tomorrow afternoon. You can have the morning to sleep off patrol.” The captain’s brown eyes settled on Markus. Reading between the lines, the Accipiter knight got to his feet. “Right - I’d better get back out there, then.” He saluted, and added a cheery, “Wouldn’t want Desmond and Brandt to be lonely without me!” The rest of the patrol, however, was quiet. It was a relief in that it meant no more searches and that the attacks were still at a minimum - but it was also unsettling, and gave Markus, at least, a lot of time to ponder the mystery and feel some intimidation at the likelihood of having to fight a mage. Especially one at the skill level Jamison had implied. Fights with mages were difficult at best, deadly at worst. Markus wished writing to any of his mage siblings was a feasible option, but...well, the lack of time to get a message sent and receive a response aside, there were a lot of reasons that wouldn’t work. Writing to Stefan was a definite no; he couldn’t really write to any the other Accipiter mages living in Raylier because Stefan would likely find out and get jealous; and he doubted Leif wanted to hear from him, especially via a request for magical assistance. Thinking about family tended to leave Markus feeling guilty. There was a lot he should have done for his little siblings, and even for his older ones - maybe if he’d been able to get Henry and Stefan to see that they were poisoning their relationships like children dumping salt into a tank of freshwater fish, he could have stopped them from becoming adults who poisoned their relationships like children dumping salt into a tank of freshwater fish, and refused to listen to any suggestions that maybe salt wasn’t good for freshwater fish and they should lay off and try something that was maybe less toxic to them, for ‘Woo’s sake. Of course, Markus had been a child, and he’d been away so often, and while those rational excuses didn’t make the guilt go away, it made him feel less like a horrible person. It also strengthened his resolve to do something - eventually. When he wasn’t chasing down mage-bandits. ******* After getting some sleep and eating a very quick lunch, the six knights prepared their weapons, saddled the horses, and headed out to the western forest to conduct the search they had agreed upon the previous day. It was a cloudy early afternoon, and Markus suspected it would be shadowy even in the vague clustering of trees he decided to politely call a forest. “We’ll divide into teams of two,” Alden informed them. “Markus, Tanner - you’ll take the north. Check the ravine. Jamison, Brandt - you’ll take the west area, straight ahead. Brandt, mind where we spotted signs of wolves. Check the lake as well, anyone out there will need water. Desmond and I will head south. Any objections?” When none were raised, the captain motioned for the squad to get moving. Markus and Tanner headed north, while the captain and Desmond rode the opposite way, and Jamison and Brandt continued in the party’s original direction. Markus and Tanner rode a little apart from one another to cover more ground and give their horses room to keep a relatively straight course, but were careful to remain in sight of each other and at a distance the other could easily cover in case of a sudden attack. There wasn’t much to see; a few birds, some disturbingly large bugs, and a rabbit spooked by the sounds of their horses’ heavy feet. Certainly no livestock, or any sign that any had been here. No smothered fires, signs of camps, wagon wheels, or boot tracks, either. Finally, Tanner said, “This is a long way to force or haul an animal. And not much of a hiding place; you can still see a long way though these trees.” “Yeah,” Markus agreed, glancing back in the direction of the village. He couldn’t see Bexley’s low walls, but all the same, it would be hard to drop out of sight of one’s pursuers in these trees. “Maybe the woods get thicker at some point; otherwise I don't think the wolves the others found would have an easy time hunting.” “Maybe. But that’s an even longer way to take an animal. ...Could they be using a...a floating spell?” “Hovering charm,” Markus corrected. “They could be, but I think that’s one of the spells you have to keep pouring energy into, so it’s not that much more efficient. ...Don’t quote me on that, but I’m pretty sure I remember my brother complaining about it.” “Stefan?” “Stefan. At this rate, I could sneak you into one of my family’s little get-togethers, and they’d never know you weren’t some distant cousin they’d just never met before.” “Well, what would be the point of that?” Tanner asked. “I thought you liked shocking your parents.” “It’s called ‘bringing doses of spontaneity to our relationship’, and besides, that wouldn’t really be the point - the point would be having someone Linnea and I could talk to who wouldn’t bore us to tears or get us accused of hiding amongst my siblings.” “Oh. Well. As long as I’m useful, I guess.” “There’s also usually a big roast for the main course. And of course, plenty of Raylish wine.” “...All right, let me know when the next party is, and I’ll see what I can do about fancy clo - ...Huh.” Markus glanced over, and saw Tanner rising in the stirrups of his horse. “I think that's the ravine up ahead.” “Great; let’s see if it’s big enough to hold anything fun!” They dismounted several feet from the ravine; the ground might not be stable near the drop’s edge, and while the knights could probably tuck and roll off the worst of the damage, the same was not true of their horses. ”No way they got a cow down this,” Markus declared as he and Tanner surveyed the dropoff. The reeve had been right when he’d said the ravine was steep - and Markus pegged it might be between ten and fifteen feet deep, which was not a drop one took lightly. In sharp contrast, the passage narrowed near the bottom, only leaving room enough for two or three men to walk abreast. It was considerably wider at the top; probably the passage had originally been carved out by a river, and rain and wind and animals had since widened the upper gap between the two sides. “I wonder how long it is.” “It didn’t seem too long on the reeve’s map, but that might not be right. I’m sure the captain will want us to check it, anyway.” Tanner tilted his head, considering. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been down there…” “Well, it’s hard to be sure; that brush looks pretty resilient,” Markus said, motioning to the thick plants growing along the ravine floor. “And we’re pretty high up - there could be prints we just can't see under all that.” “I guess we’ll need to get closer, then.” Tanner reached for a tree limb, clearly prepared to use it to steady himself as he began climbing down the ravine. “Woah, hold it!” Markus grabbed Tanner’s arm at the elbow and whispered, “Not without backup! If there are bandits around, and they’ve been camping around here for two weeks...” The younger knight winced. “Oh - of course, they’d know the best way up the sides - and we don’t want them to have high ground.” “Nope.” Markus agreed, and released Tanner’s arm. Tanner shifted his weight back, but leaned forward to peer farther into the ravine, a hand on his sword. “It wouldn’t be a bad hideout,” he said in a low voice. “As long as they’re careful, and if they butcher the animals before going down…” “It’s feasible,” Markus admitted. “But I don't know - if they have a butchering setup somewhere along the ravine, why not keep the whole camp up here? And if they’re down here, someone can take the high ground on them - say, some handsome Curys knights with bows and arrows and dramatic backlighting from a sunset.” “...The ravine runs east to west. We’d be facing north or south - the sun couldn’t backlight us.” “You’re ruining the moment!” Motioning for Tanner to follow him, Markus stepped away from the ravine edge. “You are right that we’ll need to scout it. But we need to keep the horses away from it, and I don’t want to get shot in the face by a dozen arrows because I happen to be the one poking my stupid face over the edge while you’re staying back with the horses. So let’s take this back to Captain Alden and see if the rest of the squad will come with us.” Tanner agreed, “I don’t think Linnea would like the porcupine look.” It was approaching evening when Markus and Tanner returned to the path where the squad had initially split up. The clouds had grown thicker and thunder rumbled menacingly every few minutes, like an agitated cat that had to remind everyone of its presence. The sun had dropped low enough to scatter some heavy, deep-gold beams of light under the clouds and across the horizon. By its light, they saw Brandt and Jamison already there. “Find anything?” Brandt asked. “That big ravine, but not much besides that,” Markus said. “How about you two?” Brandt said, “Well, we found the bones of something - probably a deer, but there wasn’t enough left to really tell for sure. There were prints from the captain and Desmond’s wolves nearby - “ Jamison snorted. “I can hear Desmond shouting that those aren’t his wolves from here, Brandt.” “Then he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on conversations miles away,” Brandt retorted. “As I was saying - the tracks don’t look to lead out of the forest, and we can say they’re not werewolf prints. Hopefully that assuages Desmond’s wounded feelings.” “Ever the optimist,” Markus remarked. “Though it is good we’re not dealing with werewolves and bandits.” “Well,” Jamison pointed out, “one would probably deal with the other.” “True, I guess. How about the lake?” Jamison shrugged. “Nothing there, either. No footprints, just some pawprints and deer tracks. ...Deer tracks don’t look like cow, right?” Tanner confirmed, “Cow prints are pretty round and broad. I don’t think you’d mistake them for deer.” Thunder growled across the open plain, and a strong wind came with it. “I hope they get back soon, or we’re going to get caught in the rain.” It was a few minutes more before Markus spotted two horses and their riders through the southern trees, by which time the wind was starting to blow rather intensely, as if it were trying to goad the riders back to the village. “There they are,” Markus said. “All right - final round of bets on whether they found something or just got lost.” The two knights rejoined the group, and Alden said over the wind, “We found a doused campfire and decided to comb the area. We didn’t find much, but we know where to come back and look. Is there anything to report that can’t wait until we’re back at the inn?” The other knights shook their heads, and Alden nodded sharply and motioned for them to follow him back toward town. ******* The knights were caught in just enough of the rain to have to quickly dry themselves and their horses before convening in the inn. Alden had them gather in the room he was renting, and predictably, the place was neat and tidy. The knights gave their full reports, and Alden and Desmond elaborated on theirs. “We only found the one fire,” Alden said. “There were a few bones in the ash, but small, probably from a bird. It looks like there couldn’t have been more than one or two people there, and we didn’t find any other camps. That certainly does not mean none are there, but it may be a lone poacher rather than a band of bandits stealing livestock.” “Still worth investigating, I think,” Jamison said. “If it’s a mage, they could be working alone.” “Though I imagine tending a herd of seven - eight - stolen animals is a bit much for one person to manage.” Brandt mused. “It’s quite a lot to eat in that many days as well.” Tanner offered. “Maybe they sell them - to bandits, or other towns.” Brandt said, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around for miles...but, maybe.” “Tanner could be right,” Markus said, adding, “After all, we can’t seem to find all these animals, who you’d think would make a lot of noise and tracks if they were cooped up somewhere - maybe there’s more around here than we realize.” “If it’s one person, they’re a cocky - “ Jamison paused. “A cocky, ah, person. They swept in and took a pig right under a knight patrol’s nose.” “However many people it is, and however arrogant they may be,” Alden cut in, “we’re tracking them down. We’ll search the southern part of the forest tomorrow - the six of us ought to be able to get it done thoroughly and quickly.” After the chorus of “yes, sir”s, Desmond asked, “And tonight? Are we patrolling again?” “Of course. These attacks won’t stop if we stop patrolling.” ******* Markus felt like he’d been asleep for about two hours when a sharp rap at the door jolted him out of sleep, and then Tanner’s voice brought him fully awake. “Markus - there was another attack.” Markus pushed himself up on his elbow. “What? Again? What this time?” “A goat. The captain and Jamison are looking around the pen, but…” “Probably nothing to find.” Markus finished, sitting up. “Does the captain need us there to help look?” “No - he says the four of us here are to run the border and make sure the thief's not still trying to get out of the city. The stablehand’s getting the horses ready.” “Got it - I’ll go give him a hand.” The four knights were up and out on the roads in record-time, but there was no sign of anyone or anything carting a goat out of the town. They were met back at the main gate by Jamison, who simply shook his head and said the captain wanted them back at the inn. The meeting was short - there was really nothing for Alden or the knights to tell. Another animal gone missing, with no sign of any possible culprit for taking it. The attack had, again, taken place between passes of the knights - so someone had to be watching them, and was probably trying to taunt them at this point. As if all of that weren’t bad enough, the reeve burst into the inn as the knights were discussing the attack. It was difficult to say whether he looked more angry or frazzled - his hair was doing a remarkable impression of pictures Markus had seen of fir trees. Alden sighed. “Let me handle this. You gentlemen - bed.” “No more patrolling tonight?” Desmond asked, frowning. “There’s no point to it - one attack a night has been a consistent pattern with and without our presence. You’re dismissed.” Markus suspected he wasn’t the only one who had a little trouble drifting off to sleep that night. They were no closer to catching this livestock-thief than they had been upon arriving. When Markus guessed he’d been lying there for at least half an hour, his thoughts running in endless circles over the evidence but finding no previously-unnoticed connections and making no miraculous deductions, he decided it was time to force some sleep. Knighthood was not exactly a job one left after a certain time of day - bandits, slave-raiders, rioters, and the like were, after all, appallingly disrespectful of anyone trying to leave the battlefield so they could get home in time for dinner - and so one of the first things many knights learned was how to get sleep whenever possible. Markus had a huge mental catalogue of ways he’d heard of other soldiers lulling themselves to sleep - counting sheep, mentally tracing maps, reciting as many of the lords of Corvid Houses as they could, imagining all the intricate details of a boat ride or a quiet thunderstorm forming, spelling a word over and over again, focusing on a memory, toying with some small personal possession… When Markus needed to sleep, however, he didn’t turn toward enchantments or imagination or sheep, who were not actually very comforting animals to Markus because he suspected a ram would as soon trample him to death as help him get some rest. Instead, he reached out for his bag of personal effects and carefully withdrew a simple leather letterfold. When he unfolded it, a small crystal woven into the leather glowed softly to life, illuminating the parchment carefully secured inside. He knew most of these letters, his favorite letters, from friends and loved ones and even some from his family, by heart, and he could mentally recite them just fine if he happened to be sharing a sleeping space with the rest of his squad and didn’t feel like being stabbed for shining a light in everyone’s faces. Actually reading the physical copies was always his preference, though - there was something about seeing the handwriting and hearing the sounds of the paper that made him feel at ease. The letters on top were from Linnea. ”Dear Markus,” the top page began, ”So I started the day treating twenty-seven cases of food poisoning - apparently there was something in the barracks biscuits that didn’t agree with their tender tummies. I suggested it was probably the high-mineral content of those rocks of bread - I’m two for twenty-seven on ‘people who got the joke’, so the sooner you get home, the better. On a more positive note, I don’t think my day can really go downhill from ‘twenty-seven cases of violent food poisoning’. And if you’re reading this over my shoulder, Lord Woo, no, that is not a challenge. Don’t let Mother and Ashton talk you into it. Aside from that, things have been mostly calm here at the base...”
Once Markus managed to get to sleep, he did so heavily, like an addition to the room’s furniture. When the knight woke the next morning, he found one side of his face and his arms patterned with lines from his blanket and the straw mattress. His sleeves were long enough to cover the marks on his arms, but when splashing water on his face did nothing, Markus supposed he would just have to deal with the lines along his jaw until they went away on their own.
Judging that it was early enough for training, Markus dressed in full surcoat, strapped his sword to his belt, and threw his sword padding over his shoulder before heading downstairs. Jamison was at their usual table, finishing a bowl of gruel; the dark-skinned knight looked up at Markus as he approached the table, and snorted. “Wow - got cozy with your pillow last night, did you?”
“Cozy?” Markus repeated in tones of great affront as he sat down. “Hardly - it was a vicious mauling; I’m lucky to be alive. I killed it eventually - now I can only pray the scars will heal, or I might have to wear a mask to cover my disfigurement!”
“I’ll help you chose a nice one if it comes to that,” Jamison said dryly, passing Markus a bowl and tilting the ladle in a pot in the center of the table toward him. “Anyway, think you can muster up the emotional fortitude for some training after that traumatic experience?”
“You say that like it’s optional.”
“As optional as ever, according to the captain.”
Markus nodded as he ladled porridge into his bowl. “Ahh - so I can train, or train, or get Alden’s Raised Eyebrow and then train.”
“Don’t forget option four, Raised Eyebrow and Withering Comment pre-training.”
“No, with me Withering Comment comes standard with Raised Eyebrow - it’s a perk I’ve earned after years of agitation. But I think I’ll pass on it today. After all, I hear there might be other pillows in this very inn; I need to demonstrate my pillow-fighting techniques to you all.”
Scooping the last of his porridge off the side of the bowl, Jamison said, “I’m sure the squad’ll be fascinated.”
“I’ll give you all some time to digest first; it might be a little gory,” Markus warned, taking a bite of the gruel. It was not nearly as satisfying as the soup had been. There was a pitcher of juice on the table, and Markus poured a bit of it into the bowl as well. “Where are we training, exactly?” he asked as he stirred his breakfast together.
Jamison hitched his thumb toward the back door. “There’s a field just across the road, past the henhouse and goatyard.”
“Everyone else out there already, or…?”
“Desmond’s still sleeping, unless he climbed out his window to get there.”
“...As Desmond often does, yes.”
Ignoring that comment, Jamison said, “Tanner left just a couple minute ago, and Brandt and the captain were just heading out when I got here. Brandt’s challenged me to a practice duel already, so.” He got to his feet. “I’d better get going.”
“Good luck!” Markus told him cheerily. “Don’t let Brandt slice off your knees this time.”
“Once, Accipiter - he got the drop on me once.”
“Yeah, it was impressive that he cut both your knees and dropped you in only one stroke!”
“At least I didn’t lose my sword hand,” Jamison shot back.
Grinning, Markus retorted, “Hey, I totally stabbed you in the kidney - you would’ve fake-died eventually!”
Jamison rolled his eyes. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” With a light wave, he headed for the back door.
Markus sampled his juice-and-gruel mix. Much better. Hopefully not poisonous - which reminded him that he and Tanner had meant to follow up on a lead...
Finishing breakfast didn’t take long, and after making sure an empty bowl was left out for Desmond, Markus headed outside in search of Tanner. He found the knight rather quickly, and closer than he expected - he wasn’t on the opposite side of the path, where Jamison and Brandt were in the middle of a sword fight, but rather, leaving the fenced yard where the goats and henhouse were kept. He was accompanied by the innkeeper, who was carrying a pail that Markus guessed contained goat milk.
“Morning,” Markus said. “Everything all right here?”
Tanner looked up with a friendly smile, and a glance at Markus’ face. “Morning - and yes, everything’s fine.”
The innkeeper explained, “Sir Attwater was helping me with a troublesome goat. Usually she's cooperative enough for my husband, but he’s hired on with one of the farming families this time of the year. But we've milked her now, and it looks like you have training to get to.” She eyed the fight between Brandt and Jamison. “Woo, those swords move fast.”
“The better for catching bandits,” Markus said. “But they know what they're doing; we'll be back with all our limbs intact.” He smiled at the innkeeper - who tentatively returned the expression - before looking back at Tanner, nodding toward the swords, and asking, “So, Tanner, up for a round?”
“Sure - if you don't need any more help, Ms. Hilde?”
The innkeeper gave Tanner a much warmer smile and said, “I'll be all right, Sir. I've run this inn like this for twenty-four years; it would be a shame if I couldn't manage it now. Thank you for the help with Francine, though.” After managing a small curtsy - impressive considering the pail of milk she was carrying - the woman headed back to the building, and Markus and Tanner ambled toward the field across the path.
Tanner asked, “So - cuddling your pillow last night?”
“Just when I was about to compliment you on your chivalry. And for shame, Tanner - Jamison beat you to that joke.”
“Really? I was thinking for sure he’d have asked if you were trying a new look, or something like that.”
“No, but he did offer to help me pick out a mask to hide it.”
Tanner nodded slowly. “Nice of him. ...Although. That means you’re not wearing a mask already?”
“There, now that’s more like it. But what about you - any cuddling in place of certain adorable peach farmers?”
“No,” Tanner said with a sigh. “I just spent half of the night wondering how we missed the thief again.”
“Yeah, that was...unfortunate. But with magic involved, it’s not going to be easy. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Though speaking of magic...”
“We need to talk to Master Wortham?” Tanner guessed, and when Markus nodded, he did, too, his blue-green eyes hard. “I asked Ms.Hilde - the innkeeper - about him. She said about the same thing Kent did, that he’s been a big help, and obviously we haven’t keeled over from the poison they use for the pests.”
“Well, we haven’t keeled over yet. So, probably the sooner we talk to Wortham, the better. Maybe we can persuade the captain to - “
“Persuade me to what, Sir Markus?”
Markus looked up sharply - they had wandered into hearing distance, apparently. After he and and Tanner quickly saluted, Markus said, “Only to let us borrow Sir Blackburn and go see about Master Wortham, Captain? After training, of course. And before we go out searching the woods, also of course.”
Alden looked between the two knights. “Are you comfortable handling him on your own? The reeve mentioned he had a chip on his shoulder.”
“We’ll manage,” Markus assured him. “I’ve dealt with worse, most likely, you have to actually try and kill Tanner before he does anything, and...we’ll help Jamison keep his temper in check.”
Alden seemed to considering this, but finally nodded, slowly. “Sir Blackburn needs to finish his match and agree to go as well, but first - you and Sir Attwater should get at least one duel in. Hopefully Sir Clay will have joined us by then.” The captain motioned for Markus and Tanner to continue into the field.
The knights found a patch of open grass big enough to fight and also a safe distance from Jamison and Brandt’s sparring. Markus and Tanner carefully strapped the padded coverings onto their swords, and squared off.
They were about as opposite as knights trained by the same unit could get - Markus was taller and broader than Tanner, but of course, Tanner was quicker and more agile. In Markus’ experience, that meant letting Tanner have the first move was risky. So he started forward instead with a short, quick swing that Tanner blocked, as Markus expected. Markus was quick to swing again, this time a downward stroke that took some advantage of his height.
Tanner fended off the attack, Markus’ blade sliding with a metallic hiss over the other sword. The shorter knight drew back and made an attack of his own, and Markus skipped back to avoid a slice across the belly. Tanner’s arm was still slightly extended from the attack and Markus aimed his next swing at it, but Tanner sidestepped and jerked his arm into a more defensible position. Markus pivoted to follow, blocking another one of Tanner’s attacked. “C’mon, Tan, stop going for the easy gut-shots!”
“Stop making them so easy!” Tanner retorted as he blocked a swing from Markus, and attempted to shove it back. Markus wasn’t so easily pushed aside, however, and he managed to keep most of his sword from recoiling - the blade came back toward Tanner more quickly than the younger knight seemed to have expected, forcing him to dart sideways to avoid it falling on his shoulder as he blocked Markus’ attack. The block was clumsy, but that might only have been because he was holding the sword one-handed - his other hand was going for the wooden practice knife strapped to his belt.
Markus saw this, started to move his sword back in preparation to block a blow from the dagger - and only barely realized that it was a feint in time to knock the point of Tanner’s sword off course as he aimed it point-first toward Markus’ stomach. “Not bad - but not good enough, Attwater!”
The two continued dueling, slowly pivoting until they wound up facing the opposite direction they had started. Markus could now see the inn over Tanner’s shoulder - as well as the small crowd loitering outside and watching them. Spectators were hardly a brand new phenomenon for them, though, and the knights continued their duel, eventually each taking a few small “injuries”; Markus lost the ability to put all his weight on one leg, and one of Tanner’s arms was determined injured to the point that he couldn’t use it to hold his sword anymore. This at least meant he couldn’t go free-wheeling with the dagger, but it also made Tanner a little more cautious; his expression was hard, his blue-green eyes scrutinizing.
“C’mon, tough guy,” Markus jeered. “Don’t make me hobble over there, I’ll - “
Tanner moved. The two knights’ sword blades clattered together; Markus twisted his body to try and avoid the wooden knife even as he removed one hand from the hilt of his sword to pry at Tanner’s grip on his blade - Markus’ one leg was burning with the effort of maintaining this messed-up balance -
Abruptly, Markus let Tanner’s sword fall forward - Tanner managed to regain his balance, even managed to skim his dagger along Markus’ leg until it caught at his knee socket, which was kind of painful even with only a wooden blade. But Markus’ sword was at the back of Tanner’s throat - it was hard to say which of them would have struck first, and certainly the knee shot would have crippled Markus quite badly.
In that spirit, he flopped to the ground, sword still raised enough for it to be clear Tanner was not getting out of this fake-fight fake-unscathed. “Okay - I deserved that - I made fun of Jamison this morning for the time Brandt dropped him at the knees.”
“Who d’you think taught him that trick?” Tanner asked, panting. He drew his weapons back, and Markus did the same. “You remember me by that bad knee.”
“Gotcha. Always gotta remember a worthy foe, right?” Markus wiped some of the sweat off his face and looked up at the crowd again. He thought he’d seen something, he just needed to confirm…
“Hey, Tan - don’t look unless you think it’s a good idea, but Kent’s with the crowd looking on.”
Tanner stiffened, his grip on his sword and wooden knife becoming rather tight for someone who was supposed to be faking an arm injury. “And?” he asked with an incredibly poor impression of neutrality.
“He looks impressed. Probably not a lot of sword-fights on the northern end of the village.” It was a little far off to read the peach-farmer’s exact expression, but he had his arms crossed and was leaning forward a little, like he’d been watching with interest rather than disapproval, and Markus could at least tell he wasn’t scowling or glaring.
Apparently this was just enough information - or perhaps too little - to entice Tanner into glancing over his shoulder. Glance was perhaps a tame word, as Markus had enough time to get to his feet before the younger knight turned back. Tanner smiled as Markus offered his hand to help him to his feet, but there was definitely something distracted about it and Markus suspected the expression had very little to do with him or his courtesy.
“Hey, don’t go swooning on me - we’ve got a mage to go see, remember?”
Jamison - who had won his duel with Brandt this time - was more than eager to see Master Wortham himself, and Alden sent them on their way with the strict order that they had best not mess things up. Well - that hadn’t been his exact phrasing, but that message had certainly been implied.
“So, in the spirit of following the captain’s orders,” Markus said as they headed - on foot, not on horseback - to the address the reeve had given them, “I think it’s safe to say we should stick to first names?”
“I suppose we’d better,” Jamison agreed. “Your family’s obviously a problem, and if he was looking for magic tutors, he might recognize ‘Blackburn’. I could say I’m not one of those Blackburns...but I guess it’s better we don’t risk it.” Shaking his head, Jamison said, “I feel bad for him. Pity he wasn’t looking for tutors during Patrick’s reign; the way I hear it, if he’d gone to Solis back then and showed off some magic, he could’ve gotten a whole panel of tutors and a wife to boot.”
“Just try to keep hold on that sympathy while we’re talking to him,” Markus said. “If us being knights is enough to set off his temper, I’m guessing he’s not going to be real fun to talk to.”
“Well,” Tanner said, “maybe we can keep him calm if we just...start it off carefully. Everyone we’ve talked to says he’s a big help to the town. If we just go to him as knights looking for advice instead of coming to interrogate him...it should at least be better, right?”
“We should definitely try to avoid making things worse,” Markus agreed. “...Oooh, is that it there?”
The house Markus was pointing to certainly stuck out - its color and material were ordinary enough, but the structure took up twice the space of the house’s around it, and then about half a house’s worth was taken up by a wide, densely-planted garden. Markus spotted ordinary things like tomato vines and a blackberry bush, but there were stranger crops as well - a plant growing purple, corkscrew-shaped fruits; another blossoming with very ugly and Markus swore tiny-fanged maroon flowers; a whole cluster of long-stemmed plants that reminded him of cattails, except that their tops looked looked like chicken beaks opening onto a thick cluster of little, puffy, white granules, and...
Markus pointed to a row of plants, thick-stemmed, calf-high, with tips ending in spade-shaped leaves, as they swayed in a light breeze. “Wasn’t one of the plants in that bug-repellent called dragontail?”
“That’s what Kent said,” Tanner confirmed.
“Would that be dragontail?”
“That would be dragontail.” Jamison paused alongside the fence to study the plant.
Markus asked him, “Any idea if it goes into those camouflaging potions you were talking about?”
“Concealment potions, technically - and no, I have no idea.”
Tanner tilted his head. “But...isn’t it some kind of poison?”
Jamison shrugged and said, “It might be, in that potion. It could also just be binding. Or part of what maakes it smoky. Or only poison if it’s combined with some other ingredient. Potion-brewing isn’t like alchemy - the same ingredient doesn’t always do the same thing. Once you get magical plants and enchantments involved, it’s a guessing game, really.”
“I guess we’ll have to ask the man himself,” Markus said, waving a hand toward the front door. “Ready, gentlemen?”
Jamison and Tanner nodded, and Jamison led the way to the door. He rapped twice on it, but there was no answer. After a minute or so, he knocked again. “Hello? Master Wortham?”
Tanner winced and muttered, “Now he’ll know we’re strangers.”
“Well,” Markus whispered back, “he still has to open the door eventually.”
Another minute passed. Or maybe he doesn’t have to open the door, Markus mentally amended. “Maybe he’s not home,” Markus said. “I mean, he’s the village mage - he probably gets called away a lot.”
“To do what, not stop these attacks?” Jamison grumbled. “Maybe he can’t cast wards, but some extra lights wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Maybe he’s a healer and somebody got hurt, so he’s our dealing with - “
“He’s home,” Tanner interrupted, his voice low in volume but sharp in tone. “Or someone is, anyway - I just saw someone peek through the curtain.”
“So it’s going to be like that, then.” Jamison sighed. “Did he see that you saw him?”
“I’m not sure - maybe.”
Nodding, Jamison turned to face the door again, and knocked. “Master Wortham, we’d highly appreciate a moment of your time!” He paused, head slightly tilted. Apparently he didn’t hear what he was listening for, as he added, “Or if that’s a thief we’ve spotted in there, as knights we are obligated to protect citizens’ dwellings from robbery!”
Markus glanced at Tanner. “Well - that’s one way to get in, I guess.”
Tanner rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Why is he antagonizing the mage?”
“I guess he wants to see what it’s like being a reptile. Or a toad.”
“If you two would kindly - “ Before Jamison could finish his request, the heavy cha-chunk of a deadbolt sliding out of place came from the other side of the door. A little more rattling followed, and finally, an irritable-looking eyes squinted into a glare and his long, gray-touched blond hair in scraggles, yanked open the door. He was barely as tall as Tanner, but for all his lack of height, he very much had a presence.
It might have had something to do with his reaction to seeing a trio of armed knights at his door being a snarled, “‘Woo’s bleedin’ tail feathers, what? I’m trying to get work done, ain’t that what not answering the door means?!”
“Sorry, sir,” Markus said, stepping forward and praying that Jamison wouldn’t say anything. Just slap a wing right over his mouth if you have to, Lord Woo. “We’re looking into the problem with the disappearing livestock.” Remembering what Tanner had said, he went on, “We have some magic-related questions we were hoping you could help us answer?
“I don’t know what’s causing ‘em, either! Blight, d’you think they would’ve sent to Araydian if I knew what was going on?”
“Maybe not, but we’re pretty stumped ourselves so far,” Markus admitted, “And we’re new to this area; we could really use some help from the locals.”
Jamison added with a light shrug, “Unless you want us staying here for months to investigate everything ourselves, get integrated into the community, figure out all the little details…”
Markus resisted the urge to grab Jamison by the shoulders and steer him several yards down the street. “Which we’d rather not do, since the sooner this gets figured out and taken care of it, the sooner everyone here gets their normal lives back. It’s just a few questions.”
The wizard scowled, still blocking the doorway with his body. “The reeve’s already asked me questions.”
“But did he ask you all the right questions?” Jamison asked. “We’ve dealt with magical criminals before - I doubt the reeve has.”
“So we’ll have other questions to ask,” Markus said, thinking that was point Jamison had probably been going for.
“...”Pit, you’re not going to leave me alone until I answer your questions, are you?”
Markus’ usual response would have been a cheery “Nope!” But in this case, he answered, “We’re really just trying to figure out a way to help the town. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Wortham didn’t answer - but he did turn away from the entrance without slamming the door, and made a sharp gesture for them to enter. “Fine, come in. Ask your questions. But I’m in the middle of preparing ingredients for a brew, and the fire’s already on, so I’m chopping ingredients while we have this talk.”
“That’s fine,” Jamison said levelly, leading the way after him.
The inside of the house was rather dark, though Wortham flicked on two two magelights not unlike the ones the knights wore on their belts. The drawn curtains probably had something to do with it. There was little furniture for sitting or resting - just a bed tucked into a corner and two stools at a table near the cauldron. Shelves lined the walls, nearly all of their space taken up by potted plants and small clay jars.
Wortham had already hauled himself onto one of the stools and resumed slicing a thick, fibrous plant stem into strips. Tanner stepped closer to the cauldron and asked curiously, “What’re you making?”
“Wood treatment for a house up the way. It keeps termites out.”
Do his potions do things besides kill bugs? Markus thought.
Tanner evidently had a different opinion. “Oh! That sounds useful.”
“It is. Now what do you want, now that you’ve practically knocked down my door to get in?”
Jamison visibly had to count to ten, so Markus took over. “Well, we’re Markus, Jamison, and Tanner - I won’t bore you with explaining who we are, I take it you know already.”
“I’d guessed.”
“...Anyway, we wanted to confirm some things, and then...maybe talk strategy?”
With a sneer, Wrotham said, “I don’t know what strategy there is to talk about - but by the looks of it, you’ll talk about it anyway. Just get this over with.”
Markus could definitely understand Jamison’s frustration. “Okay, getting right to it - the reeve said you already took a look at the scenes for any sign of magic activity?”
“Of course I did - and no, there’re no traces of magic! Not that that means much of anything; all they have to do is remove the spells, and what’s left for me to find? Nothing!”
“Fair enough. But did you see any...I guess any signs a spell had been cast that couldn’t be cleared away? Anything out of place or - “
“I don’t see any of you wearing a wand holster,” Worthman interrupted curtly. “So I take it that means you aren’t mages. You’re really gonna question me about whether I, the mage searched properly? If I’d seen anything, I would’ve said!”
“Would you have?” Jamison asked darkly, before Markus could gesture for him to shut up. “It’s no secret you don’t want to talk to us.”
Wortham, with a rather forceful press of the knife to the stem he was slicing, retorted, “No, I don’t - so I’d give you all the answers I’ve got so you won’t come running back here if other things turn up!”
“All right -well - how about this.” Even Tanner sounded a little more brisk than usual.”We figure there’s at least one mage involved already - but what kind of spells would they be using, do you think?”
Wortham set down his knife and whirled around - but only demanded of Tanner, “That bowl by the red plant - make yourself useful and give it here. Don’t touch the plant - the thorns’ll give you hives the size of a goose egg and the remedy takes two hours to make, and another three to actually work.”
Tanner blinked, but turned and carefully picked up the bowl in question. He brought it to Wortham and held it out to the mage, but didn’t release it immediately into the man’s hands. “What kind of magic do you think the mage might’ve been using?”
“What, you can’t think of it yourselves? Woo’s bleedin’ tail feathers - fine, I’ll walk you through it.” Tanner released the bowl, and Wortham plucked a potion from the table, poured a little of its contents into the bowl, and resumed chopping the stem. “Must be an invisibility spell for hiding from sight. Camouflage spells to hide sound and smell from the dogs. Probably turning the ground into mud after ‘em to keep the footprints from showing up.”
“And none of those spells leave a trace?” Jamison asked.
“Of course not.” Wortham began stacking the leaves into a rough pile. “Ain’t that the whole point of those spells?”
As the old man began chopping the leaves into fine pieces, Jamison pressed, “What about interception? Is there a way we can stop the spells from working?”
“Not really - you’d have to know right where they are and exactly what to cast to disenchant ‘em. It ain’t a simple Renwoovate.”
Markus asked, “How about something that gets around it? Probably they’re not enchanted against swords - I mean, those enchantments all take a lot of power, right? - so if we just know where they are, we can fight them.”
“Yes, it’s a lot of power to cast all that. Most likely, you’re dealing with two mages, not one. But either way - no, not much I can do to get around it. Those’d be cutting-edge spells and I’m not exactly being kept informed what their highnesses in the schools and noble manors are doing, am I?”
Tanner’s hesitantly asked, “Er - what about - what about tracking them? They smear up the mud, I know, but is there any other way?”
With a dry laugh, the mage scraped the diced stems into his hand into the little bowl Tanner had brought him. As he began stirring with the knife, he said, “Sure - I’ve got a potion recipe for a good tracking brew. Dump the potion around the pens, it’s no more visible’n water, but as soon as sunlight hits it, we get a nice, shiny trail to follow.”
“That sounds like exactly something we need,” Jamison said, his tone and expression ones of surprise. “...What’s the catch?”
“I need full-moon adder-root and stag beetle eggs.”
Markus tried not to overtly sound like he felt - like he was pulling information out of a very young child. “As potion ingredients? Where d’you get them from?”
“There’re stag beetle eggs out in the forest, which I could get if it wasn’t for wolves. There’s old trees in the south, you can dig them out of there. But adder-root? Full moon adder-root?” Wortham snorted. “You have no idea what goes into that, do you? Adder-root’s finicky to grow in the first place, but then all the roots have to be steeped in water and rattleback quills for a couple days - and jnot just whenever you want, and not just once - it’s gotta be under three separate full moons! D’you have any idea how expensive that is?”
After a moment, Markus ventured, “That sounds…” Do not say “absolutely ridiculous”. “like it could get pricey. But how much are we talking, exactly?”
“If you have to ask…” Wortham quoted as he stirred his potion. “Last I saw? A good thirty, thirty-five runestones an ounce. I need two ounces for one brew, and one brew could ring around maybe one pen. Keeping in mind we need enough for their boots to get in it and track it.”
Markus started making calculations in his head, but the figures started getting very high very fast. Even at a conservative thirty runestones an ounce and one potion per pen, it was a lot. “Well,” he said, “we’ll see if our superiors can help us out there. Maybe we can at least get a little, and it can go around the most likely places.”
“That’s the thing, there aren't ‘most likely’ places. Sure, they don’t go after barns or where there’s lights or people - but anywhere else is fair game. Otherwise don’t you think we’d have set a trap for ‘em by now?”
“Sure, just - “
“Just what? Look, if there was a way for me to catch these - “ The liquid bubbling in the cauldron sloshed loudly at that exact moment, though Markus got the general idea of what Wortham thought of the thieves. “I would do it - but there’s nothing I can do! I’m sure you all think I’m just some angry recluse, and I am - but this is my town, too. I can’t do anything about what’s happening, and that’s the only reason I’m not.”
Tanner ventured, “If we did find a way you could help us, would you?”
Wortham scowled at him. “Maybe you’re just better off calling in a Curys mage.”
“It would take them a week to get here,” Tanner replied, not flinching from the mage’s scowl. “And they don’t know the town the same way. We’re asking you.” A pause, and then, “After all, you’re not involved, right?”
“What in the bloody ‘Pit would I want half a herd of cows and pigs for?”
Tanner pointed to one of the shelves; the rest of the group followed his finger, and Markus was quite surprised to see pig’s feet. He’d seen them for sale in the market, of course, but they just looked bizarre on a shelf like some extremely misplaced library book.
Wortham practically bared his teeth like a dog. “I get my ingredients fairly - you can ask the people I bought it from, the pig-farmers up at - “
“Annette and Nora?” Markus guessed.
“They did have a pig taken night before last,” Jamison pointed out. Markus gave him an incredulous “are you seriously doing this” sort of look - but of course, it was too late.
“Ad you’ll find that pig wherever these blighted bandits are holed up!” Wortham snatched a flask from the table. “You come into my house and accuse me of stealing from my own townspeople!? I agreed to answer your questions - I didn’t agree to be interrogated! Now get out!”
Markus tried to say, “We’re not interrogating, we’re only - “
“Out!”
Given that he looked like he was about to throw the flask sooner than fill it with his potion, Markus opted for strategic retreat. “We’re sorry to have offended you,” he said judiciously. “We’ll leave you to your work.”
Tanner waited until they were a good ways away from the house to sigh and say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to set him off. The pig’s feet…”
“That was very weird for him to have sitting out,” Jamison agreed.
Markus sighed and said, “Unless he didn’t think much of it because he did buy them legitimately.”
“And then left them out without thinking?”
“Nobody in town seems to think he’s part of this, Jamison - why would he feel like he needed to hide them? And sure,” Markus admitted, “criminals can be pretty stupid about things like that - but Wortham didn’t seem stupid.”
“No - just a bitter, judgmental prat throwing a temper tantrum because he got snubbed by some noblemen.” Jamison snorted. “News for him - they snub everyone. Us included.” Side-eyeing Markus, he amended, “At least, when we're in uniform.”
Markus waved his hands in a placating motion. “It’s frustrating, I know. But we need to keep our heads; we’re supposed to be fighting with the bandits.”
“Well, that requires us catching them - and if he’s such a good mage the nobles all lost out by not recruiting him, isn’t it his job to give us suggestions? Help us figure out how to stop these thefts?”
“Maybe he told the reeve already, and the reeve just didn’t pass it on to us,” Tanner said. “He could’ve told him about that tracking potion, and maybe the reeve just figured we wouldn’t go for the expense. ...Are we going to ask Captain Alden about it?”
“Oh, definitely,” Markus said. “We wanted options - now we’ve got one.”
Part FiveAlden took their report in private, which, Markus found a relief; he was probably not going to be happy about much of it. They started with the best news they could - that there was a potion for tracking, and the only obstruction to using it was cost. .It wasn’t exactly the best good news Markus had ever delivered. Alden sighed and said, “I can send to House Curys for a letter of credit. But even if they approve, someone will have to ride to another town and find the ingredient; I doubt the House will send us hundreds of runestones’ worth of a potion ingredient that we might not need. Anything else?” “Well - that was the point he kicked us out, Captain,” Markus said. “He had pig’s feet sitting out on one of his shelves…” “It was my fault,” Tanner admitted. “I asked him about it, but too strong.” “And I tried to back Tanner up, which I don’t think helped,” Jamison said with a small sigh. “I see.” Alden crossed his arms. “How did he explain the pig’s feet?” Jamison answered, “He said he’d bought them from the pig-keepers who had a pig taken the other night. It is surprisingly good timing.” “Or bad timing, if he’s innocent and made that purchase genuinely.” Alden gave them each a stern glower. “We have to handle people very carefully here - this town is far too small for us to be making enemies. I don’t want anyone interrogated unless there’s much more compelling evidence than that. Understood?” The three knights nodded. Markus asked, “Are we going to follow up on that claim, Captain?” “Yes - we might as well be certain, and I suppose there’s the possibility he overreacted based on guilt rather than righteous indignation. But then, why would he give us the potion?” “To make himself look helpful, maybe,” Tanner mused. “He could make up a potion, if he wanted. I’ve never heard of full-moon adder-root.” They all looked at Jamison, who shook his head slightly. “I’ve heard of adder-root, but not that full-moon bit. I didn’t recognize the potion, either...but he did mention rattleback quills, and those are used in potions. So are moon phases. So if it’s made-up, it’s done well. Maybe we can ask about that in your letter to the House, Captain?” “Yes, I’ll be giving them a full explanation of what we’re asking for money to purchase and why, as well as a small research check. Anyhow - as for the lead. Sir Accipiter, you haven’t said anything indicating you were involved with the interrogation - am I safe sending you and Brandt or Desmond to ask the ladies about their sales?” “Markus didn’t ask anything about the feet,” Tanner said. “Captain, if you need to send Brandt and Desmond instead - “ “I’d like someone there who heard exactly what Master Wortham said. I trust you’ll be careful, Sir Accipiter?” “Of course,” Markus said. He felt a little guilty accepting Desmond and Brandt as, effectively, replacements for Tanner and Jamison. The two may have been more aggressive than they ought to have been, but it wasn’t as if Markus had managed to stop them, was it? However, sentiment did not apply to strategy, and Alden was right in wanting someone there to ensure that whatever the knights found out from the pigkeepers was accurate. Tanner and Jamison wouldn’t blame him for not getting in trouble as well, anyway; they were mature and reasonable adults who could take responsibility for their own actions. Unlike some other adults Markus knew. And it wasn’t as if Markus had never been in trouble with the captain - there was a reason he knew that taking knights off their assigned lead was a subtle “you’re in trouble” from Alden. “In the meantime,” the captain said, “we need to search the woods. Go prepare your horses.” Alden led the group to the fire he and Desmond had discovered, and the group’s general consensus was that it was indeed too small to have been used by more than one person. “Which doesn’t mean there aren’t more people out here, though,” Brandt said. “Could have belonged to a scout or the like. Or it’s only a coincidence.” “Correct,” Alden said. “We’ll spread out. Search for anything that seems out of place, or any sign of the livestock.” The knights started off, spreading out so they were only close enough to see the horses immediately to their left and right. Being on horseback made the task of looking for any clues in the brush much easier, even if the horses sometimes had to pick their way around trees and logs with greater care than their riders would have needed on foot. They had been going a while when Brandt, to Markus’ right, called, “Found the lake!” He slowed his horse to a stop, peering between the trees. “Looks pretty undisturbed. But I can’t exactly see the details of the shore mud from here.” “Right.” Markus pulled Millicent to a stop as well, and called to his left, “Captain - Brandt found the lake. Should we check for prints while we’re here?” “It couldn’t hurt to look again. We’ll call halt here.” Alden raised a hand to signal to the knight on his left to stop, and the signal would pass down the chain until it reached the opposite side of the search line. Markus gave Millicent a nudge and urged her toward Brandt and his horse, scouring the ground ahead of her for prints. “Nothing so far.” He patted Millicent's neck. “Smell anything, girl?” The horse’s ears privoted briefly toward his voice, but she seemed otherwise unconcerned. “Let’s do this on foot,” Brandt suggested. “So Dahara and Millicent don’t trample anything.” Markus nodded and started out of the saddle, but he stroked Millicent’s mane and said, “Don’t worry, Millie, I know you would never stomp on evidence.” “Dahara will teach her, then,” Brandt said wryly, loosely securing his horse’s reins to a nearby tree branch. The two knights scouted around the lake, though much like calling the sparse trees a forest, they were being rather generous with geographic terms. Markus could easily see the other side of the water and all of its banks, and his and Brandt’s circle of the spring only took a few minutes - even then, only so long because they were searching for clues. It was long enough that Alden sent Tanner to join them, though he didn’t really know any more about wild animal hoofprints than the other knights and so his contributions were mostly confirmations that deer tracks weren’t the marks of cow or pig hoofs. “Still nothing,” Markus announced grimly as he, Brandt, and Tanner returned to their horses.”Maybe they’re using the same footprint-hiding trick on the lakeshore, though.” “Perhaps.” Alden shifted his grip on his horse’s reins. “Let’s continue on.” They returned to the search, but as time passed and the sky clouded it became clearer and clearer that there was nothing to find. Somehow Alden’s order to halt and turn back was even terser than usual; Markus decided he would save his suggestion from the previous day that they search the ravine for after dinner. Alden, however, had them deliver reports in the barn. “So,” Alden said as they finished, “we have one abandoned campsite and no solid evidence to go on.” “We need to find something,” Jamison said, rubbing his temples. “There are too many possibilities right now, we need something to narrow things down - if we found blood, or tracks, or a bunch of extra meat…” “The town militia searched the houses and barns and the like,” Alden said. “They didn’t find any extra meat. If the animals are being butchered, it’s likely out of the town.” “Unless there’s a mage disguising it,” Brandt pointed out. Desmond sighed scratchily. “We don’t know where to look for clues because we don’t know how the thieves work. But we don’t know how the thieves work because we can’t find any clues.” He looked up suddenly, his green eyes sharp. “Maybe we should come at this the other way around.” “Pardon?” Jamison asked. “Ah, I think I see.” Brandt straightened up from the wall. “Rather than chasing down clues, we go the direct route and chase down the thieves. ...we set a trap,” he summarized. “At the very least, we'll know what the attacks actually look like.” Frowning, Jamison said, “I don’t know - it’s a long-shot we’d pick the right field.” “And they’ve already been watching us,” Markus added. “But even if we manage to get into hiding without them seeing us, would they be suspicious about us not patrolling?” “We can plant word we’re going to scout the forest after dark,” Brandt suggested. “Ride the horses out with lights on, then come back - maybe on foot - in the dark.” “I think we should bring the horses back,” Tanner said. “But you have a good point - if we can catch whoever’s doing this, maybe even stop them while they’re trying to steal an animal - that would be a lot more useful.” “And our regular patrols aren’t working,” Brandt said. “So what do you think, Captain?” “It may be a better option. However - remember that we’d be ambushing a mage.” “True. But our armor does have some enchantments on it,” Jamison pointed out. “And if they’re casting all the spells we suggested, they probably won’t have much energy left for casting any seriously strong spells. We should outnumber them, too.” Alden nodded slightly. “I’d suggest requesting help from Master Wortham, but if he is behind this, he shouldn’t be anywhere near our defences.” “If that’s the case, we shouldn’t tell him about the stakeout at all,” Desmond suggested. Tanner offered, “Should somebody stake out his house, instead of the field? If he leaves, whoever’s there can follow him, or go on ahead to the others.” “I don’t like splitting our forces, especially when we’re up against mages,” Alden said slowly. “But it might be a risk worth taking; if he is the culprit, warning that he’s coming is exactly what we’ll need.” He looked around at the knights under his command. "Are there any other problems that occur to you?” The others shook their heads, and Alden said, “Very well. If new concerns arise, share them. In the meantime; I think it’s too late in the day to reasonably set our trap tonight. We’ll patrol again, and start preparations noon tomorrow. Though, Sir Accipiter - don’t forget you need to speak to the pigkeepers.” “Aye, sir - I’ll go do that now.” While the other knights unsaddled their horses, Markus and Desmond rode out to the pigkeepers’ home. Annette and Nora greeted them with some interest at first; this faded when the knights admitted they didn’t have any information on their stolen pigs. They did at least agree to answer Markus’ question about a sale they had made. Annette confirmed she remembered Wortham ordering just what the knights had seen in the mage’s home, and though she couldn’t place the exact day, it had definitely been within the week. “Well,” Markus said as they rode back, “He may be cantankerous, but it doesn’t seem like he’s a thief.” “So long as this isn’t a very elaborate ruse.” “If it is, he’s going to have to explain his endgame in lots of loving detail. I want pictures, a thorough outline, diagrams - the works.” ******* That night’s attack happened during the first patrol again. Despite sending Tanner, who rode one of the squad’s fastest chargers, on a rapid search of the town’s perimeter, there was no sign of any thieves, rogue mages, or the stolen goat. The frustration was palpable between the knights, and Markus found himself more and more in support of the ambush idea. It seemed like the only way they would even start to make progress. Alden determined that the squad would discuss the plan in private, then take it to the reeve directly to avoid word getting around the village. It wouldn’t be much of a trap if the guilty party heard about it through town gossip, after all. They settled around the map for about an hour in Alden’s quarters, passing around the list of stolen animals and using an assortment of small pocket items to mark where the thefts had occurred on their copy of the village map. “This is a mess,” Jamison said, frowning at the completed ‘diagram’. “All right - runestones are cows, toothpicks are goats, and checker pieces are pigs, right?” “For the tenth time, yes,” Desmond groaned. “Do we need to draw spots on the runestones and snouts on the checkers for you?” Markus offered, “There are extra toothpicks - we could break them in half and make tiny little legs for the goats!” “No, that’s fine - I’ve got it.” Jamison frowned at the map. “There are more attacks on the west end of the village.” “So there are,” Brandt agreed, studying the map. “Which does make sense if we’re dealing with bandits from the forest.” Markus pointed out, “But that also makes it weird when they hit places here, and here.” He motioned to spots on the eastern side of town. “Although maybe they’re only doing it on nights they feel daring.” Desmond agreed. “Maybe. There’s no pattern to when they go after where, far as we can see, right, Captain?” “Correct. No pattern to the animals taken, either, unless it’s a very obscure one.” “I say crimes of opportunity, most likely,” Brandt said. “If the western areas seem like likely places to get caught, then, they’ll move east.” “Makes sense - but even if we say we’ll hide out somewhere west, how do we want to pick a specific field?” Markus asked. Tanner, flicking a spare checker between his fingers, said, “Well, there’s a pattern to what they don’t go after, right? They don’t steal from fields with people, or when there’s too much light.” “Right…” “If we make other areas like that,” Tanner said, “but then leave one place vulnerable - they have to go for the vulnerable place. It’s like faking an injury for a feint.” Markus nodded.“Ahh, good point - that makes a lot of sense to me.” “Well, if it makes sense to Markus, we can say it’s astoundingly logical,” Jamison remarked. Before Markus could retort, Desmond said, “We still need to be careful. It’ll make any half-sensible thief suspicious if only one pasture in the whole town is ripe for the picking.” “Maybe we can expand to a few pastures?” Brandt suggested. “Though we might need to split up to make that work…” “It might be worth it,” Desmond replied. “My worry - how do we tell only part of the village to stay on alert?” “Hmm - that is a problem.” “Maybe we can take care of it somehow?” Even as he suggested it, Markus’ mouth twisted; he wasn’t sure how to do that. “Put up torches all over the place?” “And just happen not to get to some fields in time?” Brandt guessed. “Could make the thieves desperate,” Desmond noted. “Make them think they’re running out of time.” “We definitely need to keep Wortham out of it, then,” Brandt warned. “Magic lights set up faster than torches.” “I doubt we’ll have to worry much about that,” Jamison said. “That would involve working with our noble company.” “I’ll speak to the reeve. He can help us with a solution if we need one.” Brandt said, “They have the guards for the wall - should we try getting help from them? They’re the closest thing to a city guard here. Or are they under suspicion as well?” “Corrupt city guards would explain how anyone’s getting in and out,” Desmond noted. “It can’t hurt to be careful,” Jamison said slowly. “We don’t want them to make the work go too fast, and obviously telling them we need a few fields left dark is a risk.” “Speaking of the wall,” Tanner said, “should we pretend to leave town? Say we’re checking the forest for any nighttime activity, and sneak back in? Then the thieves wouldn’t even know we were in the village to catch them - it might make them more daring.” “Makes sense to me,” Markus agreed. “Though how do we get back in without bothering the guards? I take it we don’t want to climb or we’re going to see the business end of those lovely spears they have stashed by the gate.” There was a moment of silence as the knights mulled it over, but finally, Tanner slowly recalled, “Markus, when we were talking to Kent...didn’t he say his family’s orchard was lucky to be close to the city walls?” “...Oh, yeah. That does sound familiar. I don’t know, though - are we sure they’re separate gates? That sounds...kind of unsafe.” “If his family’s orchard is on the east side of town, I can’t see it taking him only ‘a few minutes’ to get around to the main gate,” Tanner pointed out. “We’ll ask the reeve,” Alden said, getting to his feet. “Though I don’t imagine he’ll very care much for this idea.” ******* Alden was quite correct - the reeve was not enthusiastic about the plan at all, and was distinctly unhappy with the idea of keeping secrets from Wortham and the guards. “None of them have any reason to be doing this!” “Actually,” Alden replied, “we have a few speculative motives. It would be great risk for potentially little reward, but that hasn’t stopped thieves before. In any case, with his magic, we can’t rule him out based on your testimony alone.” The reeve eventually gave up arguing, though with clear reluctance and significantly spikier hair. He did at least agree that they could set up torches alongside the pastures - so long as they also provided at least a bucket of well-water for each field as well in case the fire spread from the torches. He also explained that yes, Tanner had been right to interpret Kent’s comment to mean that there were a few other gates around the city. “They don’t operate the same way the main gate does; from the outside, you can’t even tell they’re gates if they’re closed. They’re more like doors, and each one has a key. But,” he asked with a hint of reproach in his voice, “are you sure you can trust any of the orchard families?” Alden raised an eyebrow. “We’re trying to limit the people we share details with, yes. If this doesn’t work, then we have fewer suspects. And if we’re coming in a different way than out, then we can tell one of the orchard-farmers that only a few knights need to return. Or a similar story.” “Hm. I suppose that makes sense.” He didn’t sound very happy about this, but the reeve just sighed and asked, “Do you have anyone in mind?” Alden glanced at Tanner, who nodded - and then Markus, who nodded as well. He really had his doubts that Kent, or any of the orchard workers, for that matter - had the energy to steal the livestock. However, as they left, Desmond said quietly, “If those doors are unguarded - that might be where the livstock’s being taken.” “We have one plan in motion already,” Alden said. “But that’s a good point.” “I don’t know,” Markus said, “that means they have to drag an animal through town. While everyone’s on high-alert because of the animals panicking.” Jamison frowned. “Hm...you know, it - it just occurred to me, but...whatever’s panicking the animals...I wonder if it’s delayed?” “I guess we’ll tell Kent to keep his eyes open,” Markus said. ****** Alden sent Tanner and Brandt to find Kent’s family’s orchard and discuss the plan and whether or not he would be willing to wait at the gate for some of them to return. When they caught up to the other knights, who were preparing torches, they reported that the man had agreed to wait for them. “Hopefully we’re right about him not being involved,” Brandt said in hushed tones, “because if he is, well, there’s not way to hide all of us coming back.” “No, but if he is involved,” Alden said, “firstly, he won’t know why we’re all back, and secondly, if he’s running about the city trying to find cohorts, we’re bound to notice that.” To Markus’ surprise, Tanner nodded in agreement - but then, he supposed, if Tanner was convinced Kent wasn’t involved in this, then there was no harm in admitting what it would look like if he were guilty. Well, hopefully he’s not involved in this, and we catch somebody tonight, Markus thought. It’s gonna be a long night if we have to sit out here doing nothing.******* Evening was falling quickly as the knights finished not-quite-as-many torches as they could. The rain had limited itself to just a brief, late-afternoon shower, and so the torches lit quickly as the knights went around town on horseback, before returning the animals to the barn and heading out to the forest armed and on-foot. They had swapped their sunset-red-violet attire for black - the former color was not much of a color for stealth. Which was fine when one was a seven-foot-tall, self-immolating bird who could probably crush a person’s head like a big orange in its talons. Not so much for human knights. They waited just deep enough in the trees to be hidden from Bexley as the sky turned from blue-black and orange-streaked to blue-black and pink at their backs, to deep purple… Finally, as it grew past the point of darkness Markus would have called dusk, Alden softly called for them to move out. The squad took a wide swath before finally approaching the direction of the city again, where they found Kent’s peach orchard. It did smell good - but all the trees became ominous shapes in the near-moonless night, insects kept landing on them and trying to bite, and there were distinct rustles in the trees and leathery flaps that Markus guessed were the bats. Occasionally one of the creatures would swoop from one tree to another, but luckily they didn’t seem to interested in getting close to the knights. Markus wasn’t sure what his reaction to a bat dive-bombing his face would be, but he was not eager to see what it was nor how long it would take him to live it down. At last, the wall came into sight and with a little guidance from Brandt and Tanner, they found a spot in the wood that, Markus realized after a moment’s study, did indeed have a slight, strange gap between some of the logs. Alden knocked gently on the wood with the back of his hand; slight noises came from the other side, and then the door eased open. Markus assumed the person who leaned his head out was Kent, and fortunately he spoke quickly to confirm that. “Back already?” “Yes. Can we get through?” Alden asked. “Of course, Sir - Captain, I mean.” Kent pulled the door all the way open for them and stood aside. “...You’re all back?” Alden lied, “Just briefly. Thank you.” Kent shut the door and locked it again. “D’you need me to stay here, Sirs?” he whispered. “That won’t be needed. Your home is this way, correct?” “Yes, Captain.” Alden looked him over quickly. “You can tag along with us until we reach your house. Keep absolutely silent and try not to stand out. Understood?” “Understood,” Kent said very firmly. If he had some secret agenda to inform the thieves of returning knights, he was showing no signs of discomfort at the delay the knights’ escort would bring. Markus kept an eye on him as they made their way along the path, but Kent simply did as he’d been told - walked quietly, and tried not to make a spectacle of himself. He went right to his home when the knights reached it - the only strangeness there was a moment where he awkwardly waved, and Tanner waved awkwardly back. But that was the normal sort of strangeness, and it just made Markus smirk and roll his eyes a little in the darkness. But the amusement didn’t last long - there was a mission to focus on. Bexley under nightfall but torchlit was actually a very serene sight, and the whole night was cooperating now that they were out of the orchard. Crickets chirped, cicadas buzzed, the winds were warm and languid. The firelight softened the look and faded color of the shoddy building materials, and the soft crackling of the flames added a cozy undercurrent of sound to the quiet streets. Occasionally one of the drifts of wind would bring the scent of peaches into the city, like a splash of just the right amount of just the right kind of wine in your mixed, overly-fancy Raylish drink. Markus knew better than to be deceived. The bloodiest fight with bandits he had ever been part of had started in the streets near a bakery, where the smell of cloves and vanilla and baking bread had been the dominant aroma until it was replaced by a heavy, coppery tang. Beautiful sunrises had risen to illuminate to him more than one stomach-twisting aftermath of battle or criminal’s act of atrocity. The night he and Colin had broken up hadn’t been too unlike this one, except it had smelled like grapes and rain, all the light had been behind them, and the sky had been explosive with stars. And yet, the day of Markus’ knighting ceremony had been one of nonstop rain. The first time he had kissed Linnea had been shortly after a long walk through the most gnat-infested patch of nature Markus had ever encountered, and the afternoon had become disgustingly humid. Markus was pretty sure Lord Woo didn’t express his feelings on things through the weather. At least, he really hoped that wasn’t the case. Three fields on the west end of the village had been left unilluminated; not the most ideal scenario, as Tanner would be leaving to watch Wortham’s place, leaving the rest of the squad to split into three teams - two teams of two, and one team of one. Markus turned out to be the lucky loner that night. Brandt and Desmond headed one way, Alden and Jamison the other, and Markus took cover behind a row of barrels between the house’s side and the field. He was watching goats, who didn’t seem to care much about the knight hunkering nearby. Good - so at least he wouldn’t be ratted out by suspicious bleats in his direction. He settled in to wait. An hour passed, and nothing happened. Then another. And another. Okay...this is odd, Markus thought. Maybe the torches are making them nervous and they’re just being careful There didn’t seem to be any reason they wouldn’t attack; the thieves had been at this every night despite brazen knight patrols, like they were compelled to commit the thefts, no matter the danger. ...It is a compulsion, isn’t it? Markus thought. But why livestock? Why every night? It wouldn't have been the first time Markus and his squad found themselves dealing with a criminal almost as addicted to the trill of their heists as some people could get to alcohol...but this variant was definitely a strange case. Much more elaborate, much less desperate in the execution than Markus would have expected. As the hours waned on, no matter how hard Markus strained his senses, he heard no ruckus, saw no movement...he would have settled for an unusual smell or a nonsensical phantom taste, even. But no, nothing, nothing, just sleeping goats and fiddling crickets. Markus was strongly tempted to try and sneak to the other farms to make sure he hadn’t missed an attack - which was ludicrous, until Markus considered that it would be difficult for anyone to come tell Markus there had been an attack if the knights had been the ones ambushed. But that was ridiculous - if the thieves ambushed anyone, it would be Markus, alone behind these stupid barrels. The others were fine. It was probably just the lights that were too much. Despite these rather forced optimistic thoughts, Markus made the decision to leave the barrels as soon as it was light enough for him to see the road and the outlines of the houses beyond it. Everything was dull and not precisely clear in color or form, but it was definitely past time for an attack. He decided to go to the field Alden was watching over first. Just in case Desmond, Brandt, or Tanner came here looking for him , Markus used his finger to draw an an arrow in the dirt. He included a small and unskilled self-portrait of his face with a big grin, so the other knights could be sure it was left by Markus, and that he was fine. To Markus’ relief, Alden and Jamison were standing beside the crates they must have sheltered behind the whole night. They looked cross and tired, but unharmed. Alden gave Markus a stern look, but accepted his salute and nodded slightly at the report that there had been no disturbances to the goats. “No activity here, either,” the captain said. “I didn’t hear anything from the others - probably the same for them,” Markus guessed. “Most likely. Let’s find out for sure.” Desmond and Brandt had also survived the night, and had also seen no disturbances. They headed to the city gate in puzzled, tired silence to meet Tanner, as they had agreed. Tanner was, quite fortuitously, arriving just as the rest of the squad made it to the gate. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “Wortham came outside once, to water some plants, and then he went right back inside. I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me.” “Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean very much when there was no attack,” Brandt said with a sigh, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his beard. “Well - either someone spotted us...or we have to consider that the reeve or the peach-farmer are part of this scheme.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, before Alden asked Jamison, “Could spells have been used to find us in hiding?” “Well, they couldn’t have used a spell without you seeing the flash.” The black-haired knight frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe… maybe some sense-enhancing potion? They exist, anyway.” “You sound skeptical,” Desmond noted. “I am. They’re hard to brew, for one, but they’re even harder to take. They’ll enhance a sense, sure - but the effects when it wears off are bad. Nasty, crippling headaches, loss of whatever sense you were trying to boost... Sometimes you just throw it all back up right away. And there’s no telling how long whichever of those effects you get will last - it could be just a few hours, or maybe a week - maybe permanently. And that’s if they don’t just kill you straight off.” Markus broke the silence this time. “So - you’re saying there’s a slight chance they’re using these potions? You really need to share more information, Jamison. We never get details from you.” “Oh, shut up, Markus - I don’t have the patience to entertain you right now.” “And you should really open up more about how you feel, while we’re on the subject,” Markus went on. “I can never tell when you’re annoyed with me!” Desmond asked, “Are we sure Markus wasn’t slipped one of these potions as a child? It would explain his deafness to his own annoyance.” “Now, you, Des, you wear your heart on your sleeve! Be more like him, Jamison!” Jamison rolled his eyes, but instead of retorting, he said, “Maybe the thieves have a Seer. That...would explain a lot, really.” “I thought Seers were rare,” Tanner said, frowning. “They are. And it’s a lot of power to waste stealing livestock.” Brandt clapped a hand on Markus’ shoulder. “He’s saying we should prepare to fight a psychic, Markus.” “Ah, is that what he’s getting at? Well, I’m not scared - my head’s far too thick and way too empty to be of any use to any psychic!” “Good - you can be the diversion. ...Though I think you’re right, Jamison,” Brandt said in a more serious tone. “It’s a lot of power to waste stealing cattle and swine. Unless it’s some sort of test run, but then this draws too much attention to it.” “And if you have the power to see where we are, why not just use that knowledge to try and get us from behind?” Jamison added duly. “I think we’re most likely dealing with an inside job.” Markus frowned. “I don’t know - the reeve’s the one who called us here in the first place.” “At some point, he’d have had to,” Jamison pointed out. “Or everyone in the city would be calling him out on it. And that doesn’t work with the farmer, I doubt he had a say in the reeve’s decision.” “Still,” Tanner said, “we don’t have proof it wasn’t the torches scaring bandits off from a distance. They could’ve thought all the fields were lit.” “So we see if the reeve or farmer have alibis,” Desmond said. “And then we start questioning. See if anyone spotted either of them somewhere they shouldn’t have been.” Reluctantly, Markus nodded. He didn’t think the reeve or Kent had much reason to be part of the thieving ring - but he’d been surprised by unexpected motivations before. Despite the no-doubt widespread desire to go back to the inn and sleep, the knights still had work to do - going to bed meant giving potential traitors more time to make some sort of escape or arrange an alibi. So Desmond and Jamison were immediately sent to retrieve Kent, while the rest of the squad headed to the reeve’s home. It looked like he’d been awake much of the night, too, but the man smiled at them as they approached. “No word of attacks, Sirs - at least there’s that!” “Yes,” Alden said. “Which is good for your town, but...has some problematic implications.” The reeve’s smile melted like wax thrown into a fire. “Ah. Right. So you think either I or - Kent was the one you asked, right? You think one of us was involved.” “Can anyone verify you were here all night?” The reeve sighed. “No - but you won’t find anyone saying they saw me out on the streets, either. I was here all night. And Kent - he has no reason to do this. The boy had an adventurous streak as a child, but he was never malevolent. Never the sort to get involved in anything shady. Maybe leading some boys to explore the ravine, but - again, as a child.” Alden said, “Regardless - we’ll need to ask you both questions.” Kent looked bewildered and worried when the knights brought him to the reeve’s home. Jamison said, “Well, we took a look around the house while we were there; it looks like it would’ve been hard for him to sneak out with nobody hearing. His family say he was there all night after he came back in.” “I swear,” Kent said fervently, “I was not helping any livestock thieves! Why would I be part of that?” He looked quickly between the knights and the reeve, his brown eyes wide. “ How would I even do that? I don’t have magic!” Alden said, “We’re not suggesting magic, or even direct involvement - but you knew when we came back into the village. That information could have been helpful to anyone behind this.” “I didn’t tell anyone, Sir, I swear! Why would I want to be part of that?” “Money?” Brandt suggested. “The bandits might be selling livestock to other villages. They’d probably give a small cut to any informants, and with the harvest this bad...” “What? No - that isn’t worth it! If I was caught helpin’ livestock thieves, I’d be lucky just to be hanged! We never have much money - but we’ve got more’n some, and even if we were so bad off; it wouldn’t be a matter of life and death! The town wouldn’t let us starve!” The reeve put in, “We’re a tight-knit community. And the church is always willing to provide for the needy.” “Or I could go work for one of the livestockers,” Kent said. “Or Ms. Hilde at the inn - somethin’ honest and legal.” The knights traded glances, their expressions mostly concealed - at least to outsiders. Markus knew by now how to read the more subtle expressions of his colleagues. They were uncertain, which Markus could certainly sympathize with. He glanced at Tanner, who was controlling his emotions well - the only sign Markus could clearly see of his agitation was how tightly his hands were clasped together behind his back. When Tanner glanced back at him, Markus raised his eyebrows questioningly. The younger knight nodded slightly. “Small towns provide for each other. There’d have to be a motive other than desperation.” “Very well.” Despite this, Alden turned back to Kent. “What is this we’ve heard about the ravine?” “The ravine? The one in the forest?” Kent glanced at the reeve, but quickly turned his gaze back to Alden. “I used to go poke ‘round there when I was young. Up ‘til a few years ago. Well, if dogs run off and we need to check the place, I’ll help out, but aside from that, I don’t go there much now.” He shrugged hesitantly. “I don’t get what it has t’do with this?” There was a pause - and then Kent realized, “Or - or is that where whoever’s taking the animals is maybe hiding?” Alden said, “We don’t know for sure yet. Right now, we’re focusing on finding out why nobody attacked last night - despite that any thieves should have assumed we were in the forest.” “I don’t know, Captain - honest to ‘Woo, I don’t know! And,” Kent added insistently, “if I was working with some kind of bandits - wouldn’t I’ve told ‘em to to be there to - to attack you, or something? This way just makes me look guilty, it’d be stupid!” The reeve stepped forward, drawing several sharp glances - which he ignored. “It was probably all the light. The thieves probably never even came close to the village. You’re welcome to do whatever asking about you’d like. But please, stay focused on finding who’s done this, and not on terrorizing people you asked to help.” “Investigating leads is part of finding out who’s done this,” Alden replied. However, his frown deepened slightly as he looked between the two suspects; Markus wondered if he was thinking the same thing Markus was - that they were going to have a lot of trouble locking up the head of the village. After a few seconds’ terse silence, the captain said, “However - I don’t have enough information to hold either of you. There may be other explanations. We will be asking around, and I recommend you two stay close to town. Running would not look very innocent, and we have horses.” The reeve nodded once; his arm started to rise, fingers curled to no doubt ruffle his hair again, but the man restrained it. Kent’s nod was like a woodpecker turned sideways. The knights left for the inn, thankfully. Markus definitely wanted some sleep; this had to be easier to think through on a clear head. ******* Markus woke up around late afternoon, his hand prickling with pins and needles from being slept on too long. Markus didn’t really want to be up, and tried to close his eyes and fall back to sleep after shifting into a more comfortable position - but now that he was awake, he couldn’t ignore the thrum of voices drifting up through the thin floor and the thin walls and the gaps between the door and its frame. After a few minutes, he sighed and sat up, grumbling as he rubbed his sore neck. The voices sounded pretty cheery. For once, that put Markus in less of a good mood. They were probably excited that there had finally been a night without an animal attack - but knowing that this was far from over, that the previous night could have been a fluke at best, Markus didn’t feel any genuine victory himself. He was usually very good at finding positives and humor in negative situations, and he was also good at projecting false enthusiasm - but that didn’t mean he always saw all bright lights or enjoyed pretending he was happy when he was anything but. Markus did want to talk to his squadmates about everything, though. They needed to figure out what to do next. Probably they weren’t going to come to him, however, at least not until it was time for them all to assemble, so Markus got to his feet and started making himself presentable. Though he was not shaving - the thin fuzz under his chin wasn’t worth it. Granted, Markus needed to keep close watch on it, as his facial hair was far too easy to use as a potential handhold when it grew out. And on a less-practical note, his face wasn’t really well-suited for a beard; it made him look like a man starting the transformation into a bear - or maybe a bear almost done turning human. But this fluff could go a few days more before Markus started looking like he should be speaking in growls and clawing at trees, so he was fine with it. Quite a difference from just a few years previous, when he had shaved every day he could, almost religiously, like it was a ritual that might ward off remembering Colin’s various bear-related nicknames for him. Not that shaving until his face was hairless as a snake did anything for memories; only time really fixed things like that. In any case - Markus left the room a little scruffy but otherwise cleaned up as much as the others would expect. And apparently, he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Tanner and Jamison were both in the hall as well, Tanner slumped against the door to his room across the hall, and occasionally glancing over at Jamison, who was standing by the staircase. Jamison glanced back once nodded once at Markus, who returned it as he sat beside Tanner.. “Morning. Er - afternoon, I guess. ...You all right?” Tanner shrugged. “As all right as anyone else. I keep going over everything in my head, but nothing’s coming together.” “This is a tough one,” Markus agreed. After a moment, he decided to broach the subject and asked, “What d’you think happened last night?” “I really think it was the light that drove them off. The reeve being in on it makes no sense, he’s got way too much to lose, and Kent doesn’t make sense, either. Like he said, if he was an informer or something, he could’ve gotten some of the bandits, or, whoever, to come try and fight us. He didn’t know we were all coming back at once.” From the stairs, Jamison commented, “Well, if knights start dying, Curys will send more.” “But he doesn’t have a motive, either. Their orchard is doing well enough that he can bring at least a barrel to the inn to sell. If they need money, he’s getting paid; if they needed food, then they wouldn’t be selling peaches, they’d just eat them. And the village would pull together, anyway.” “I think I’m with Tanner,” Markus admitted. “We’ve gotta do our due diligence, but...the motives just don’t seem that compelling.” He glanced up at Jamison to make sure he wasn’t listening in, and asked more quietly, “You gonna be okay if we find out...something unpleasant?” Tanner looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “I’ll do my job. He’s…. He seems like a nice guy, but if that’s an act, then...I was wrong. I’ll have to question my taste and judgement, but I have perspective.” “I know you’ll do your job.” Markus assured him. “I just know if it was me, I’d be pretty frustrated. Hopefully we’re right and he’s got nothing to do with this.” Before Tanner could reply, Jamison stood up straight from the wall and sauntered back toward them. “Morning, Markus.” “Afternoon, actually.” Ignoring this correction, Jamison said, “So it sounds like people think we scared the thieves off, with whatever we were supposedly doing in the forest. But not everyone’s sure we’ll manage it another night; we didn’t catch them, they can tell that much.” “Can’t really blame ‘em for that,” Markus admitted. “Especially since it’s such a weird gap in their pattern. Speaking of - does this feel like it’s compulsion to anyone else?” “Like they’re doing all of this for the thrill of the hunt?” Jamison shrugged as he plopped down on Tanner’s opposite side. “I suppose it could be. But I don’t know that it matters what their reasoning is at this point; it doesn’t seem like it’s going to help us catch them.” He sighed, stretching his neck. “Unless something pans out when we ask about our two friends, the most we might be able to hope for is that the thieves get so caught up in it they make a mistake.” “But we don’t want to wait for that to happen,” Tanner objected. “...There’s still the ravine we haven’t checked.” Markus nodded. “That’s true. Guess that’s the most obvious hiding place we haven’t searched yet.” Leaning his his head back against the door, Jamison said, “Well I guess we should prepare for a hike, if the captain agrees to it.” “Don’t get so cozy yet, Jamison,” Markus said. “Much as I’d love a group nap, the captain’s not going to be happy with us loafing around.” Tanner stifled a yawn and nodded. “We should start asking the crowd about....well. Maybe we should keep it vague. Let’s not make enemies just yet.” “Sounds fair to me.” Markus got to his feet. “Come on, Jamison, you, too - our public awaits!” ******* Either their questions were too vague, or nobody had spotted any suspicious actions, or nothing malevolent had happened in the town at all that night - in any case, when the three knights regrouped near the stairs, none of them had anything especially insightful to share. “Maybe we should be more specific,” Jamison grumbled. “Then maybe we could get something that actually confirms one of them was where they were supposed to be, instead of no proof they weren’t.” “We’ll have to ask the captain - but, maybe.” Markus “That’s probably not a good idea,” Tanner warned. “Unless we have more proof, they’re not going to be happy about us accusing two of their own. You saw how people acted when we were suspicious of Wortham.” “Well - either way,” Markus said. “I think we’ve got all we’re going to get from down here.” As they headed back upstairs, Alden emerged from his room. He was already immaculately dressed, and, Markus noticed, clean-shaven. The knights saluted, and after a brief explanation of what they’d been up to - and how unsuccessful it had been - Alden suggested they rouse Desmond and Brandt, and then they would hold a discussion in the captain’s room again. It wasn’t a very long talk; none of the party had any new theories, and the general agreement seemed to be that either the reeve or Kent being involved would be somewhat unexpected. Though the idea of continuing to ask around about the two suspects was brought up, most everyone’s interest seemed to be in searching the ravine, and soon. “We have a few hours of daylight left,” Alden warned. “Are we certain we can cover that ground in time?” “Well, if the map’s right, it shouldn’t take too long,” Markus said. “And it’s pretty narrow - we won’t have to do much combing to clear an area.” “Well, hidden dens won’t be immediately visible,” Brandt reminded him, “But perhaps today we can check for anything obvious, and come back tomorrow for a more thorough search? If we have the last few fields lit, we can get some sleep tonight. Maybe take shifts watching the reeve and the farmer.”. Alden looked around, but nobody seemed to disagree. “Very well. The next concern - the reeve suggested it wasn’t a place people feel safe visiting.” “Well, it’s not as if we’re going to get lost,” Jamison said. “It’s a straight line.” “It’s not the route that’s the problem - it’s things like the wolves, I’m sure,” Desmond said stiffly. Tanner said, “The terrain might not be very safe, either. The ground near the top looked pretty crumbly when Markus and I saw it.” “And the drop’s about as gentle as the edge of a knife,” Markus added. Tanner hesitated, but said, “You know, Kent...he was talking about knowing the area. That he went out to help find lost dogs and such. So he might know the terrain well...” “And could lead us right into a trap,” Desmond growled. But Tanner countered, “Not if he doesn’t get warning. And if he did manage to get someone’s attention out there - well, that’s whoever we’re looking for found. And - the alternative is we leave him here alone while we go poke around the ravine. The reeve, people’ll notice if he goes around town. Kent? Not so much. Alden studied the young knight for a moment. Tanner didn’t look away, and after a few moments, the captain nodded. “Fine. Having a guide would be useful, and we’ll have our guard up.” His eyes fell on Markus. “I’ll have you fetch him, Sir Accipiter, seeing as you met in friendlier circumstances, and you weren’t questioning him last night.” “Yes, Sir.” Markus was a little confused as to why he was being chosen over Tanner, but he wouldn’t argue the point. Maybe the captain just trusted him to manage any rocky relations. Clearly he had not met Markus’ family. ******* Tanner and Brandt had been able to find Kent at his house, but given the time of day, Markus figured they would be in the orchard. When he rode out to the gate, the pack horse following docilely at Millicent's heels, Markus found the gate open. A small dog and an older man working on a woodcarving were the only sort of guards the opening into the village had. Slightly troubling. Markus doubted this man was any sort of official guard or militia, but he showed his knight’s badge before passing through the gate anyhow. It was nice to be out in the open again, and by the light of day this time. It made him less pessimistic about the smell of peaches wafting his way with every warm breeze - he really should have eaten breakfast before heading out to an orchard.Markus eventually came to the fields proper. A dog tied to a post at the edge of the field leaped to its feet and began barking sharply at the knight and the horses. Millicent snorted and tensed, but Markus pulled her to a halt. After a moment, the charger seemed to gauge that the dog was not going to attack, and let her muscles slacken ever so slightly. Markus waited a moment, figuring the dog’s barking would do a finer job of attracting someone’s attention than him shouting - and sure enough, a man’s voice shot through the trees with an order for the dog to stop barking. It did so, for about four seconds, until a grizzled man probably a decade or so Alden’s senior came out from the trees and shouted for it to be quiet again. “Sir,” the man said with a jerky bow when he spotted Markus. His eyes narrowed a little as he asked, “Is somethin’ the matter?” It sounded almost like a challenge. “No, everything’s fine,” Markus said, ignoring the tone. “Is Kent here, by chance? I’d like to ask him about a way he can help us out. If he’s agreeable to it.” The man continued to frown. “He doesn’t have anything t’do with those thieves.” Oh boy, how did he want to handle this… “I hope he didn’t,” Markus agreed. “We have to be open-minded - which goes both ways. If he didn’t do it, him helping us find who did would help clear his name a lot faster.” “And what information are you gonna get from a peach farmer?” “Well, we’re asking him less as a peach-farmer and more as a ‘person who’s explored parts of the woods’.” Though the man pursed his lips and took on an expression that was remarkably reminiscent of Cateline Accipiter, the farmer said, “I’ll go fetch him; it’s up to him if he wants t’help you or not.” The dog began barking about thirty seconds after the farmer was gone. Markus ignored it as best he could, but mercifully it wasn’t long before another voice told the dog to stop its noise. Markus recognized the voice this time and sat up straighter on his horse. Sure enough, Kent stepped out of the trees. He was trailed by two young children, though they stayed at the edge of the orchard, peeking out from under the sweeping branches, while Kent trekked out to meet Markus. “Yes, Sir?” he asked, his tone and expression both carefully guarded. “You haven’t found anything yet, have you?” “Not yet, sorry to say. We’re working on some leads - one of which, we could use your help with, if you’re willing.” “My help? But you think I’m part of this!” Markus made a placating gesture with one hand. “There’s a possibility because of how few people knew what was going on last night,” he said quietly. “And we have to check every possibility. However, you brought up some good points last night. And frankly; I imagine any self-respecting bandit isn’t stupid enough to try involving townspeople if they don’t have to.” While this was genuinely what he thought - if Kent did happen to be a plant, then this would probably boost his confidence and potentially make him slip up. Pretty much a win-win. Kent nodded slightly, his expression still a little wary. Considering it had worked relatively well last time, Markus said, “And if you’re innocent, then your help would help us find the actual thieves that much faster.” Kent rubbed his chin, and after a moment’s thought, asked, “What help are you wanting? I’m not a mage, or a fighter.” Markus hefted himself off Millicent’s back. “You know the forest - or at least parts of it.” “Yes...not enough to draw a map or the like. But some, yes.” Keeping his voice low, Markus asked, “And the ravine, in particular.” “Still couldn’t draw you a map - but yes, like I said last night.” “It’s dangerous to poke around it, right?” “Right - if you aren’t careful, and you take the wrong way down - the drop’ll take your ankle out easy. Not to mention getting back out again.” “But you know ways in and out?” “Yes… there’s also rockslides, though, and plants that’ll give you rashes and...well, maybe bandits. Like you said last night.” “D’you think you could help us avoid those things? Bandits aside, and we’re not expecting prophecies from the ‘Woo on rockslides.” Kent, slowly, nodded. “I know where the sides are weaker, and if there’s new ones, what those weak ones look like.” Markus clapped his hands together once. “Perfect - that sounds like exactly what we need.” “You - you want me to come along while you look for bandits?” “We’re knights, our top priority is protecting civilians. We’ll have your back, Kent. And your front. Sides, too, even, free of charge!” Markus grinned briefly, but made sure his expression and tone were completely genuine before he said, “If it feels too dangerous, that’s fair enough - I’d like to ask you about the ravine in general a bit first, but we’re the ones who signed up for the bandit-fighting action.” Or were signed up for it because we happened to be third-born sons, whichever. “So there’s no obligation - and we won’t take it as proof either for or against you being involved. But your help would be appreciated.” Kent bit his lip. “Well...I suppose there are six of you...the ravine’s too narrow for them to get ‘round and flank you… If they come from above...” “We’ll be prepared for that,” Markus assured him. “...Then... well. I know the ravine best, and I’d like these people stopped, too. Wouldn’t feel right, not helping out if I can. And I’ll be honest,” he said with a half, humorless smile, “I’d rather visiting knights not think I’m working with livestock-thieves.” Pulling off amber-stained gloves, he said, “Let me go tell my family I’m helpin’ you all out. ...Probably shouldn’t tell ‘em about the ravine part of it, since you made sure to be so secretive about it?” “Let’s keep the details close to the chest,” Markus agreed. “Fine by me. Pop was always upset with me wanderin’ off and complainin’ about being bored, anyway.” Kent headed off, but the kids lingered behind. Markus gave them a friendly wave; after a minute’s whispering and pointing, the older of the two, a girl with Kent’s skin tone and hair color, marched forward. “Mister knight - can I pet your horse?” “Millicent?” Markus looked over at his charger, who was still eyeing the dog with the horse-equivalent of annoyance. “Maybe not Milli, she’s not good with kids. But Hickory’s nice, here - “ Markus reached back and took the pack horse’s reins, guiding the horse ahead of Millicent. “Just be gentle,” he reminded the kids as they approached. “Pet him on the nose, so he doesn’t get surprised.” A few minutes later, Kent came back out from the orchard. “Hey,” he called to the kids, “your mom and pop are looking for you, you know.” “But there’s horses!” the little girl said. “There sure are - there’s also some kids shirkin’ on work, eh?” The girl sighed. “Okaaaay.” She gave Hickory one last pat, and tromped off. Her little brother followed, pausing to wave - at first, Markus thought it was to him, but then the boy called out, “Bye, Hick’ry!” “Ah, I’m still not nearly as popular as the packhorse. Oh well. Kent, say hello to Hickory. Are you comfortable riding him back?” “Well...I’ve never ridden a horse before,” Kent admitted. “But I can give it a try. It seems simple enough.” “You’ll be fine,” Markus assured him. “Hickory’s not going to pull any sudden wild maneuvers on you.” Kent managed to get into the saddle on his own, though he already looked a little uncomfortable on the animal’s back. “Sit a little looser,” Markus advised. “There’s going to be some bouncing, so it’s best to just go along with it.” “I’ll do my best - you aren’t taking the horses down into the ravine, I’m guessin’?” “Nope. Maybe when somebody invents a spell or comes up with a potion that gives horses spider-legs,” Markus said as he got onto Millicent’s back. “...Y’know, I only meant that as a joke, but now I honestly regret conjuring the mental image.” “‘Woo forbid such a thing,” Kent agreed. He took the reins in hand, and looked back to the orchard. The kids were lingered near the edge of the trees. Kent waved, and they waved back. “I’m guessing they’re not your kids, since you mentioned their dad?” Markus asked, taking the pack-horse’s lead. “No, they’re my brother’s. I’m not married yet - kind of hard to move on somewhere else if you’ve got roots in the form of a spouse.” “That makes sense,” Markus said as he nudged Millicent forward. “Though if you found someone who was willing to travel…” “That’s a moot point - haven’t found anyone much like that here.” After a minute or so, presumably where Kent got used to the horse, the peach-farmer remarked, “So - no Sir Attwater today? Usually you and him get sent to see me at the same time.” “Oh, Attwater’s back at the inn with the others,” Markus said as innocently as he could manage. He should probably not be encouraging Tanner’s crush, but it was very, very hard not to wonder how Tanner would react if he heard that Kent had asked about him. “I think he’d have liked to come along, but orders are orders.” “Being a knight ain’t all the freedom and glory they talk about in stories, huh?” “Not quite - lots of military order and discipline and ranks...it gets a little overwhelming sometimes. But it does bring in the admirers, if your mission is getting a spouse.” Kent laughed dryly. “Well, I won’t be becomin’ a knight anytime soon. You speaking from experience, I take it?” “Uhm...sort of. My last attempt at getting engaged sort of fell through, but I’m courting someone, if that counts.” “Close enough. I don’t know - maybe I’ll try the courting thing again when it’s less hard on everyone here. Little hard to focus on pleasin’ a date when half your head’s busy with bugs or disappearin’ animals.” “That makes sense; bugs and robbery don’t set a good romantic mood. Is Master Wortham’s smoke-thing still working for you?” “As well as it has been - better than nothing, but still leaves a lot to root out. And the reapplyin’ lost its charm a while back.” “I’m sorry - I hope I’m not taking you away if your family really needs your help for cleaning out the trees.” “No, no, they’ll do fine without me. We’re close to done for the day, anyway. And this’ important for everyone, even the farmers.” Not a bad choice, Tanner, Markus thought. So long as that’s all genuine talk, anyway.******* The knights and their peach-famer guide - who did not give Tanner any special greeting, to Markus’ slight disappointment, though not his surprise - made the trek to the ravine on foot. The westernmost end, closest to the village, was dauntingly steep, practically a sheer cliff. “It’s this steep all the way down?” Markus asked, scrutinizing the drop. “It is, mostly,” Kent confirmed. “There’s a bit of a softer slope a little ways on that’ll be easier to get in through, it’s what we use whenever we need to get down there. But otherwise, yes - drops straight off just like this most places.” “Good thing we brought rope, then,” Brandt said. “At least one of us is staying up top to hold it, right, Captain?” “That is correct,” Alden said. “I also want cover from above, and someone to keep these bandits from swarming us from the top. Forester, I want you up top - a bow would be better from above or across rather than up.” “You’ve got it, Captain,” Brandt said with a salute. Turning his gaze to the rest of the knights, Alden said, “I want a swordsman with him as well. Another pair of eyes, another blade, and if we’re attacked down here, I expect rocks will still do moderate damage from this height. Someone besides Forester should carry the rope, anyway.” “I’m not much good for the top party,” Desmond said, carefully shifting the coiled rope off his shoulder. “Can’t do much shouting.” “I can stay up here,” Jamison said, holding out his hand for the rope. “I’m a better shot than Markus with a bow, so I’m probably going to be better with rocks, too.” Markus said, “You’d better be, now that you’ve said that - I’m keeping count of any rocks that hit me.” “If I hit you with rocks, I promise it’ll be on purpose.” Kent led them to what was, sure enough, a mildly-less-steep incline. It was by no means a gentle slope, however, and even as he showed them how to get down, Kent did more sliding while leaning backwards than any real climbing. Markus managed to stay upright most of the way, but slid down the last foot or so crouched on one bent knee and one hand; Desmond staggered as he reached the bottom; Tanner had to take several long, awkward steps to run off the rest of his momentum, and Markus was positive he saw Alden stub his toe against a stubborn boulder, though of course, the man’s expression showed about as much emotion as the stone he had struck. “This’ll be a tight fit,” Desmond remarked, looking at the passage ahead. “Especially with the shields.” Each knight was carrying a round shield - painted in Curys red-violet and decorated with a gold wing, of course - strapped to their arm, meant to raise in defence against any projectiles coming at them, either from ahead or above. It would be handy in close-quarters combat, too, which seemed rather likely in such a narrow battleground. To accommodate this, and to account for the shields, each knight was fighting with one-handed shortswords - or in Tanner’s case, his usual shortsword and not one, not two, but four knives. Markus was not enthusiastic about this weapons choice, but he was less so about accidentally cleaving his squadmates with his usual two-handed blade, nor did he think they would much appreciate it. “I figure we want Kent in the center?” Markus guessed. “And probably someone taller should be on-point to shield him, so we don’t have a mess in an emergency.” Alden nodded. “Agreed.” “I can cover him, Captain,” Desmond offered. Alden nodded, Markus saw Tanner roll his shoulders forward, brow sharpening and mouth turning to a thin line of determination. He suspected the expression might have been one of disappointment just a second beforehand, but now Tanner only looked ahead at the ravine as if it was an enemy in need of gauging. And in fairness, Markus supposed, it technically was. The squad formed up, and when both the knights up top and down below were ready to go, they set forth into the ravine. Markus felt like they were traveling down a huge, fossilized throat, the skin up top fallen in like canvas under heavy rain and petrified into the remaining bone and tissue. The plants underfoot didn’t help the illusion, cracking and snapping with every step. Though rain must have made it to the ravine floor, the ground was largely stone; most of the water probably ran down the ravine without giving the plants much time to enjoy it.
“At least we’ll hear anyone coming,” Markus muttered.
Desmond growled, “Not until they hear us. How’s this grass thick enough to cover the ground, but breaks like eggs?”
“It's just this type of grass,” Kent said. “It doesn’t need much water. You think this’s think, you should see it when we have to hack it out of the fields every spring..The animal pens, too, or it'll make the animals sick.”
“How so?” Markus asked. It was a stretch, but maybe it would be helpful to figuring out how the he thefts worked.
Kent, however, explained, “It makes them throw up.”
“Ah.” Then again, not everything was useful to an investigation.
They continued through the ravine, occasionally shifting positions to make it through places where the walls closed in more closely, but otherwise without much event. Kent occasionally pointed out decent paths to climb up, should they need to. Every so often, and more frequently as the sun dropped lower in the sky, the sun would shine through the trees at just the right angle to cast Brandt and Jamison’s shadows on the opposite wall. These shadows were several times larger than the actual knights, making Markus feel like he and his compatriots were walking beside giants, hoping not to be spotted. His anxiety about magic-using bandits was apparently rubbing off on the place.
The walls grew craggier and craggier as they walked, and Kent warned them they were getting close to more dangerous terrain. “You want to keep an eye out for hidden dens, right? These’ll be the parts that’re easy to dig into. ‘Course, it’s also real dangerous to try climbing around here - the walls’ll give way, and messily. I’ve seen more’n a few rockslides.”
“So we’re likely trapped down here for a while,” Alden guessed. “How much ground does this cover?”
“Maybe...ten minutes’ walk?”
Alden nodded. “Keep moving - and keep a sharp eye out. I’d rather we find anyone before we pass their burrow.”
The knights’ boots soon began crunching over rough gravel rather than brittle grass. Portions of the walls, some of them quite large, were slumped into piles of loose rubble that spread along the path. Markus noticed small burrows as well, little places where animals had dug their homes. The burrows only appeared for a short time, however, as they moved on and the gravel chunks became larger and their grip on the wall looser. Twice they all looked up with alarm as Brandt or Jamison stepped in the wrong place and sent several rocks clattering down the slopes. I guess nobody’s digging hideaways here, Markus thought. Or they’d have been caved-in by now.
Eventually the pattern began to reverse itself - burrows reappeared, and patches of the thickly-growing but thirsty plants wove their way through the chunks of stone scattering farther and farther apart ahead of them. Markus expected the little burrows to vanish entirely and the brush to regrow again - and while the latter was true, the former was not.
In fact, what he had initially thought was just a large shadow high on the southern wall ahead turned out to be the mouth of a huge cave. Markus could easily have stood upright inside of it, maybe even while carrying someone on his shoulders. They all slowed to a halt, staring at it.
“That’s the batcave,” Kent said quietly. “I’ve seen ‘em flyin’ out of there. Amazing how many of them can fit in there, it’s like a waterfall pourin’ water. ...Or, what I figure a waterfall’d look like.”
“Could anyone climb up there?” Alden asked.
Kent’s eyes flicked over the crags surrounding the cave. “Hmm...I don’t see a way they could get up to it from down here. But I s’ppose if they do like you’re doing and use a rope from the top of the ravine, they could climb down to it. But the bats don’t seem like they’re looking for a new home, so I’m guessin’ this place hasn’t been disturbed.”
“We should still check, just to be cer - “
Alden was sharply interrupted by Brandt’s voice from above - not shouting to the captain, but someone else. “Hey! You there, who - Hey! Get back here!”
Jamison shouted, “Halt!” However, judging by the spat obscenity that followed, the person had not obeyed his order. Jamison called down to the others, “Someone’s running! Do we go after them?”
“Brandt, yes!” Alden ordered. “At a distance. Jamison - get the rope in place!”
“Aye, sir - where do you want to come up?“
Markus followed Alden’s glower to the the ravine walls to their left. The Accipiter’s heart was pounding hard - these crumbling walls might not be solid enough for rappelling. “Kent - where’s the wall going to be sturdiest?”
Kent was staring at the top of the ravine, his eyes wide - but he looked briefly at Markus, then back to the wall and stammered, “I - there was a way we tried to get up, to get into the cave once. ...There!” He pointed to the roots of a tree growing so close to the edge that some of its roots curled out of the stone and soil and then back in again, like the arching backs of languid river dragons. “We figured, if the walls can hold a tree there, it’s strong enough for people - and you can tie the rope to the tree!”
Alden shouted the order for where to tie the rope, and the knights hurried to the wall Kent had indicated. It felt like an eternity before Jamison let the rope slip through his gloved hands and to the bottom of the ravine, but as soon as it was in arm’s reach, Desmond grabbed it. “Who first?”
“Markus,” Alden said. “He or Jamison can go after Brandt as backup and the other one can stay to guard the rope.”
“Yes, sir,” Markus said, taking the rope from Desmond. He started climbing, Alden giving further commands in regard to order.
The walls were not as much help as Markus would have liked; too smooth in some places so his boots scrabbled uselessly against the stone, and most of the footholds that did exist felt too weak for Markus to trust his weight to them completely. Still, there were advantages to heaving a broadsword around for years; Markus managed to reach the top on mostly arm strength, his heart pumping madly.
Jamison gave him a hand getting over the rim of the ravine. “Brandt went that way,” the dark-skinned knight said, pointing toward a trampled bush. “Who’s following, you or me?”
“I’ll go; they might need some rocks down there.” Markus drew his knife in his left hand and his sword in his right. He held up his knife slightly. “I’ll leave a trail for you.”
He headed into the woods, walking at a quick but cautious pace and following broken sticks and occasional soft bootprints in the mud. Every so often, he paused to make a slash in a tree, though the path Brandt had taken looked to be a pretty straight shot.
Markus had only been moving a minute or two when he heard rapidly-approaching footsteps. He planted his feet; Through the thinly-spaced trees, Markus caught sight of someone charging at him - a broadly-build man with tangled hair and dark clothing, a sword in hand. Probably not Brandt in a dark wig and a very authentic bandit costume. If it was, he’d dyed his beard in record time.
The bandit charged right for Markus, who stepped forward to meet the man’s blade with his own, throwing his momentum into the defence. His solid parry met the bandit’s wild, high sword swing and pushed the blade further up and away, and Markus slammed his shield into the bandit’s exposed torso. Over the wumph of the impact, Markus couldn’t hear the bandit gasp as the wind was knocked out of him, but the man’s eyes bulged and his head jerked forward like he might be able to catch the escaping air with his teeth.
A quick, strong swipe of Markus’ sword finished the man off. This was not a situation where he could delay to bind the man, and none of his squadmates were around to ensure he stayed in place. Killing was one of his least favorite parts of knight work - but it fell behind failing to save innocents and losing fellow soldiers. With that thought in mind, Markus moved on in search of Brandt. The forest was sweeping quickly from late afternoon into sunset, the sun beaming harsh and gold through the lower branches of the canopy. Clouds were rolling in - maybe there would be a storm tonight, after all.
Come on, Brandt, where are you, you couldn’t have gone -
“Markus!”
Markus twitched and turned toward the source of the voice .He found Brandt ducked behind a thick blackberry bush, which wasn’t ideal cover, but certainly better than nothing. Markus sighed in relief and stooped to join the archer.
Brandt launched into an explanation. “He started putting on speed around here, so I think we’re close to the camp, if there is one. Thought I’d wait and see if you all were joining the party before barrelling in.”
“Well, I found a guest from the bandit side on my way here. I got him, but I’m guessing your friend here isn’t alone.”
“‘Pit - I wonder if the one you ran into was a sentry?”
“Could be - that means we’re over their borders.”
“Wonderful.”
“The others should be on their way - but let’s try and get a look, or they sent us ahead for nothing.”
The two knights edged forward, Brandt keeping a little behind Markus so the two wouldn’t interfere with each other’s shots or swings. Thunder growled overhead; rain would camouflage their noise, but it would make it harder to see and hear, and soak the ground so it was slippery underfoot…
There was still a bit of unclouded sunlight searing through the trees when Markus finally heard something - he raised a hand to signal Brandt to stop and drew to a halt himself, and paused, listening. After a moment, he heard it again - a horse’s snort. Still distant, but definitely out there.
“Okay,” Markus whispered, slowly backing up. “Now let’s wait for the oth - “ A twig snapped to his right. Markus twisted toward the sound, saw someone coming out from behind a tree -
A thin movement darted in and out of view from the corner of his eye, and then the bandit was down, grasping momentarily at the arrow Brandt had just shot into him. Markus snapped his gaze between the trees, searching for more bandits, and caught a flare of fabric as its owner ducked behind a tree.
“Brandt, there’s one - “
The bandit either panicked or decided he’d rather go down fighting - with a snarl, he lunged out from behind the tree. Brandt fire another arrow, but Markus didn’t see it hit and the bandit continued charging. Markus stepped into his way and brought his sword up to intercept and shove back the long, sweeping strike at his abdomen. The bandit’s sword squalled like metal on stone and spat a few blue sparks - enchantments, though the ones on Markus’ sword would nullify the worst of it.
So they probably do have a mage, was all Markus had time to think before focusing on knocking his shield into the bandit’s elbow. The blow wasn’t quite enough to make the man do more than snarl in pain and draw back; his shirt must have some extra padding to it. Markus heard rapidly-approaching footsteps coming toward them, and the snap of Brandt’s bowstring against his wristguard as he fired off another arrow.
Markus’ opponent blocked the knight’s return strike to his arm, the blade screeching as its enchantments continued to break down. Markus almost immediately drew back to make another attack; the bandit dodged away, too, and fell into a defensive stance.
Other bandits were going to close in, there wasn’t time for these games - without much choice, Markus stepped forward again made an attacking swing from above. The bandit raised his blade to block the attack - and was left open when Markus curved his arm out of the feint and lashed out for the man’s exposed ribs. The padding was not as useful against swordblades as shields, and the bandit hit the ground.
No time for relief; another bandit was heading for Markus, and over the man’s shoulder, he saw another marauder riding in on horseback, a sword drawn. It explained the snort - it did not offer a convenient solution to a mounted opponent.
Markus managed to twist out of the rider’s way on the first pass. He saw an arrow fly close to the mounted man’s shoulder, but Brandt would have had next to no time to aim the shot with other bandits coming in. Much as Markus wanted to help, there was still the bandit coming right for him. He lunged into the first strike, triggering screeches and sparks against this bandit’s weapon, too. The bandit winced at the sound, and Markus pressed that advantage by pressing the swords together, hard.
It was disappointing, but not entirely surprising, when the bandit responded to this by lashing out with a sharp kick to Markus’ leg. He had heavy boots - Markus staggered back a little, and the bandit’s blade rattled against his armor. Markus raised his sword again to block a strike from the side, glanced to his left to check on the horse-rider - ’Pit, he’s coming this way!
Markus rammed his shoulder into the bandit’s chest and sent them both staggering into the horse’s path. Markus tried to draw back, but the bandit, off-balance and panicked, grabbed at the knight’s shield -
And suddenly there was a startled whinny from the horse and a yelp from its rider - Markus glanced up to see Tanner straightening just beside the horse - he was drawing back two knives, one which he’d evidently used to slice through the horse’s saddle straps on one side, and the other, judging by the trail of blood arcing between its tip and the falling rider, had been used to stab or slice the bandit in the leg. The horse came to a stop, and Tanner ducked under it, presumably to finish dealing with the bandit, but Markus had to turn back to his fight. He heard a lot more swords clashing together now, however - the cavalry was here.
The bandit who’d snatched Markus’ shield was attempting to use his grip to yank him off-balance; the knight jerked his arm sharply, like he was trying to fling off a large and particularly ugly insect. The marauder hit the dirt, but Markus had to intercept another bandit’s sword swing before he could finish the man off. His original opponent was lurking in the corner of his vision, lurching to his feet and no doubt waiting for a moment of weakness as Markus sparred with the new bandit.
This new opponent was missing several teeth on the right side of his jaw, but probably not from a recent blow with a sword pommel. He was pretty good, and forcing Markus to back up so he could keep an eye on the shield-grabbing bandit he’d nearly managed to trample by proxy.
One stabbing strike slid over Markus’ shield, scoring the side of his arm as he twisted out of the blade’s direct path. The strike had been too zealous, however, and Markus was able to return the blow with a sharp strike of his own, raking the half-toothless bandit across the chest and part of one shoulder with his sword.
The man staggered back, cursing, but parried Markus’ attack as he moved in to take advantage of the opening. . As the blades clanged together, the storm brewing above the fighting suddenly broke, or at least, the rain finally reached them - a howling wind carried a spray of water across the battlefield.
The shield-grabbing bandit tried to use the ruckus in place of a real, advantageous opening. Markus pretended not to see him coming, letting the tooth-challenged bandit gain a little ground - but at the last moment, Markus shoved back, hard, and turned on his heel - the half-toothless bandit was already recovering his balance and Markus knew he needed to keep this quick - parry, take advantage of the shield-grabber’s attempt to stop himself at a safe distance to further knock him off balance, force the sword back, make a slash at his arm - then back to the half-toothless bandit.
The man drew short as Markus turned back toward him - but he found his footing quickly, and when Markus forced his sword against the bandit’s, the half-toothless man held firm. He’d taken advantage of Markus’ momentary distraction to draw a dagger, and Markus wasn’t entirely surprised when the bandit made to stab at the knight’s sword arm. Markus dropped his elbow, twisting his arm out of the way, but abruptly brought his arm back up, slamming the crossguard of his sword into the bandit’s elbow. The man’s fingers spasmed open and his knife dropped - Markus swung his whole body sideways, ramming into the bandit and jamming his elbow into his gut. With his other hand, he seized the man’s sword-wrist to help keep his sword back.
The bandit slammed his head into Markus’ jaw. The pain was stupidly, ridiculously, incredibly intense - ’Pit! No wonder he’s missing half his teeth!
Pushing aside the fact that his jaw felt like it had just intercepted an anvil and a hammer, Markus seized the bandit’s collar as the man staggered back from the blow, and yanked the man hard enough to topple him to the ground, where he finished him off.
Markus looked back up at his remaining opponent, raising his bloodied sword. The bandit’s eyes darted up from the body of his comrade as well, his face pale - possibly from blood loss where Markus had sliced him across the chest and shoulder - and he bolted. Though tempted to chase him down, Markus turned his attention back to the battle at hand.
It looked like everyone was doing their best to rally near Alden, while also giving Brandt cover. Their intent was probably also to help Tanner, as in battle they normally tried to keep any one person from getting fixated on him so that he could do what he did best - but it looked like they weren’t quite on that now, as Tanner was dealing with a bandit with a long spear. Markus charged; the bandit didn’t see him coming right away, and when he turned, he was too late to stop Markus’ sword from chopping deep into the spear’s wooden shaft. The weapon stayed together, but only barely, and when he thrust it at Markus and the knight caught it on his shield and pushed back, the spear shaft snapped audibly. Tanner swooped in to finish the job while the bandit was disarmed and momentarily distracted.
“Tan, let’s get - “ A flicker of light caught Markus’ eye - for half a second, he wondered, Lightning?
But lightning didn’t come from ground-level, didn’t shoot in straight, horizontal paths - and it wasn’t green.
Tanner jerked back with a shout of surprise and pain as the green light struck his arm. Markus’ stomach lurched, but Tanner stayed on his feet, raising his shield arm.
Markus raised his shield as well and shouted, “Mage on the field!”
Markus saw green light around his shield, and then felt a ferocious kickback, like the shield had been struck by a rock. But the force was accompanied by crackling sounds and a sharp, searing whiff of pepper and lemon - the enchantments on his shield, breaking the spell with their usual inexplicable, bizarre side-effects.
“What’d he hit you with?” Markus called to Tanner.
“Stinging hex!”
That’s it? Markus thought, but was quickly distracted by an oncoming bandit. There was no choice but to rise from his crouch to engage the man. He tried to keep the bandit between himself and the mage, though he knew they couldn’t play that game forever. He might not even be able to play it safely now, not against a mage as skilled as the livestock-thief had to be.
The bandit swung a dark iron blade at Markus, who blocked it with his shield and forced his opponent’s arm and sword up. The bandit dodged Markus’ retaliatory swing toward his chest, then abruptly drew his sword back and kicked Markus in the knee. Markus dropped weight onto his other leg as pain cracked through his poor, abused kneecap and up and down his leg; he raised his shield and swallowed back the curse he didn’t have breath for.
But the bandit’s maneuver had put him off-balance for a moment, and Tanner lunged to his squadmate’s aid. His elbow and a dagger slammed into the man’s side. The bandit swung out reflexively with his sword - Tanner ducked, but Markus had already moved to intercept the blade, giving the bandit a final push to knock him back and down.
A green flash like ground-level lightning made Markus blink - and then he flinched, resisting the urge to grasp his shoulder and neck. It was like someone had abruptly and violently shoved thorn-covered vines into and through his skin. His entire arm flinched reflexively and that only made the pain jolt more, like cracks in a rock struck by a hammer.
Markus hefted his shield in front of him and backed away. Tanner did the same, and they were joined by Alden. Most of the bandits were either dead or had fled the field; Markus saw one limp-running toward the thicker foliage, where the mage was concealed in the shadows of the coming night and the storm.
An arrow shot over the knights’ heads, from behind them - Brandt, firing a very hopeful shot toward the mage. There was no sound that suggested anyone being hit, and in fact, a green burst a few seconds later announced retaliation. The force spell made Markus, Alden, and Desmond, who caught it, have to push back against their shields to stay on their feet. The wood squalled and shuddered as the enchantments fought back the worst of it, leaving behind a gust of air that smelled faintly of peppermint and a momentary orange haze.
“These’ll only hold so long,” Desmond muttered, so quietly Markus could barely hear him.
“I know. We’re buying time,” Alden whispered back, before shouting, “Forward!” and leading the line of knights toward the trees. The spells came faster - another force spell, another stinging hex that peeled splinters of wood from Jamison’s shield, a slashing spell that skimmed off the edge of Alden’s shield and gave him a narrow cut just above the ear. Markus hoped the latter wasn’t from sectwoosempra; it was bleeding, but face wounds bled a lot. It would’ve made him feel better if he could hear the mage speaking the incantations over the pounding rain...
He also didn’t hear the cluster of oncoming bandits until they raced out of the trees. There were only four to the squad’s five, and the marauders went down almost as quickly as they had arrived.
“Surrender, now!” Alden shouted. “You are in violation of Kythian law! Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands in the air and - “
A spell crackled like ice underfoot against Alden’s shield with a burst of silvery-blue dust. Alden’s lip twitched. “If you won’t come quietly, we’re prepared to use deadly force,” he called into the darkness.
“Only if you can catch us!” someone jeered.
“You almost have to respect stupidity that confident,” Markus noted, his voice a little breathless from the fight. The pause in immediate action was giving him space to feel the throbbing pain in his knee and from the slice on his arm, the prickles of pain lingering from the stinging hex, the strain in his lungs and the extra weight of rain-soaked cloth.
“You would,” Jamison said, just loud enough for Markus to hear over the rain.
“Forward,” Alden said curtly, and the knights continued their advance.
The mage and the remaining bandits finally seemed to decide the knights were too close. Thunder cracked and Markus couldn’t hear their movements as they ran toward them, so they seemed for a moment like dark ghosts, just shapes between the trees. Five bandits, two with shields, one with a mace - Markus’ favorite - and lingering behind them, a shorter man with his arm raised in what Markus recognized as a spellcasting stance. Desmond snapped the warning before Markus could - “Spells coming!”
The knights planted their feet and prepared for the assault. A man with a scar on his chin and an axe tucked into his belt raced for Markus, and Markus spotted an opening he could take as the man raised his blade.
As he prepared his strike, however, Markus saw the mage’s arms suddenly fall - and then the mage himself toppled to the ground.
Still braced for impact, Markus shouted, “Their mage’s down!” As he’d hoped, the bandit attacking him started to glance back.
Markus made his strike before the bandit had time to do more than attempt a parry. Another bandit hit the mud in front of Jamison, Markus heard a solid thwack from his left and saw Tanner drawing back from the bandit he’d just sent sprawling, rolling the shoulder of his shield arm. Desmond’s man dropped his blade and threw his hands up. Alden had his sword pointed at the throat of his opponent, and though the man scowled and bared his teeth, he threw his weapons down and raised his hands. The man Tanner had knocked back managed to sit up, but seeing his comrades either dead or surrendering, and Tanner having swapped his knife for his sword, the bandit released his shortsword into the mud and raised his hands as well.
“Accipiter, Blackburn - check that the mage is down and disarmed,” Alden ordered. “We’ll bind these three.”
Jamison and Markus hurried forward, shields raised and blades at the ready. Markus paused a moment to thumb the magelight on his belt, and in the light it became clear fairly quickly that the mage was not getting back up. Brandt had made a good shot.
“Wish he could’ve hit the mage’s arm,” Markus said, unclipping his light from his belt and holding it up. “I want to know how he managed all the thefts, and finding us, and everything.”
“You wanted me to aim from his moving arm? From a yard away? In the dark and the rain?” Brandt had joined the others in helping to secure the prisoners, though he spared a moment to shoot a glower in Markus’ direction. “I’m sorry, Sir, I thought you wanted to avoid being hit by spells more than you wanted shots right out of a storybook. You were lucky I pulled off the shot I did.”
“It’s a small target,” Jamison agreed. “And he’d still have had the the other arm left to cast with, anyway.” He checked for a pulse, and shook his head. “Little late now, either way. At least the others should have some idea what he was doing.”
“Let’s hope. ...Ah, there’s his wand.” Markus pointed toward the smooth stick, made of a much lighter wood than the trees around them and sloppily adorned with a few small precious gems.
Jamison picked it up, looking it over. “Looks like holly, maybe? Ash? Not that it matters. ...These gems are ridiculous, none of them are even in the right position for stabilizing.”
“For shame,” Markus said, clicking his tongue. “Kinda weird that there’s only one mage, isn’t it?”
“Maybe - but it depends how he was doing things. Or all the nonsense with the thefts had him pulled.”
“Could be,” Markus admitted. “Well - let’s go help the others, and then we can see if any of the livestock are left.”
When the bandits had been restrained and hauled to their feet, Alden stalked around to the front of the line, meeting the glare of the bandit he’d forced into surrender. “What did you do with the livestock?”
“We ain’t telling you anything,” the bandit snarled.
Alden nodded once, and headed to the next prisoner. “Where is the livestock?”
“Don’t you tell him anyth - “
Desmond yanked at the apparent leader’s arms. “Be quiet,” he growled.
But the damage had evidently been done; the second man in line refused to look Alden in the face or speak.
Markus nudged the third bandit, the one he was helping hold in place. “You gonna make the captain waste time asking you, or are you just going to cooperate and tell us?” The man did not reply.
“Very well,” Alden said. “We’ll find a way to get what we need to know out of you.” Alden looked his knights over, then ordered, “Blackburn, Attwater - look around and see if you can’t find the missing livestock.”
“And the bodies, Captain?” Jamison asked.
“We have very little light left, and I’d rather our time was spent incarcerating these fools and trying to find and retrieve the stolen livestock. They can wait for tomorrow.” Part EightJamison and Tanner returned from their search, frowning, with no cattle, pigs, or goats. They had, however, found a horse, which Jamison was leading through the trees by its reins. “No signs of the livestock anywhere,” he said. “Just this girl.” “Yeah,” Markus said. “I recognize her.” It seemed to be part-draft horse, with big feet and a bobbed tail, but otherwise was smaller than most cart-horses. Despite its former rider’s inclination to trample Markus underfoot earlier, the animal was behaving docilely enough now. Still… “I’ll be over here.” Tanner joined him. “She doesn’t like me much, either.” “But no sign of the animals? No pen, no meat, no butchering tools or hoofprints…?” Alden asked. “No,” Jamison said. “We found a bit of a camp, but it looks pretty fresh. There was a cart - I’m guessing for the horse to pull - but it’s empty.” “So maybe they were selling the animals somewhere else, after all,” Desmond said. “We could follow the tracks.” Tanner shook his head. “That won’t work. We tried to go after them a little ways, but the tracks disappear a couple feet from the camp. Their mage probably cleared them.” “Very well,” Alden said with a sign. “We’ll search again tomorrow - in the meantime, it’s only getting darker and this storm is only getting worse. Let’s find Kent and then get back to the village.” As they headed back the way they’d come, Markus asked Tanner, “Where is Kent, by the way?” “Back near the ravine - Alden told him to wait in a tree for us. He figured that any bandits looking for us weren’t very likely to look up.” “Armored knights aren’t good at the climbing thing,” Markus agreed. “Still, kinda risky.” “Well, we didn’t want to send him back through the forest on foot - if anyone came from the other direction and caught him...at best, they’d have a hostage; at worst... “ Tanner grimaced. “I lent him a knife. They don’t take much know-how to use, especially if he just had to fend one off from climbing the tree.” He mimed a downward stabbing motion, and Markus imagined hands wrapping around a tree limb just beneath that strike. Kent wasn’t in the tree hanging over the ravine, but in one nearby, probably chosen for its smaller likelihood of a few-story long fall. The farmer’s clothes were soaked, his hair black with rainwater, and Markus saw Kent’s hand shaking a little as he returned Tanner’s knife. Markus glanced back at the bandits; the quieter two looked confused, while their leader just looked unimpressed. Neither seemed like a proper reaction to an accomplice or even someone they recognized. Most likely, they didn’t understand what a group of knights was doing with an unarmored, unarmed man who had been hiding in a tree. “Any trouble?” Alden asked. Kent, arms wrapped around his chest, said, “No, Captain - I didn’t even see anyone come this way.” He glanced at the bandits. “Are these them, then? Any sign of the animals out there?” “We haven’t found them yet. We’re getting back to town before this storm gets any worse and while everyone is still standing. You don’t recognize these men?” Kent studied them a moment, but then shook his head. “No. Never seen ‘em before.” “We should check with other people in town,” Desmond rasped. Alden’s response was a simple, “Agreed,” and a motion to continue in that direction. The group made it safely back to Bexley, where the captives were quickly locked away in the guardhouse. The building wasn’t exactly a dungeon, but with their hands bound, weapons gone, and armed men watching them carefully, Markus figured they would remain caged until a prison wagon from a larger city arrived. Alden assigned them to split up and take care of a few tasks; Jamison and Desmond were to take the horse to the inn and prepare anything the group needed for treating wounds; Alden, Brandt, and Markus would stop by the reeve’s home to tell him what had happened; and Tanner had volunteered to walk Kent home. Markus suspected there wouldn’t be much intrigue going on between the latter two, however; Kent looked exhausted and Tanner, though he didn’t show it as obviously, was in the rather quiet, stern mood that marked his tiredness. Despite the knights’ failure to find the livestock, the reeve was thrilled that the bandits had been stopped and captured. “Thank the ‘Woo, that means this whole mess is over!” Alden promised they would question the bandits the next day, but in the meantime, he and the rest of the squad would be returning to the inn. Apparently the news circulated quickly; while they were patching up their wounds, the innkeeper came upstairs with a hearty congratulations and complimentary warm peach drinks. Markus tasted some kind of alcohol mixed into it - probably because warm peach juice would have been cloyingly sweet all on its own. To his relief, though, Alden let the knights enjoy the drink without complaint. Markus settled back against the wall once he’d finished bandaging his arm. Bandits routed from the woods, the village safe, a warm drink in his hand and a full night’s sleep ahead of him...the interrogation tomorrow shouldn’t be too difficult, and once that loose end was tied up, things could go back to normal. A job well-done, Markus thought. ******* “They say they didn’t do it.” Captain Alden gave the guard relaying this information to them an unimpressed blank expression. “Of course they do. They have nothing to gain by saying they did commit the crimes. But there was no theft last night; that would be a very strange coincidence.” “That’s true,” the man admitted. “Still, that’s all they said - they didn’t do it.” “How’d you get anything out of them?” Jamison asked. “That lead one told the others to stay quiet.” “We put them in separate cells. Turns out that once they were away from their boss, the other bandits were more afraid of what Lord Curys’ll order for them.” “Well, perhaps now that they’ve had time to dwell on that, it would be a good time for us to speak with them again,” Alden said. The guardhouse was too small to comfortably fit all six knights; Alden chose Tanner, Jamison, and Markus to accompany him, and the three trailed after him and into the little building. Their captives had been separated, as the guard had said; the snarly one who had apparently been in charge was in a cell to the left, the two others - one with black hair and a patchy birthmark on his forehead, the other a blond with a crooked nose - were in a cell on the right. The leader had a cloth tied around his mouth as an inefficient gag; probably better than nothing. All three men were still in manacles. Alden eyed the leader for a few seconds before turning to the two bandits in the other cell. “Do you remember who I am?” “You never said your name,” the blond said with a scowl. “But sure; you’re the knights what arrested us.” “That’ll do. You understand you’re under arrest for - “ “ Your men attacked us!” the black-haired man snapped. “We hadn’t even - “ Markus crossed his arms and interrupted, “Your runner was ordered to stop, and he didn’t. When we caught up, you all pulled swords and started fighting.” “If you didn’t have all that fancy armor, you’d - oof!” The black-haired bandit grunted as his companion elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Shut up! ‘Woo’s bloody tail-feathers…” The blond glowered up at them. “Look, we was just comin’ into the area - we hadn’t even done nothing yet! We just heard there was livestock getting snatched, and we were…” He hesitated, and finally settled on, “We just wanted to know what was up.” “Join in on it, you mean,” Jamison guessed. “Why’re you’re pretending you haven’t been doing this the past few weeks? Who was stealing the animals, then?” “Dunno, but it wasn’t us - we’ve been nowhere near here, ever - not ‘til last night,” the blond insisted. Alden’s frown deepend. After a moment, he asked, “What about your mage - did he get here early?” The black-haired man snorted. “Nah. The boss didn’t like him leavin’ camp. The real boss,” he added, leaning a little to see around the knights. The apparently usurping boss’ reply was muffled by the kerchief, but the cloth didn’t do much to hide that it was a phrase that didn’t really suggest a civil, rational, even-tempered leader. Alden glanced briefly over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, but made no comment before turning back to the two subordinate bandits. “Why didn’t he like the mage leaving your camp?” “‘Cause what if we got attacked?” The blond-haired bandit scowled.. “Not like it did us much good, but I guess the boss figured he’d be better protection.” “And who is your real boss? Was he on the field yesterday?” “‘Course he was - he wanted to stick close to his stupid mage.” “A description?” The bandits hesitated. Markus resisted the urge to sigh, and his eyes flicked to Alden at the same moment the man glanced at him. They’d been through this sort of thing a few times before. “Look,” Markus said, “your leader’s the one we really want - if we don’t get him, he’ll probably run off and create a new pack of thieves and we’d rather he not do that. But you two? You’re just hired hands here, right? We could put in a word with Lord Curys, maybe get your sentence reduced - if you help us out here.” The black-haired bandit looked to his companion; after a moment’s thought, the blond shrugged and said. “He’s probably about as tall as you.” He pointed at Jamison. “Light skin, hair’s a bit darker’n mine.” “He always wears this ring on his right hand - it’s got a ruby on it,” the black-haired bandit put in - then snorted. “Well, he calls it a ruby. Probably just some shined-up garnet.” “A ring with a red stone, that’s clear enough,” Alden said crisply. He asked Markus, Tanner, and Jamison, “Do any of you remember seeing him?” The three shook their heads, Jamison adding, “It was dark, though, and his hair would’ve been soaked. And I don’t think anybody was paying attention to rings. Maybe Desmond saw him, though.” Alden nodded, and turned back to the captive bandits. “To be clear: the story you’re going with is that you’d heard there were successful livestock thefts going on in the area, and while your group came here to take advantage of that, you hadn’t actually started yet, and it’s another group of bandits that’s to blame for the thefts. Yes?” “It’s not a story, it’s the truth!” the black-haired bandit insisted. “You can’t punish us for something we ain’t done!” “The problem is, you’ve already done quite a lot,” Alden retorted. “Even if you’re telling the truth now. Did you or did you not steal animals from the village?” “We never even saw this town ‘til you dragged us here,” the blond complained. Alden waited, but neither man seemed to be about to change their story. “We have work to do,” Alden said at last. “Let’s go.” Desmond, much to the squad’s relief, actually had seen the man the bandits had described. “Can’t tell you his hair color, but that ring caught every bit of light in that clearing.” “I assume he’s dead?” Alden asked. Desmond nodded. “Good. He probably was the leader, then; none of the men we captured had jewelry, and I don’t recall anyone I fought having any, either.” “The mage had a small treasure hoard on his wand,” Jamison said with dry humor, “but that makes sense, too. Had to be highly ranked.” “So, what now?” Markus asked. “We need to get the bodies out of the forest,” Alden said. “And make sure their leader is there. After that, as I said - we need to scout for other parties.” The knights nodded; body-disposal wasn’t anyone’s favorite task, but it needed to be done. ******* The grim task of moving the bodies took a few hours, and was made all the more disconcerting by signs of animal activity - expected, but still a little stomach-churning. But nothing was as eerie as when, a short time before noon, Desmond stepped away from the rickety wooden cart and announced, “A body’s missing. The leader’s - it’s gone.” “What?” Markus stepped over to the wagon, holding his breath and looking over the hands. “No rings, but - “ “No - we’re one short,” Desmond insisted. “I remember his face. And he’s not where I left him.” “...Maybe he wasn’t dead?” “Not the way I hit him,” Desmond insisted. “Then a scavenger probably took it,” Brandt said matter-of-factly. “We know there are wolves here - maybe they decided they take one back to their pups. The other possibility is that he was playing dead. Losing your touch, Desmond?” “Hey, hey, don’t antagonize him,” Markus advised. “Desmond likes to demonstrate how people are wrong, remember? And I’m pretty sure he’s not losing his touch.” Desmond nodded acknowledgement toward Markus. “You can survive the night.” “Aww, Des, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!” Alden said, “You’re all good soldiers - regardless, it was dark, and he may not have been as hurt as he seemed. Keep your eyes open while we search.” A few farmers in Bexley proper had been assigned to dig a place to bury the bodies, and Alden sent Desmond and Jamison back with the cart and the bandits’ part-draft horse to assist with that task. Markus, who suspected he had only barely avoided being picked to help, was relieved - it would be nice to get some fresh air, even if it came at the cost of having to scour the camp Tanner and Jamison had found the previous night, and then the surrounding woods for the livestock, any loitering bandits, or other camps. To give the bandits’ story credit, there were indeed no signs of livestock anywhere. The camp was a pile of firewood that had been barely pocked by flame, a shabby mess of packs - most of which had little more than a canteen and a whetstone - and trampled mud. All the prints were bootprints. The rest of their search was no more fruitful. No livestock. No other camps. No bandits. “They must be taking the animals out of the area,” Brandt mused. “That wagon could transport a cow or a goat or two - maybe they take the livestock out of the forest, to a real camp, somewhere safer.” “But then why was the leader here in the thick of things?” Markus asked. “His underlings told you - he stuck with the mage. Their mage was here, so why wouldn’t the leader be?” “Because if you get caught on the front lines, you wind up with what happened yesterday,” Markus said dryly. Brandt shrugged. “Nobody accused him of being smart.” “But if they are taking the animals,” Tanner said, “Where are the droppings?” “They could just clean them up. Again, their mage was here.” Markus said, “It can’t all be magic - Jamison’s not here, but if he were, I’m sure he’d remind us mages have limited energy. Could one mage cast enough spells to steal animals and magic away their business?” “Cows leave a lot to clean up,” Tanner added. “A second mage, then,” Brandt suggested. “Or they use the cart, like I said. Their friends elsewhere could clean the card, and then come back. I suppose you’ll say it’s a lot of walking.” “There is an explanation, and we’ll get it from them,” Alden said, cutting the conversation off before Markus could agree that yes, it was indeed a lot of pointless back and forth when nobody seemed to have been searching the woods for an entire week. “After all, we still don’t know how they took the animals without being spotted - it could be that they didn’t use magic, and would have had plenty for cleaning up after the animals. Arguing about it with each other right now is rather pointless; we need more information.” They returned to town near twilight, however, and Alden allowed them the evening off, now that a theft no longer seemed imminent. The inn was in a celebratory mood again, and this time, the knights actually participated in some of it. No strong alcohol, per their captain’s orders, but a chance to relax and chat with the townspeople and his fellow knights was luxury enough for Markus. He noticed Tanner talking with Kent early in the evening, and checked in on the two from a distance every so often as the night went on. The younger knight seemed to be holding his own, however, so Markus didn’t step in. Let ‘em have their moment. We’re going home soon, anyway. There was only so long a village of dawn-rising farmers and herders could stay up late celebrating; only a few hours passed before the inn began to clear, and Markus bid farewell to Annette and Nora, who turned out to be chatty after a drink or two, and had quite a lot of humorous stories about strong-willed or stupid pigs, to get to bed. It had been a long series of days, and getting to sleep at night again felt like a wonderful luxury. Markus stayed up a few minutes longer to finish a note to Linnea - he would send it tomorrow, and he happily contemplated that his own arrival should only be a few days behind it. ******* A loud slam and a scream jolted Markus out of a dead sleep. He scrambled to his feet, pawing around the pitch-blackness in search of his sword - it was still dark, that meant it was still nighttime - had more bandits come to attack? Or had the ones in the cell broken out? His hand landed on his sword scabbard and Markus yanked it and the belt attached to it toward him; he strapped the belt on over his nightclothes, flicked the magelight on, shoved his feet into boots, and hurried out the door. He nearly tripped down the stairs but managed to catch his balance and turn the fall into momentum into the dining area. The door behind the bar was open and Markus could see torchlight falling into the room from outside. Robbers? Hand wrapped around his sword hilt and ready to draw the weapon, Markus rushed around the bar and darted out the open door. Ms. Hilde, the innkeeper, stood just a few steps away from the inn, a torch raised as she mutely stared at her henhouse. The chickens were clucking madly, and Markus could only assume he hadn’t heard their noise himself because of his pounding feet. But he realized why the chickens were panicked, why the innkeeper had screamed, why she was now staring, wordless and open-mouthed, at the henhouse. Deep gouges scored the wooden roof - not just one set, either, but several, as if something had been scrabbling for a grip, or trying to pry up the boards. All were in sets of four near-parallel lines. Clawmarks. And whatever it was had been powerful - chunks of wood had been torn from the henhouse roof and tossed aside, and splinters speckled the grass. This didn’t look like bandit-work. Not human bandits, anyway. “Did you see anything?” Markus asked Ms. Hilde. He heard footsteps behind him and glanced back to see Jamison covering the last of the distance between them. Others were coming down the stairs, though it was currently too dark to see exactly whom. The innkeeper turned to Markus with wide, horrified eyes, the torch shaking in her hand. “N-no,” she stammered, after a moment. “No, I - something almost blew out the torch, I couldn’t - I thought this was over! I thought you caught them!” Markus stepped a little closer to the broken pieces of wood. “Yeah. So did we.” |
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