*In this installment, Saravia and the boys (and her newborn daughter) are continuing the journey the King Magician started. *
With a baby strapped to her back and with each boy at her side, the three companions trekked through the night towards Gan-vael. The sight they made wasn’t lost on Saravia. Three children much like she would have. Sleeping Echo, Sorrel and…who would be her last child. A boy. Like Peter? Like Caragris?
Time would know but would not tell her. And when it came to her possible futures, Destiny only gave her riddles that never carried a concrete answer. It made Saravia smirk—the universe did all that it could to gift her with a sense of surprise. How she wished Ean saw the unpredictability of the universe as a gift and not a weapon forged by a terrible enemy. Is that how he saw her now—an enemy? Most definitely an intrusion, an irritant, a troubling obstacle to his plans.
She stopped thinking about Ean…or rather tucked the thought of him in the secret place in her heart that she tucked all those that made themselves blind to her. Instead she looked at her companions. How the corners of their mouths fought back the desire to frown?! They missed each Eivyn, no? In the short time they’d all been together, the boys had reminded the women of a love that was ever present—that love could continue to grow on different soils. They had softened the women.
And softer soil yields better crops.
Saravia had seen, despite their grief of losing two of their warrior kin, a stronger magic taking root in each woman. They’d been a force before and now…they would be a cannonball in still water.
The rain seemed to have waited until the 3 travelers set foot under shelter before falling. First a drizzle, then toddlers’ tears, and finally in sheets. Peter stared fascinated at the wet weather and how everything bowed to it; even inside, shoulders sagged feeling the weight of the rain. Caragris’ eyes were on the inner workings of the Crone’s Compass and Tavern. In the stories, this place was one of rotted wood and air that smelled of spoiled milk. Dank. Foul. Thick with grime and grease. Riddled with fleas and mites and millipedes the size of deadly blades. And those that came to this tavern were either very much at home in the underbelly or were so lost they’d have to sell their hope of finding their way back so as to have a morsel to eat.
“Someone spins a good yarn,” Caragris said amazed at his reflection in the polished wood. The glass cases around the walls held beautiful rare bottles of the finest drinks available. Sumptuous meats and cheeses were brought to the table in lovely trays of silver. The tavern girls were polite and their dresses lovely. The patrons wore shabby clothes and worn out boots but only because no one ever worn their finest in the rain.
“Sometimes the best magic spells are a few words that can catch fire in the mind’s eye, no?” Saravia motioned at a vacant table.
As they took their seats, Caragris couldn’t help but ask, “But why? Why hide behind such grotesque lies?”
“Privacy. Safety. Avoidance. Why do any of us seek to camouflage?” She looked at Cara thoughtfully but he avoided her eyes, blushing fiercely.
Upon sitting, a woman brought over a tray of warm bread, sweet butter, sesame seeds and hot cinnamon milk. The boys ate, the baby slept and Saravia observed. She looked around at the motley crew of hearth witches and hedge wizards: all of them wore spells and formulas tattooed on their skins. Scars told of spells gone wrong. Under their stools tucked and wrapped were packages, ingredients for their next their next venture—a love spell, a glamour, an elixir to make one young, to make one appear feeble, a potion to gain the strength of a giant or the voice of an angel so as to cause an enemy to bleed from their ears, nose and mouth with a causal hello. Hello, Saravia waved at them. As much as they hid, Death saw them all quite clearly—none were ever capable of fooling her. Run they might, and hide a bit, but always she found them. Always she saw them. But she let them pretend. It was a game she allowed. Because in the end, she would not have to chase or find them. They always came to her willingly and if not willingly, they came begrudgingly, but still they came and would come always and forever. What a lover affair, maddening and predictable, no?
For her part, Saravia did not hide. In fact, she pulled the hood off her head and shook out her hair from its knot. How her curls had grown wilder and longer when she’d traversed the spaces without time. She let the fragrance of her magic penetrate the room until the magicians felt the grass under their boots and some even saw a lavender bush stretch from the cracks of the floorboards. The only ones oblivious to this were the children.
“Can I have your bread?” Peter asked.
“How can you ask now, if you are halfway done with it?”
“At least I’m asking before It’s all gone.”
Saravia chuckled. “All right. Go on and finish it. Would you like some stew?”
They nodded and Saravia motioned for the dinner to be brought. Peter was content, but Cara’s eyes were clouded with worry.
“Pensive, young scribe?”
“You’re not staying. You won’t be travelling with us.”
“Correct. I can’t. I can only stay until you fall asleep. Brother Dream will keep you company and then when you wake, you’ll have a guide for the last foots of the journey.”
The universe had decreed: no more games or interferences. What would happen, would happen. Enough. Let it be. And Saravia would bow to this.
“But where are we going?!” Peter asked pitifully.
Saravia shrugged. “I can guess but I’m not sure.”
Peter shook his head. “Why was I picked and why do I follow?”
“Because you were enchanted,” Cara said quietly. He hated how it sounded, that some stupid magician held sway when it came to Peter’s heart and inner compass.
“I don’t want to be enchanted. I want…I want to go my own way. To form my own adventure.”
“Okay. We’ll go on countless adventures when we finish this one. You can’t start new adventures when you haven’t ended this one.” Cara gave Peter the rest of his milk.
“I know…but…are all adventures dangerous?” He asked, not Saravia, but Cara who frowned unable to answer. Why should he know?
“At least,” Saravia interrupted, “This journey has given the two of you the magic of thought. Thinking always lessens the danger, no?”
The serving girl brought over a pot of beef and root stew and Saravia began to pour it into bowls as she asked, “You have learned many arts. What will you do with all this knowledge?”
“Go exploring,” Peter exclaimed as Cara replied, “Go home to ponder.”
“To ponder?! What’s there to ponder?” Peter shook his head. “Isn’t it better to experience than—”
“If no one pondered, there’d be no stories,” Cara said firmly.
Saravia raised an eyebrow, “Please tell me what the two of you plan to solve by being loud with one another?” She cut more bread. “Do kings yell at one another?”
“Yes,” the boys replied.
“Neither of you are kings. And who ever respected two kings in a shouting match anyway?”
“We’re sorry, Sharu Death.” Cara lowered his head ashamed at how fast he forgot the presence of the most beloved of the universe.
Smiling she handed him bread, “Apologies are never needed between us. Just make sure you are kind to me in your stories.”
jaedawson 