*In this installment, we here from the King Magician himself. As always, enjoy!*
For adventure. How Ean wanted to roll his eyes, but the persona he wore was not one to roll his eyes. So he nodded gently at the boy, Caragris, who excused himself to gather his things. Adventure. Is that what they saw this to be? Why was walking the length of this realm such an important milestone? Once, Saravia had talked endlessly about the two of them wandering, exploring, discovering and searching the Dali together. And she’d tried to show him what it could be like…but…
His has been such a dormant rule for so long. So many had forgotten their fealty. They forgot what it was to feel the King Magician’s wrath. He had no time to court Lady Death. And far too much to get done to go tramping about and across the realm. He had to regain, remind, rip to asunder so as to make anew.
For all her insanity and pomp, Queen Titania had understood him fully.
Who, he wondered had taken her head? After he found he could not summon the remains of power in her, he left it in the crumbling castle she once held her court. Had Fear or Time taken it? They seemed less adjusted than the other Sharus—or maybe they clearly understood their position, their rank and understood the stupidity of mingling in intimate ways.
“Old man?” The sandy-haired one, his puppet, called him. Peter. The boy was peering at him with a smile. “Cara said your hearing is bad, old man.”
“My hearing isn’t bad. It’s just not great.”
“Ohh, of course.” Peter nodded. “Well, old man, we’re ready to go. Cara is outside.”
“Don’t call me old,” Ean snapped, forgetting his disguise for a moment.
“Well that’s what you are! And it’s not like that’s bad, no? Living a long life.” Peter huffed. “Everyone should be allowed to reach old age.” His eyes were mournful but his face desperately clung to his smile. “If you don’t want me to call you old man, then what should I call you? Names are more important than age anyway.”
How diplomatic, Ean observed. Peter had learned how to deftly avoid conflict. This pleased Ean very much. He could always use someone good with words when his own failed. And right now, he was at a loss. Name. He hadn’t thought of this. He’d become far too entertained with the canvas, the wrinkles, the scars, the bony appearance under his oversized cloak of green rags.
“Call me Re’em,” he whispered hoping Peter hadn’t heard. Saravia had taught him the origin of the power animal. A crowned jewel for scholars when describing the universe. Would the boys be privy to this information? Would it give him away? The child, Caragris, was too young to be a scholar, no? Ean felt his heart grumble. Too many questions. This is what happened when words were used without logic. He went to speak again, to clarify, but Peter was already handing him his wide brimmed hat.
“Please to meet you, Master Re’em. Let’s get on our way.”
“Yes…let’s.”
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