Oil and Water
The sky was still. The harsh icy cold air was ready to stab at bare flesh. Its color was that of a weak and diluted blue, even the clouds dared not show themselves. The only sound for miles, seemingly, was the gentle trickle of a freezing cold stream. A single boat drifted silently down the stream, letting the water carry it back to town. It was a gyptian boat, and only bore one passenger today. His name was Coram, and he owned the brightly painted vessel.
He stood still, as he were frozen himself, upon his deck. It was almost impossible to tell it was a human at all, for he was heavily rugged up in furs. His daemon, Sophonax, was a brilliantly colored large cat. Her fur was autumn colored and when light shone upon it, it seemed to light up in an array of gold-brown-red-orange-yellow. She paced the deck, he beautiful fur almost glowing, and seemed oddly restless today. Coram could sense his daemon's agitation: something felt wrong.
He narrowed his dark eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, it was as barren and inhospitable as always. He shrugged, but his daemon didn't stop her relentless pacing. He shivered from the cold and lit a lamp to keep warm. The little flame, quite similar in color to his own daemon's fur, danced in the light breeze not emitting much heat, but warmed him inside.
He watched the flame for a time. His daemon, eventually, settled near his feet, but her eyes were always alert …as were his. Coram didn't know what was wrong, but he trusted his daemon and her senses completely, she had never led him astray yet.
He saw a black dot in the sky. He discarded the thought; his eyes must be playing tricks on him in the cold. But the dot seemed to be growing larger. It seemed to be coming this way.
Coram shifted slightly, uncomfortable. In a few minutes the dot had grown ominously large, and seemed to be increasing speed. He knew he was just being paranoid, but he couldn't help it, he picked up his crossbow and held it firm in his gloved hands.
He squinted hard. He was sure of it: the dot was a person. He had heard rumors of witches flying in the northern skies, but he had assumed people were trying to scare him. If he wasn't mistaken, the witch was being pursued. Something that looked like a large flame seemed to be behind her in the sky.
The witch grew closer, and so did the flame-like creature. With a start, he realized the flame-creature was a large bird with feathers of the most stunning flame color. They were close now. The witch was almost over his boat. She seemed to be slowing down. Suddenly, the giant flame-bird seemed to have caught up with the witch. It looked as though it was engulfing her. She fell from the sky. She was falling directly above his boat. Coram ran to the spot he thought she would land. He caught her in his strong arms, she was surprisingly light. He had no time to take in her appearance though, for the flame-bird was diving.
He was hesitant; he didn't want to shoot it. It was such a beautiful creature, after all. But then he thought of how it had tried to engulf the witch, it wouldn't give up until it killed her: he had no choice. He aimed his crossbow, and fired. His arrow hit true, the flame-bird fell instantly and landed with a splash behind them in the river. Coram sighed.
Then he remembered the witch, and ran to her. She lay, unconscious, upon the cold hard wooden deck. He carried her into his own room and laid her slim form upon his bunk. Only then did he get the chance to look at her properly. She was very beautiful, with long dark hair and dark eyes. Her skin was pale; he noticed with a start, that she was also only wearing a light dress of black. She should have died from cold by now. Sophonax mewed in distress and Coram suddenly felt queasy, for this woman had no daemon. He stood up and backed away. Had he let a child of the devil into his cabin?
The woman stirred and he jumped in fright. Her eyes flitted open, her hand brushed her face. She mumbled something in a soft voice. Coram held up his crossbow.
"Stay back, demon," he said firmly, but couldn't hide the fear he was feeling.
"I am no demon," the woman said sitting up, "I am a witch."
"A witch," he mumbled, "But where is your daemon?" He was still uneasy.
"Witches have the ability to separate themselves from their daemons, long distances. I am very grateful to you, sir. I owe you my life." Coram relaxed and put down his crossbow. He pulled up a chair and sat near her, not too close though, and he made sure his crossbow was accessible.
"Why was that bird chasing you?" he asked, for he had a lingering feeling it had been another witched daemon pursuing her.
"I angered the wrong person, evidently. But that does not matter now." She said softly, "Once again, I am very grateful. If you ever require my services, or those of my clan, I would gladly give them to you."
"Thank-you, ma'am, but there is only one thing I would ask," Coram said humbly, he was captivated by the graceful witch.
"Name it and I shall do everything I can to make sure you receive it," the witch said.
"I would only wish to know your name," he replied, embarrassed. She smiled knowingly, but not unkindly.
"I am Serafina Pekkala, from Lake Enara. What may I call you?" she said in her sweet voice.
"I am Coram, a gyptian." Coram replied, "Do witches not feel cold?"
"No. We do feel the cold, but we choose to ignore it. You see, Coram," he smiled at the use of his name, "If we wrapped up to shield the cold we would not allow ourselves to feel the other wonders of the open skies."
"It is strange to me," he said, "Witches are so different." They sat silently for a minute or so.
"I have seen many men be born and die in my life," Serafina said sadly.
"How old are you? You say you have seen men be born and die." Coram asked curiously.
"I am over two-hundred. But, I am still young among my clan members. We have a witch well over nine-hundred, she will be visited by Yambe-Akka soon, I think."
Coram couldn't help but gape in shock and wonder. Serafina looked so young, but to be over two hundred! It was more than his entire life-time would be. Witched truly were a mystery to him. A fluttering of wings interrupted his thoughts; a large grey goose had rapidly entered the cabin. It flew to Serafina and she stroked him. Coram assumed it was her daemon. The witch smiled at him and he returned the gesture.
The sun-set unnoticed by the two passengers on the gyptian boat. They talked well into the night. They talked about the witches, about the Gyptians – about everything. The stars twinkled even more brightly tonight, for love was blooming.
