Two: In Which Telemain Talks to Cats
Telemain frowned at the book in his hands. Outside it was cool, grey, and very damp–not at all the weather he was trying to create for their wedding, which was now only two days away.
Over the past days he'd reviewed every text he could think of that dealt with the principles of weather alteration, but nothing was giving him any insights into his dilemma. Setting down the book, he leaned back into the padded chair and let his gaze drift around the library as he ran through his mental catalogue.
The decision to relocate to Morwen's house once they were married had been a simple one for Telemain. The more difficult decision had been what to do with their separate, and very extensive, libraries. After a great deal of discussion they had opted to simply add a wing to the current library rather than trying to combine their collections, which would have required them to agree on a cataloguing system–an unusually difficult task for those coming from distinct magical disciplines.
So lost in thought was he, that he didn't hear Morwen approaching until she was standing next to him. She rested a hand on his arm and he was struck by how natural it felt, as if they had always been together this way.
He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. "Hmm?"
"It's time for lunch and you need a break from scowling at obscure magical treatises."
"I was not scowling. I was thinking."
"Think as much as you like, but you still need to eat."
In the past, he'd believed that distractions were detrimental to his work, but over the years he'd revised his position on the matter. Spending time with Morwen had always turned out to be beneficial, both because she could offer a different perspective on magical matters, and because her company allowed him to return to his work refreshed. "I need go out and investigate the interference patterns firsthand." And then, before she could object, "After lunch." He smiled wryly.
She was smiling too and it pleased him. Morwen was lovely–she always had been. Her pale ginger hair was arranged neatly on her head, so as not to get in her way when she worked. The loose black robes she always wore were the only traditional part of her attire. That lack of attention to witchly conventions was another thing he had always appreciated about Morwen. Practicality ran in her veins; conventionality did not. The warm glow of the library's lamps glinted off her gold-rimmed glasses and there was a softness to her features as she peered down at him.
Telemain took the hand that still rested on his arm. "Would you like to come with me?"
"I can't," she said, with regret. "I'm making an extra batch of cider so Kazul can take some home with her after the wedding."
"Next time then."
Morwen smiled. "Next time." And he smiled too, because the fact that there would be a next time and many more after that, filled him with a frothy sort of warmth that he felt certain he could assert was happiness.
#
Mist had risen out of the river that ran near Morwen's home, seeping into the spaces between the trees and winding around their wide, mossy trunks. It was the sort weather that led adventurers to stumble into the homes of grumpy enchantresses who turned them into salamanders or ornamental blossoms. This was of little concern to Telemain of course; he had been a resident of the forest long enough to navigate its paths with few visual cues even without the detection tool he was currently studying with utmost focus, a silver watch with an orange face. It had four hands, which kept swinging from left to right at seemingly random intervals. The more they moved, the deeper Telemain's frown grew. To an untrained observer it would have appeared as if he were trying very hard to make out the time.
After some minutes of observation, he shook his head and began walking deeper into the mist. Perhaps he would get a clearer reading further on. There was definitely some sort of interference, but he couldn't seem to pin it down to a specific source. It was every bit as elusive as his attempts to pin down when he'd become so fond of Morwen. Had he felt this way when they'd been young or had it happened when he'd moved to the forest? Or sometime in the intervening years?
Heaving a sigh, he tried to push the thought from his mind. Categorising emotion was a frustrating and ultimately futile endeavour. The realm of feeling lacked precise terminology and distinct boundaries. Where were the borders between admiration, affection, and attraction? And how did these things converge to become that grandly amorphous term "love"? That he loved Morwen was certain. That he found himself completely unable to explain how that had come to pass, was equally certain.
The mist was beginning to dissolve into a fine drizzle when the device he held gave a shudder, and all four hands shot to the twelve o'clock position. Telemain looked up from the dial in time to see a yellow blur rush by through the mist and disappear again behind a stand of huge trees. Frowning, he was about to follow to investigate, when a second, much larger, yellow blur broke through the mist and charged towards him. This blur had a shaggy mane and an impressive set of very sharp teeth.
Telemain held up his left hand, palm inward, three magic rings glinting on his fingers, and chanted,
"By the power of these bands,
Bind this creature where he stands."
The lion–for the blur was indeed a large, soggy lion–froze mid-leap. Water dripped from his mane as if he'd just gone for a swim. When the mouth opened wide, revealing rows of long white fangs, Telemain was expecting a roar. What came out instead was, "Lemme gooooo!"
Telemain's eyebrows shot up. "Fascinating. You can talk, but," and here he tilted his head, "I don't detect any residual enchantments on you."
"I've been able to talk for years and years. Even since I ran into the King. He did something so that we could talk and ever since then everyone can understand me." The lion heaved a sigh. "I sort of wish they couldn't. It used to be I could just roar and chase people away from the Pool of Gold. But now they always want to stay and chat–even when I tell them I'm going to eat them. 'But I've never met a talking lion,' they say and they start asking questions and it just goes on and on. I never get any peace." He heaved a sigh even more doleful than the last. His left ear twitched once, twice, and he whined. "Can you let me down now? I have a terrible itch."
"Oh," said Telemain, his eyes flitting between the dial and the lion. The hands had returned to dancing around the dial with no clear pattern. "Yes, of course." He clapped his hands once and the lion's limbs were released. Immediately, the lion sat and his back leg shot up and began to vigorously scratch his left ear. Telemain watched him intently, but if the lion's speech was Mendanbar's doing then there was little to be learned; the source of Mendanbar's magic was the forest itself so it tended not to leave the sort of residues outside magic did. Direct observation of Mendanbar's interaction with forest was the only way to understand the process.
The lion had finally stopped scratching and let out a long, satisfied breath. "Ah that's better." He fixed his attention on Telemain for a moment and appeared to consider him. "You're not going to the Pool of Gold, are you?"
"No, I had no intention of heading in that direction."
"Oh good. I don't like to chase magicians. Being frozen in place is very undignified." He shook his main and straightened up as if to emphasise how injurious such treatment was for such a regal creature. The effect was somewhat spoiled by his sodden main clinging to his body except in a few places where it stuck out at odd angles.
"Who were you chasing just now?"
The lion scented the air as if checking if the intruder were still nearby. "I don't know. I was just getting back to the pool when I saw him."
"Getting back?"
"A knight came by the pool earlier and kept asking questions. He had it in his head that I was an enchanted prince that had been cast out of his kingdom by his evil uncle." The lion snorted. "A prince! He thought I was a mere prince! Can you image that?" Telemain's mouth opened to make an observation but the affronted lion began to pace back in forth in place and appeared not to expect a response. "I told him, 'I am not a prince. I am a lion!' But did he listen? No!"
The lion continued on about the prince for some minutes more and Telemain began to surmise that perhaps it was the lion as much as his guests that causes the prolonged visits at the edge of the Pool of Gold.
"Finally I had to just tell him I thought I heard a princess in distress. But then he insisted I lead him in the right direction so I had to leave the pool for a bit. And then on the way back it started to pour." He gave himself a shake, but his mane remained plastered to his body. "I hate rain," he muttered sullenly and huffed.
"Yes but about the intruder," Telemain prompted. He'd never imagined large felines could be so garrulous. Certainly Morwen's cats never went on at such length–at least not from what he could gather from Morwen. Developing a spell to understand her cats had occurred to him, but he wasn't entirely certain it was a good idea, at least judging by the looks she sometimes shot them when he walked into the house.
The lion straightened. "I was just getting to that. It was pouring rain and when I got back to my pool and everything was muddy and wet and there was this fellow sitting by the water."
"Doing what precisely?"
"Moping," the lion said with a nod. "He didn't stop to talk. I didn't even have to roar. He saw me and took off."
His instruments continued to give him inconclusive readings and though he had ample evidence that this inclement weather was going to continue, the lion's story was of little help in determining the cause of interference. Telemain decided he'd best be on his way; he did not want to spend the rest of the afternoon conversing with a talkative lion. "Shouldn't you check on the pool in case he circles back around?"
The lion's ears perked up in alarm. "Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. Oh no. If he gets into the pool I'll be in terrible trouble. I'd better head back." And with that he turned tail and ran back towards the Pool of Gold.
Relieved, Telemain turned his attention back to his readings. The blip on the dial had been so fleeting he couldn't even determine if it had been a legitimate reading or a simple anomaly, perhaps due to some part of the forest shifting around–as it tended to do from time to time. He had just decided to return to his original course, when an ear-splitting yowl startled him from his thoughts.
Telemain spun around only to find a very familiar black and white cat perched in the branches of a nearby oak. "Oh hello," Telemain greeted the cat. The cat–Quiz, he was almost certain– yowled again and Telemain moved to join him under the cover of the tree, which had kept the cat mostly dry. "I thought you all stayed in when the weather was bad." Quiz lashed his tail back and forth in a clearly irritated manner. Telemain sighed. "Would you like to head back to Morwen's? I can use a transportation spell."
It seemed that that was exactly what Quiz had wanted, for the cat leaped from the tree directly onto Telemain's shoulder. The magician yelped as several sharp claws pierced his vest, shirt, and through to his shoulder.
Never had Telemain executed a transportation spell as quickly as that one. In seconds they were standing in front of Morwen's cozy grey house with the red roof and the neat front porch. Quiz remained where he was until Telemain walked through the door. Once they were inside, the cat jumped down and sauntered off to curl up on one of the cushioned chairs.
Morwen appeared through the magic door in time to see Telemain rubbing his shoulder, and scowling at the curled up cat. "Telemain?"
"Your cats have rather pointed appendages."
Morwen shot Quiz a disapproving look, which the cat pointedly ignored by keeping his eyes shut and flicking the tip of his tail. "I suspect he was holding on a bit more tightly than he needed to."
"Oh," Telemain said, and he must have appeared crestfallen because immediately Morwen took his arm and led him to one of the chairs, insisting that he taste the fresh batch of cider. And sipping cider with Morwen was certainly worth dealing with a few ornery cats.
