Chapter 3 – Honeyed Lips

"How do I know you will return it?" he asked suspiciously. The hooded one did not answer, but dropped her arm to her side. Its pale brilliance glittered distinctly against the gray cloak shrouding her figure. He feared someone would see the pale limb, yet was not willing for that lovely arm to be hidden from his sight. "Let us make an agreement," he cajoled. "I will let you take it, and you can deliver it to the boy or not, – it matters not to me – but you must play for it."

He had already pulled the cups from his satchel as he spoke, and placed them on the table. As he shuffled them, he looked up at the figure. She was fully facing the table now, and he could make out a slight shadow of her features. He could not keep the guilty grin from his countenance. He stopped the movement of the cups and waved his hands over the table. "Where is the coin, miss?"

She was shaking her head under the hood, "I do not know. Truly, my only wish was to return it to the boy. His father may not have aught to trade to feed him now."

The magician feigned concern. "You are very compassionate toward the boy. Do you know him?"

"No. But I know of hunger."

"Stretch forth your hands." The magician had not expected her to follow his command, but, to his delight, from the cloak came the other arm. He reached out to her, and she delicately placed her fingers into his. They had no ring on them but were smooth and soft. "You have known no work."

"Not so, sir; my toil is heavy." Her voice as she appealed to the man was intoxicating. The touch of her hands, for the flesh was warm in his grasp, dulled his senses.

"I will give you the coin," offered the man, mechanically.

"No. I will not take the coin now. We shall play for it. If I win, then you will teach me your art."

The man laughed and found that he was still holding her hands. He let them go. Something within him whispered that there was something very wrong about this game. But he was still smiling, delightedly. Stupidly.

"And what will be my reward if I win?" he asked.

The figure before him shrugged. "You choose, sir."

He feigned to think a moment, but knew his price already. "If I win, then you will marry me." The words came out of his mouth as though his lips were told to say them. Yet, he did not retract them, but watched the movement of the cloaked figure.

Her hands went behind her cloak again. To his amazement, she whispered. "Very well."

"You sir, can you be witness to the stakes of the game? And you, good woman, will you give ear?" The magician called to the people who passed by the booths beside his table.

When a sufficient amount of onlookers were present, he lifted his arms, gesturing to the figure before him. "This woman has consented to play me in a game of the eyes. I have asked you to witness the dealings, because the agreement is not of the common sort.

He addressed the figure standing before him. "Are you steadfast in your decision?"

"I am, sir."

The magician was grinning from ear to ear as he raised his voice to draw attention, bringing more villagers to see what transaction brought on such ado.

"This woman wishes to learn my trade." There were guffaws and chuckles from the crowd. "And I have vowed to take her on as my pupil." The crowd became silent. "If… she chooses the one with the coin beneath it." The magician gestured to his props.

"Conversely, if I win, this woman has agreed that she will marry me!" Now there was cackling, and the crowd drew more tightly around them.

In that expanse of time, the figure standing directly in front of the table did not move. An old woman nearest the table leaned in toward her. "This is not a jest, maid. Are you certain; do you mean to remain by your word?"

The figure turned her back on the magician to the crowd surrounding her. "Why would I not remain by my word?" she asked.

The crowd around her laughed uproariously, and the magician felt a slight quake of fear that someone might have glimpsed her white face in that moment. He was certain they would not have reacted with mirth if they had, though. He spoke to his audience. "Very well, then. Shall we play?"

"Are you serious, man?" a voice shouted to him, but he had already begun to shuffle the cups. They circled deftly this time. He knew it was unfair, but he was intent on employing all his powers of illusion upon the girl, skill and tricks of the mind combined. As he did so, the cloaked figure drew down to the level of the table. His hands worked quickly; yet, he could not help but gaze into the opening of the cloak. It was pulled back somewhat, and he almost halted in his movements, so curious was he to see the face of the woman.

The props stopped moving, he waved his hands over the table in his customary fashion. "Tell me," she asked loudly enough for the others to hear. "Why do you hold your hands over the table in that manner?"

In that moment, the man looked at the face in the cloak; for she was looking at him directly. Something about the light and the way in lit on the cloak blurred her features. Her face was covered in tiny flashes of color, like a myriad of cobwebs shining in the morning light. He could make out the eyes; that she was smiling. He looked on her, awestruck. His mind told him that he was looking upon incredible beauty, and he did not question that his eyes could not fully comprehend what his head knew to be so.

"Knock them off the table, man, before she decides!" someone in the crowd called to him.

Why would he do that? The remark unsettled him, and he averted his eyes from her face, looking above her head toward the townspeople.

"Shall I choose?" the lovely woman asked. Her voice was so alluring that he swallowed in hopeful anticipation.

"Choose," he demanded. The greediness was apparent in his eyes as he gazed on the mysterious personage before him.

She turned away from him, addressing the crowd. "He says I should choose."

There was no laughter, no encouragement. The man felt an ominous hush fall on the people gathered around the magician's table. The tension confused him. Something was very wrong. Had they seen her features, her strange white skin?

As though in answer to his fear, the woman's slender white arm was revealed as she rested her fingertip on the leftmost prop. "This one," she said, lifting it herself. There was nothing beneath it.

There were gasps behind her. "No, man! Are you bewitched?" came a call from the crowd. Adrenaline flowed through him; they had seen that the woman was not of their race. He must do something to hide her quickly.

The cloaked figure stood up, still holding the cup in her porcelain hand. She consulted the onlookers, "I am bested! Now, what was the agreement?" She pulled back the cloak from her head.

The first thing the manipulator noticed was the yellowing titian head of hair. Where were the glimmering tresses? Then he looked into the face of the old woman, her eyes laughing at him. Her skin was as ruddy as any townsperson; her hands were not white, but red and knotted.

"I suppose I must keep my word…" her voice was still soft, but now it held a lilting melody. She held the cup between her fingers and tossed it to him with a raucous shriek.

The magician was stunned. What was this trick? It was more powerful than any simple enchantment he could wield. She stretched out her hands to him. He watched as his own hands reached out to her willingly.

"When will we marry?" asked the mesmerizing voice.

"Now," he heard himself state.

"She is a witch!" someone was shouting.

"Look at his face. He is in a trance, do you not see?" another spoke from the multitude.

"Someone run for the guard."

The crowd followed them as they walked toward the gate of the city, approaching the guard stationed there. The soldiers did not stop them; they had no quarrel with an old woman and a visitor come to trade on market day.

"Snap out of it, man!"

"Is there no one to help him?"

"Where is she taking him?"

On the magician walked, his legs moving forward of their own accord, and he did not care. This was the most restful feeling he had ever known. He wanted to sleep on, and then he would wake and the dream would be over. He would be back at his mother's abode with Nivea's dimpled arms around his neck again. Nivea! The name of his sweet gift of fortune brought him to his senses, just as he reached the city walls. He could see her; her white face looking up at him with luminous, dark eyes. No, he must fight this blissful spell that was clouding his senses. What would happen to Nivea if he did not?

"No," he said. His voice sounded confused and half-awake.

The reaction was instantaneous; the sorceress turned and looked upon him. Her face was shimmering again, and he inhaled as the sensation came over him. She was so beautiful. He allowed her to lead him through the gate. The spell-bound man and his captor were on the outskirts of the forest when the woman turned to him again.

"Who is she?" she stated. Her face was still shimmering before him.

"Nivea?" he asked. He had no ability to lie to her.

"Yes, Nivea. Is she your wife?"

"I have no wife."

"Who is she then?"

"My little one."

The woman smiled, and the glimmer over her features faded away. He was looking at a woman with hair as white as the hottest flame; her eyes, shaped like tears, were a silken, glittering green, her skin a shining onyx. He had never seen her equal. Yet, there was something very familiar about her face. It reminded him of Nivea, but this was an ominous beauty. He could not but stare all the same.

The man felt the feeling over him fade. He was himself again. Every muscle of his body ached for the sensation that he was floating to return. She raised her hands to the crowd behind them. They were coming toward her en masse one moment; in the next they were falling back to wander through the gate. When the last of them retreated, the woman enshrouded her head with the cloak and spoke to the magician. Her voice was alluring once more. "You will follow me and forget your child."

The feeling of bliss returned. But, when she spoke of Nivea, he knew that he was not his own man again. This time he was aware of the spell, and realized that his moment of escape had come and gone.

There was no one to stop the two trespassers as they entered the forest of King Exlir. Willifus, the keeper of that region of the forest, had gone into the city that day to sell pelts, taking his son, Willifric, along. The magician felt as though he walked for many miles, but his limbs did not feel it. He moved forward swiftly, eager to catch up with the woman, but she was always too far ahead. It would have been a miserable dream had he not felt so elated, spurred on at every turn by a small glimpse of her shadowy figure as she passed through the trees.

Where he was going did not concern him. They came to a stone wall, and he ran to catch up with her when the woman halted at the barrier. But the barrier vanished, and she passed through.

"Wait!" he called to her and ran for the portal. He followed her through the wall and, as his foot hit the earth on the other side, reality returned to him. His legs crumpled beneath him. Every muscle of his body was in a torturous state.

"Oh," he groaned, and the woman turned to him. "Help me," he gasped, his body racked with excruciating pain.

A/N: The trickster was duped by someone who can delude the senses, and he ends up in the same place as the children. Seemingly, she's also the old lady that charmed Heta and Willifric in chapter one. But, what does she want with a magician?

Pronunciation Guide:

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer