Forenote: A month and 6 days – I don't deserve all the praise I've gotten so far, lol. Believe me, I certainly grappled with this Chapter, trying to fit such new ideas into it. It's rather long, but pretty complete to me, so hopefully it does not disappoint.
Responses:
Nebulia – Thank you very much; and I mean it. Your "Wow. Nice chapter" was certainly long enough. You can make your reviews as lengthy as they need to be.
Phillippa of the Phoenix – Oh, Corinne has gone to a very special place. You shall find out in due course. (about ten minutes into this Chapter, if I'm not mistaken); and I highly doubt yelling at Clement will drag him out of him semi-coma. ((grins)) And yes, you're right; Eszti is getting pretty desperate, but they do get a little aid in this Chapter, so…
404 – My many thanks, and here's the update, no matter that it's disgustingly belated!
Melika Elena – Well, in terms of gender Clement is very much unlike Sleeping Beauty, lol, but I will let slip that he certainly won't awake before Eszti comes within a hundred-foot proximity. And I was certainly impressed by your realizing her… state so quickly, even if I'm terrible at dropping clues. When I leave hints, I am torn between making them too easy and too hard, so I decide to leave them out anyway. I assure you that there will be a Happily Ever After, although I will admit that the wedding won't be described in this story.
So sorry to the readers who expected it. ((grins evilly))
SmileyFacePerson – Eszti does indeed find him in a half-dead state, I'm afraid to say, but lo! There is still hope; I am the sort of person who believes in miracles, after all. This one is a more substantial Chapter than the last; I hope it's satisfying enough. And even if it's 2:37 AM here in Florida, I will restrain from writing too blandly.
Cokefizz-and-chocolate – All of you must hate me by now, with my irregular updating habits. Ahh. No matter. It's no less than what I deserve, anyway. Lol, I do promise to see this Fanfiction through TO THE END, so if I ever lose my Inner Muse for good, do remind me – and threaten, if need be…
Lil' Bling Bling – Katrina only gave us a three-minute blackout and a storm; but Wilma was worse. It actually FELT like a hurricane, instead of one great dirty downpour. We lost power for about five days and had to live on canned foods and things cooked on our outdoor grill… but the weather following Wilma was perfect, and I spent a lot more time with my family. It wasn't a terrible experience for my family at least, even if I still have a couple of friends without power. But Florida had help ((town centers giving away water and ice and etc., and very kind neighbors)) so we didn't have it as bad as we could've. And thank God for that.
Gumdrop Boo – I'm glad and beyond relieved that there are people out there who aren't mortally disturbed by the silly ideas I use in my stories. The Chapters 1-9 have all been too whimsical, and I confess that I had a COMPLETELY different plot then than I do now; back then was focused on romance, and the now is focused on fixing up all those little subplots I've stuffed into the story as well as the Big One. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing, if at often unreliable intervals.
ToyMonkey-ching – Oh, indeed. Now all they need is a good fire. ((foreshadowing – probably my last time attempting it too, lol…)) Thank you tons for reading, and I hope this Chapter merits a nice review.
Abby – Well, the suspense is neatly concluded about ten minutes into the Chapter, lol, and with very fitting descriptions too, if I may say so myself. And Clement is very much mortal; I am afraid he is capable of death. ((smiles grimly))
Ducky – Oh, I hope you're still an active reader after my span of "if-I-can-finish-one-chapter-within-three-nights-why-the-hell-does-it-take-me-a-month"… regular annoyance. And I do read what I write, and constantly – it gets me insecure sometimes, though, reading what I write and finding flaws in it. Sometimes it doesn't come onto the file the way I want it to, and that's downright annoying. My writer's block is indeed gone, and I thank you for the very effective advice.
Mistyqueen – Thank you very much, and I look forward to your (along with everyone else's) reviews. The prince… well, it'd be a lie to say he's all right – as he's currently unconscious – but I'm sure he'll be fine.
Lady Vampyre – Goodness and grace, how to start this response, lol? I thank you very much for your reviews, all of them, and I'm so glad that you enjoy my story so heartily. It's good to know that I am not boring you people as strongly as I can. ((grins)) Your reviews were a great joy to me, as they were so enthusiastic. After this response, I will send you the cut-off part of the conversation regarding Lord Ozril and Lady Asca's romance (which is cute and perfect… so sad he had to die after three, or four or five, years of marriage), and yes, I have a friend who has read Eragon. The author started it at age 15, and I heard it was fantastic – lucky dog.
And I've heard of Anne McCaffrey, who is sometimes held in the same respect as Robin McKinley and Tamora Pierce and a good handful of other writers who are amazing. Why, I'd eat leather if I could write 1/115 as well as they…
Now onward to the story, folks.
o…o…o…o…o
Chapter 18: Something to Do With Legends
o…o…o…o…o
Midnight had fallen, and with it a night darker than Donte had imagined. Starlight was dim and tonight brought no full moon: only a crescent, more gray than white. Struggling to keep awake as his horse trudged grudgingly along, Donte tried to collect his fury and sort it, so that even his emotions would be organized. Stupid, the young ten-year-old Asca had called him. Collecting your anger? Crazy! You would explode!
He was too insane to 'explode' anymore. If it had been meant to happen, it would have happened ages ago.
Memories of his sister brought him to think of that Gypsy wench, and he ground his teeth and pressed his heels in, accidentally startling his horse. That boy-slim, shrewd-eyed, snooping little hound! He should have known better than to use such a meddlesome brat in plans so intricate. That fortune would never be his. Well, if he would never get his hands on his sister's fortune, a pretty, black-eyed Gypsy would pay a price just as pretty for it.
Hinhma, that young man with no real sense, rode up to Donte, looking small and frightened. "Lord Donte, sir, I do not think we are on the right trail."
Donte's head shot up. The words swam in his mind, added to his anger. "Pardon, Hinhma? If I did not know any better, I would say that you were questioning my plans."
A stricken look passed over the young bandit's face. "Oh no, sir, of course not -"
"Then?"
The boy did not look as if he wanted to say any more. "I only think, sir, that they are no longer on the traveler's road… I mean, it would be too predictable, and even they are not so stupid – "
Donte did not speak; he was raging inside, and if he started he knew his raving would never stop. He would be like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, and that would deeply wound the power he had over these outlaws. No; he would be rid of his evils in a more subtle way. He would turn his rage into thoughts, clever thoughts, thoughts that would do well to be woven into devious plans.
The shadows did not allow Donte to properly study the anxious contours of Hinhma's face, did not let him delve into a person's mind and soul as well as he usually did. But he was intimidating, nonetheless. He shoved his satchel into Hinhma's chest. "Take this, boy, and carry it for the rest of the way. Do not lose it." The sudden hush of his voice made Hinhma gulp, and crestfallen he fell back and did not approach the noble again.
No longer on the traveler's road? Mad! From that road, it was ridiculously easy to make it to Arvette, and what idiot would surpass such an easy shortcut? And it did not matter if Donte and the bandits made it to Arvette before his sister did, or vice versa. They had eyes and ears everywhere, spies that would be constantly on the alert, ready to send word the instant they felt the need to. No. Donte's plans were much too intelligent for the matter of roads to throw them off.
His sister. Donte felt the back of his neck heat up, felt as though a furnace had been built in the back of his throat, raging and roaring and rising. She was so easy to manipulate, so easy to fool – she was not worthy of the solid fortune Ozril had left for her. Donte hated stupid people. Donte hated his sister. Donte hated her money – his money, now – that sat behind the impenetrable force of a will, beyond his reach but just barely. He could feel his fingertips brush the coins, could see the glittering of gold.
Asca was right. Donte was psychotic.
I will have that Gypsy's skinny little neck, Donte thought to himself, deliberating on the best method. Or… something worse. I will have her serve me, perhaps… yes… she is pretty – she will be a decent toy. Fiankette will not know. I will break the brat the way I break wild horses. It always works. She will regret the day she put my wretched sister's life over her own freedom.
And Donte's hacking laugh rang out, unexpectedly shrill, no longer the rich and youthful sound it had once been. It was evil, and cold, and angry, and everything else nasty and undesirable about the new Donte, the one consumed by money. He laughed at the thought of triumphing over his pathetic sister, the thought of all the fun he could have with his new toy, the thought of all that gold and gems and heaven-knows-what just waiting, waiting, perturbing him more deeply than any siren song ever could.
His men were calling to Donte for a chance to rest, a chance to make a small camp. But when Donte did not turn around to acknowledge them, they knew his answer. Oh, they knew. They would ride and ride until Donte had his fists full of gold.
o…o…o…o…o
The torchlight was dying down, and the dark surroundings began to press upon me; I wanted to scream Corinne's name into the wild, scream it until she came running back, until she and I had a chance to making it whole and safe back to camp. But that would not be wise, would it? Not in woods like these.
I was never one to count consequences. I sucked in a breath. "CORINNE!" I screeched. I tried again, holding it long enough to grow faint. No response. "PLEASE! WHERE ARE YOU?" Nothing.
Cold sweat drenched me; if Corinne did not hear it, then who else could? I was loud enough to stir the entire grove – oh, it was not even a forest and still I was feeling ready to jump out of my creeping skin! But I breathed out when I heard a faint, "Heeree," echo. My heart jumped.
I followed the fading sound of her reply, almost running now, holding my skirts tight. As a little girl, I never had a problem with darkness, but regarding the things that could live in it…
It was not technically a long run, but for all the fear that kept me running it could have been an eternity. Stepping over black fallen branches and the clutter of twigs and leaves that crunched under my feet on the forest floor, I was out of breath when I spotted an aura of candlelight, frail and almost hidden completely by the tall surrounding trees. Taking a deep breath, I took a final leap forward – over a decomposed log, I think – and stepped into a moonlit clearing.
I did not know there could be clearings this deep in the grove; this one was even larger than the one we camped in. The glade was a pool of blinding moonlight and the stars could be counted for all the absence of canopy. From a distance, I heard the sweet sound of rushing water – faint and newborn – and a distinct coughing. I followed the noise.
And there was Corinne, the mischievous girl, bent over a small spring flowing out of a particularly stunted tree, one that actually bore flowers. She looked up at my approach, stupefied.
"You fell asleep," she said blatantly, trying to excuse her midnight rendezvous'. I was not so easily swayed.
"Corinne, you foolish girl! Did you even realize how easy it is to be lost in this grove? Did you even stop to wonder if maybe what you were doing would put you – us – in danger? Did you? And what in Merilian's name are you doing?"
She cupped a handful of water and splashed it at me in annoyance. I gave an indignant cry, but the front of my thin slip was soaked nonetheless. Instantly, I felt the chill of it slip into my very bones.
"Pardon me, Lady," she said softly, but the defiant look on her face made me want to snort. "I mean no disrespect, but I have a temper."
"That much is ap-apparent, Corinne," I snapped, trying to wring my slip. But it was too short and if lifted too forcefully, would puff out and let in some of the icy air. I cursed vehemently.
"You have not noticed, have you?" Corinne asked carefully, pulling some fern out of the ground and laying it in the dip she made in her skirt. "No, you have no reason to. But I once knew a pregnant woman – and attended her birthing – so I can recognize the symptoms. She knows I know, that is true, but she did not want to tell anyone else unless it was necessary."
Blankly, I stared. Birthing? What nonsense was the girl spouting? "What?"
She glanced up, looking a bit doubtful. "Why, the Lady Asca – the baroness – she is with child. Has been so for a shade over a month, or so she says."
Her words rang in my ears for a hollow moment before I understood, and then winded, I swayed from the shock of it. Lady Asca, pregnant! Now, of all times, with us, traveling on horseback to Arvette, of all situations! For a moment I could not believe it, but I suddenly remembered instances when the lady held her belly, sometimes aware of it and sometimes not. And then it seemed all too obvious; how could I have overlooked it?
Coming to my senses, I glimpsed at the plants Corinne had already collected; it was a light handful, and from the mess of soil around it I could tell Corinne did not have much experience with herbs. "And what are those for?"
"She has been retching," Corinne said, sympathetic. "And having nausea. Morning sickness. I figured that these would do her some good, and as a Gypsy I wondered if maybe you could help me prepare them."
"A shade over a month," I echoed, awed. "That is still very early. Yes, retching is to be expected. But did her husband not die a month ago? I would think he would be too ill to sire a child."
She shrugged. "Some weeks before that, then. Perhaps two, possibly even one. Is it not said that west zeal can help for nausea?" She plucked hesitantly at a small, three-petaled flower the color of fading blue dye. I came over to examine it.
"West zeal is good, yes, but gordona is better. I can barely believe it, though," I added, picking a fern with a yellow stem instead. "With child! On a journey like this. But we were blessed when fate made sure Lady Asca would not be too far along."
Corinne nodded. "That would be disastrous. I can remember my last birthing experience well; I had never felt so panicked. From her screaming, she could have been splitting in two. And the liberal flooding of blood did not help, either."
I winced; the thought of blood chilled me, made me squirm.
Pausing and remembering to breathe, I heaved out a loud sigh. "But this is still a dangerous circumstance. Constant walking and motion is not good for an expectant mother, is it? And with bandits at our very heels – no, this is dangerous indeed. What are we to do?"
Corinne did not answer immediately, but only dabbed her fingers lightly into the steadily flowing spring. I looked down and followed the murmuring rush, but with a gasp realized that as the spring flowed out of the stunted tree, it swept on for only about three feet and then disappeared into nothing. At the end was only air, the water disappearing as though its own foamy ends swallowed it up, but never running out. Speechless, I ran my hand over it and held my breath as I felt the white water wrap itself around my fingers like wind.
"I know," Corinne said, her voice hushed with reverence. "It is magic. Unbelievable, is it not?"
Still mute, I nodded. So this was not a natural clearing after all, I knew. This tree – and many of the surrounding ones, I wagered – were made and maintained by some magical forces, some unspoken enchantment cast by some traveling sorcerer or sorceress years ago. Suddenly wary, I snatched my gaze up and stared around the moon-washed clearing. No noise, no rustling of trees and shrubs, no movement – it was unearthly, all this stillness. Only the delicate breezes swept and rattled, whispering laughter into my ears.
"Corinne, how did you find this place? How do you know it is safe?"
And with that question, she finally showed emotion; a slight tinge of pink bloomed in her cheeks, and her grave mood dropped and was replaced with one of girlish embarrassment. "As a little girl, I was told stories – fairy tales – when I was young, servant or not. There were a few with clearings like these in groves; in the stories, they had been made by good-hearted magicians, meant to provide some convenience for travelers with hardships on the road. That could include us. They were often described like this – special glades that feel magical, with sweet springs that had the power to restore strength and cheerful spirit. The waters lose their powers when too far from their spring and source, though, so I cannot bring any to our camp." And she broke off, looking awkward. "I am sorry, but these things have always interested me. I did not mean to ramble."
I shook my head, still staring at the water. "No harm in liking stories, Corinne. None at all." I quirked a smile. "Magic has always been around us, has it not, Corinne? I did not believe in it much, especially when you think of petty tricks of the hand. But true sorcery is in tales of history, and rumors say there is a grand academy of it somewhere in Kione. Magic. It sounds fascinating."
But to my surprise, she gave a curt nod and stood, still holding her skirts up like a bowl. "I would continue to gawk at the water, but I would like to have these mixtures ready before we dissemble camp to leave again. I heard that plants growing by magic springs are much more powerful than regular ones; I wish to take advantage of the rest of the evening. Have a drink, Lady, and then we can leave."
Regaining my wits, I looked up at her, studied her expression. She did not look scared of the concept of magic, nor did she look disapproving of it at all – but she did not love it either. Perhaps she was the sort of person that did not so easily succumb to such alien notions, the sort of person who would rather be content living a simple life doing what she had to do. I thought of Lieron, who was the exact opposite. "All right. A drink, and we are gone. There is much to do."
The idea of magic was entrancing, irresistible… but I was more dutiful than whimsical. The responsibilities I carried for the people I knew shielded me from the desire to simply sit by the spring for the rest of my life, drinking out of it and letting either sunbeams or moonlight drown me, allowing myself to merge with magic and become a part of the glade itself. I had tasks to do and conflicts to handle; delicious though the idea was, magic was not for me.
I took a breath, cupped a dainty amount, sipped it, and without hesitation reached in for another. The taste was heavenly after two days with nothing sweet to eat; the water was so refreshing that though I was in reality sixteen years old, I actually felt it for once. The sensation of the water rushing through me warmed me and cooled me both at once, made me feel alive again. Smiling, I stood.
"You should have some for yourself, Corinne."
"I did earlier, while you still slept."
I did not ask her how long she had sat in wonder by that spring of rapture, though I did wonder how many people had the same mental struggle by such a captivating thing. After all, there were no humans snared by the magic just yet, or they would not have dared leave the spring. Apparently, they were all strong people.
Relieved to escape all possible temptations, I followed Corinne out of the clearing.
o…o…o…o…o
It did not take a short amount of time to finish the concoctions, against our hopes. Corinne and I stayed up well into the night and even into a little bit of the dawn, preparing and remaking different brews, and then being forced to clean our mess of west zeal herbs, gordona, eyrie's flower, and oranhilip seeds as well as repack the pots and pans. By the time we could afford to let ourselves sleep, we were too tired for unnecessary conversation.
Our sentences were short and terse. "Are you sure we have finished everything, Corinne?" I asked wearily, rubbing my palms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her give a tired nod.
"As far as I know, Rozenta. Lady Rozenta. If you still want me to call you that."
I shook my head, stifling a yawn. "A useless title. Use it for the baroness instead. So if we are done, why stay awake? I highly doubt I can stay up and guard tonight; for now, I will take my chances. Have a restful night, Corinne."
She did not even look at me when I gave an absent wave; letting out a loud sigh, she slipped quickly into her tent and disappeared.
The instant my head hit the pillow – no matter how thin and pathetic – I lost myself to sleep.
The next morning, I was positive I had overslept the instant my eyes popped open. I did indeed have an undisturbed night, lost in thick and hazy dreams I could not even recall, for once in a world where I had nothing to fret about. My sleep was full, but the moment I awoke I felt all my worries hit me full blast. My bones felt melted and I did not feel strong at all, but fighting it I strained myself into a sitting position and let out a ragged breath. And then I stood and examined the camp.
I was alone, I found to my immense panic. Our gear were still there, and not even arranged for a quick and swift departure. How irresponsible, I thought to myself. Indeed, it looked as though I was not the only one to have awoken so late; blankets were strewn messily across the dirt ground and I saw fresh footprints in the soil. Perplexed, I frowned and strode into Corinne's tent.
It too was empty, save for an unmade set of blankets. Feeling a strange blend of irritation and fear, I hurried out back into the camp and glanced at the footprints again. Four led into the wood, and I suddenly had a revelation. Was it possible, perhaps, that Corinne had awoken to show one other companion of ours the glade we discovered last night? When we left the clearing, I had expected to never see or hear of it again; the possibility came as a surprise.
I followed the footsteps, but I was wrong. Only a few feet into the grove I heard voices already. One was Corinne's, most definitely; the other, to my horror and amusement, was Artor's.
Both were arguing, one tone exasperated and the other pleading. I stood stock-still, straining my hearing for more.
"Corinne, even you cannot say what you did had any sense – "
"I do not want to discuss this right now, Artor, you buffoon!"
"Heaven's mercy, Corinne, just listen to me! What you did was insane; I don't want to hear about whatever cryptic reasons you have for that escapade last night past midnight. You could have gotten lost, or hurt, and who would have been there to help you, to save your ungrateful little neck? Oh, do not dare give me that look! Maybe if you took the care to speak to someone else about the same issue, maybe if you thought to take someone else's aid for once – maybe if you were not so uptight about being independent, for the sake of Merilian - !"
Spellbound, I winced. The deadly territory he currently danced upon was not even amusing. For a moment I heard no response from Corinne; only a deathly silence hung in the air after his words. And then came her voice, slow and full of deliberate contempt.
"So you think I am being stupid, Artor? You think the fact that I can take care of myself makes me stupid – makes me too different from those idiotic damsels heroes like you always chase after? Well, I am nothing like those maidens, and for that I am glad. Why can't you tend to your own problems, Artor, and let those of others remain as such? Why must you follow me like a hound, instead of simply letting me be?"
More silence; it stretched and stretched, as endless and distressing as the road we traveled on. I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop; I knew the conversation would get personal – if it was not already – and yet I could not bring myself to leave. Being very careful to make not a single sound – to even limit my breathing, if need be – I waited for more.
"I think you can guess the answer to your own question," Artor then said in a voice hushed with something I could not decipher. At that I almost cried out; their romance was much too quick. The fact that it happened so fast was – using the baroness's word – alien. Surely its pace would frighten her too. Surely it was wrong, ill-conceived, destined for a very tragic ending!
And yet, there was no mistakening the compassionate undertone to his words.
Guilt was truly biting at me then; their discussion was getting much too intimate. It was absolutely repulsing that I had even thought to listen in to begin with, knowing that there was something more than a spark between them. Holding my breath, I stepped daintily out of the wood and hoped they could not hear me.
Back at the campsite, I remained alone. Where Lady Asca was, I could not even begin to guess. It was highly improbable that she would be in any danger – or else Artor and Corinne would be seeing to that and postponing their own romantic rendezvous' – but I was curious nonetheless. For a moment I wondered where she could have wandered off to, but deciding that guessing would be useless, I contented myself with cleaning up camp and repacking everything, struggling not to think on Artor and Corinne.
I was in the middle of discarding the charred kindling when I heard a coughing figure approach. Alarmed, I looked up in time to see Lady Asca stumbling through a thicket, holding onto a tree for support. Without further ado, she fell over onto her knees and retched into a bush.
I leapt up and stepped back, staring. Oh, yes, she was retching indeed – she could have been emptying herself of all of her internal fluids for all the vomit that spewed out. I could barely contain my repulsion; I too felt the urge to sick up. Fortunately, a woman walking in after Lady Asca distracted me. My attention turned to her. I had never seen her before.
And yet, there was something in her face that looked familiar. I could not pinpoint what it was exactly; it was more of a hunch. Finely dressed, she wore a colorful gown of shimmering hues, all changing and shifting and moving as though by magic. Red and green and blue and purple merged like spilled paints on her skirts and light danced off of it; she wore gold jewelry and around her waist was a belt with a small brown pouch. She was pretty, with large hazel eyes and a delicate face; however, something in her features was as serious as a funeral. Despite the color that followed her, she wore the gravest expression I had ever seen.
All it took was a memory of our circumstances, and then I grew paranoid. Lady Asca, who had finished her expelling her nausea, looked up at the odd stranger with a look of trust. That edged me further; my face twisted with worry. I narrowed my eyes at the woman.
"Who are you? How did you come upon us? What do you want?" I shot, wondering if she could be associated with the bandits. It was unlikely, but no one knew for sure.
The woman tossed her chestnut curls over her shoulder and gave me a hard stare. Without replying, she helped the baroness to her feet and handed her a rag that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Lady Asca nodded gratefully and wiped her mouth. The smell grew more pungent and the urge to sick up returned.
"Rozenta, Rozenta, it is all right. We can trust this woman. She has given nothing but help so far," the Lady said imploringly, voice harsh and low. The stranger replied, finally.
"And that is all I can give. I know you cannot afford to trust me, but at least accept my aid. I can tell you truthfully that I hold no bonds to any bandits."
My eyes widened. "How do you know about the bandits?"
"I told her," Lady Asca interjected gently. "She was traveling too and noticed when I was retching by the road this morning. She offered to help me, and when I explained our situation she proposed that it would be best if she could accompany us. She can help, Rozenta."
And I could not stop my jaw from dropping. "Lady Asca! You told her everything? How could you? Don't you understand that we do not know all of the bandits after us? They have an entire network! And how can she possibly help? There is nothing anyone can do."
"She knows the way to Arvette," Lady Asca said, looking a little apologetic. "It was a risk, Rozenta, but I decided to take it. She will accompany us. She knows the route to the royal city." She and the stranger watched as surprise unraveled on my face.
The stranger spoke up again. "But, of course, if you do not feel I should come I will not. I am a bard's widow – and a bard myself – who visited Arvette to seek business. That was some days ago; I am on my way home to Ferdwell, now. But you lot look like you could use all the help to come your way; I would heartily recommend accepting me into your group."
For some seconds I was too dumbstruck to speak. Lady Asca, befriending a full-fledged stranger and then deciding instantly that she could come with us to help! Suddenly, I understood what Lady Asca had said to me back in Whitewhey, not so long ago even if it felt like a lifetime. It's rare for a person to just offer help, advice, assistance. How true. But as Lady Asca said, it was a risk that had to be taken. We were lost, that I knew without a doubt. And if she could really get us to Arvette…
Lady Asca and the stranger were still waiting for my final reaction. I held their gazes and cleared my throat. "Well… perhaps that is not so necessary. If you can really guide us to Arvette, we will have a great need for your company." Maybe she simply was a stranger after all, and not of any harm to us as such. "I … apologize for my irrational behavior. But you understand; it is very difficult to trust just anybody nowadays. Do you have your own horse?" I asked suddenly. None of the horses Lady Asca, Corinne, Artor and I had would survive traveling all the way to Arvette with two people on its back.
The woman – she never did mention her name, did she? – nodded and made to leave. "That I do, Miss. I have my own gear, as well, and some food to pool in with yours. And my name is Jessamine, Bard Jessamine Trakovna." She smiled enigmatically as I stared. How…?
After she left, I sent a wary glance Lady Asca's way, wondering if she was still feeling nauseous. "Are you sure we can trust her?" I almost whispered. "We barely know her."
"Well, I barely know you and I trust you finely, don't I? Don't worry, Rozenta," she added in a gentler tone. "I knew what I was doing, inviting her. And if she gets a bit doubtful, we can always drop her when we're sure of the way to Arvette." The last she added brightly, and I too forced a smile.
And so, in less than about three hours and with a new stranger who could lead us to danger or be our salvation, we were ready to set off again. The early afternoon was spent packing and caring for our steeds, and by mid-afternoon we were already riding away from the grove, riding according to the directions Jessamine gave.
As we rode, I chanced a glimpse over my shoulder and watched the grove fall away, remembering. In that grove, hidden cleverly but easy to find for those who needed it most, was the glade and that spring, wrapped so thickly in magic that the mere memory had me feeling lightheaded. That was actually an escape, I realized, more than just mildly surprised. Another option for those who feel pressure. To live with the spring, as the spring, never dying because the magic won't let you. Probably turning into a tree yourself, or fading into the air as easily as mist. Nothing to worry about. I wonder if perhaps Corinne and I were tempted at all.
In retrospect, we probably were.
o…o…o…o…o
Dust flew up in small yellow puffs, disappearing into the air like smoke, and Fistynn, frowning, flipped a few pages. They were yellowing and dusty and ancient, and if he flipped too fast it was almost guaranteed that the page would crumble; so as he thumbed through it carefully, he bit back a cough. Rubbing off a bit of the dust and dirt, he read the heading of one of the page, tracing the thin black script with one shaking finger: Poisons of the Vine. Jerking his head up, he stared across the tent at Samuel, who was sitting by the pot and reading from another archaic text of antidotes, as Fistynn was doing.
"'Poisons of the Vine.' Do you think…?" Fistynn licked his lips and continued reading, skimming through the chapter with a careful eye. Meadow red vine… meadow red vine… meadow… I cannot believe it! Is this a poison unheard of?
"Is it there?" asked Samuel anxiously, rushing through his somewhat newer volume of antidotes to known poisons, and finding nothing about vines at all. It seemed that the writers of archaic lore were much more complete in the past than in the present. "Any mention of it?"
A heartbeat of silence; but then Fistynn released an angry breath. "The closest here is the meadow yellow vine, but according to this passage," and here Fistynn made an angry hissing noise under his breath, "The meadow yellow vine is not usually used in a poison meant to kill; it has a lulling, slowing effect and if used in overlarge doses the powdered vine can result in unconsciousness. Doesn't sound like the meadow red vine at all, or even resembling it."
Samuel thought it over; no, it certainly did not sound related to the meadow red vine at all, despite the name similarity. But, perhaps, there was some invisible line of relation…
"What is the antidote formula?" Samuel asked, getting up and standing behind Fistynn's chair. Fistynn frowned and flipped the page, squinting at the cramped script – which inconveniently enough – was more faded on this side of the book.
"You use a sort of mixture of wine and dried petals of the wind's-kiss flower… hardly sounds effective. What were these old magicians thinking?" added Fistynn incredulously, looking up at Samuel's face. It was inscrutable, although disapproval drew a slight crease in his forehead.
"Wind's-kiss. Wasn't that the flower known for having stimulating effects on the body, as well as a fierce regulation of bodily functions? It can cause restlessness and insomnia, if not for the wine. Well… Prince Clement has been drowsier than usual nowadays, hasn't he?" Samuel added, his voice filled with a hope that he knew was false. That was lame even by Samuel's standards, pretending that the Prince's sleeping, almost comatose state was a connection to the meadow yellow vine.
He looked down at the yellowing pages once again, bending down and reading as slowly as he could. No; his very thorough perusal was in vain. There was no mention of the meadow red vine.
Fistynn stared up at Samuel, his face clouded with something that might've resembled disgust. His fists were clenched and he looked as though he were trying to hide a furnace. "This is hopeless. There is nothing – nothing! – we have read so far that would be of any use. Any use!" The last he had managed to yell, and letting the old book of antidotes tumble out of his lap he sprang up and began to pace the tent, fuming. Samuel stared at the unnatural swing of moods. Fistynn had been harboring all that anger for some time now; it was evident.
But that was understandable. Since the sorceress had rejected their offer of help the night before, Samuel and Fistynn – filled with a fiery determination to prove her wrong – had spent that night and the day that followed scouring through old texts and new texts, racking their brains for any prior knowledge of the meadow red vine that may have missed them during their rather uneventful classes in Herb Lore Theory (as there was a Theory and Practical class for every subject). For hours on end, they read and read and discussed and read some more, only stopping once to filch bread and water from the meal tent. To find all that work come to nothing… Samuel watched expressionlessly as his friend raged.
"Samuel, I am just as devastated as you are that our Prince is dying, and I don't regret these hours at work at all – so don't think that I do – but this is impossible, we've done all that we could, it would be unfair on ourselves and Time to do more… we are useless, Samuel. My strong point was never even Herb Lore – it was the Physical Forces, really – and yours was Elemental Powers – we know nothing that can be of use. I certainly have never been confronted with poison before, so unless there is some cure-all antidote out there, I can't imagine what more we can do…"
But Samuel had stopped listening. Gaping, he ran Fistynn's unwittingly genius words through his head, his mind racing. A cure-all antidote. Why, he was not sure if Fistynn had heard the story as a child, but if the thing was more than a mere legend…
"Fistynn."
"What are you proposing now, Samuel? I refuse to read another word, and I will march to my tent to get what shards of sleep I can – "
"Fistynn!"
The furious young man cut his raving long enough to look Samuel in the face and glare. "What?"
"Do you realize… what you just said?"
And Fistynn snorted. "That I will be getting some rest, yes. I am not entirely sure about you, Samuel, but I am by no means nocturnal – "
"Shut up and listen. What you said before that, I mean. About the antidote."
Fistynn's pacing were completely stopped now, and all traces of rage were gone. His features were shaped by his confusion, but as he watched the thought that stormed like winter behind Samuel's eyes he felt something rise in him, felt his heart lighten. Mixed emotions destroyed Samuel's previous expressionless mask. Now his face was a great blend of disbelief, fear, fever, and… was that hope?
"What are you saying, Samuel?"
"A cure-all antidote. It… I think it exists, Fistynn."
Fistynn could muster no response, and Samuel expected none. A small smile touched his lips, and he sat up straight in his seat, going on. "It's… it's a legend, though. I remember hearing it as a child and I remember a magician mention it in passing… mind, he didn't sound as though he believed in it, but then again, magicians are turning out to be rather narrow-minded…
"I don't even think it's difficult to make, Fistynn. Very few ingredients, and probably just needing an hour or so. Can you believe it? I should be able to remember… I can remember that it was said to have only one complicated feature." And Samuel's smile widened; Fistynn knew that the acolyte could remember.
"Well," Fistynn put in tentatively, unable to believe it. "what about the other ingredients? What of them? Do you remember them, too?"
"No, not exactly, but we can pry them from a magician if we must. Or read more and search. We mustn't give up, Fistynn; we are too close. We may yet have a chance of saving our Prince and future King."
The words were an impact. Silence fell, and it couldn't be read. Fistynn did not know whether or not the entire potion idea was entirely for the Prince, now; after all, Fistynn and Samuel would benefit greatly if they were to succeed. To be held in high honor and esteem, even as acolytes – such brilliant minds, when the professional and experienced magicians were at a total loss…
"Samuel, what was that one complication?"
And here his voice lost its zest, its life. As Samuel struggled to remember, it came to him eventually, and his face fell. Something uneasy seeped into it, and in his face and voice both his strain was revealed. Confusion dulled his eyes. The fervor that lit up his face disappeared almost immediately, like the blown flame on a candle.
"It must be consumed the day it is made – of course – and it is simple enough; however… it must be…" Is Samuel going to finish his sentence? Fistynn wondered, silent. By the look on Samuel's face, he could guess that the news was something he hardly wanted to accept, let alone repeat. I do not know whether or not I would like him to. To be let down once more would be too much for me to withstand.
The answer came finally, and like a sudden weight of metal it winded him. "It must be brewed with the blood of the one the drinker loves most."
Which, of course, was why the magicians of the ancient arcane reign were by Fistynn's standards completely insane.
o…o…o…o…o
Afterthoughts: An abrupt ending, but NOW it is 3:00 AM and I am ready to pass out on my keyboard. I would play editor for the umpteenth time and typographically abuse Chapter 18, but as I am not to be trusted when drowsy…
P.S. - But what I'm wondering... should I have an editor for this story? Not to officially publish it, oh not on my grave, but ... gah, I can't think clearly. Beta-tester, beta-reader, beta-editor... one of those. I might just experiment with one of the beta... beta-editors for a few chapters, just to see if it'd help me improve. Early feedback is very efficient. If anyone would feel up to it ((come, cowards, and stand with the brave!)), please let me know.
