Also Spring, Week 10 - Starts With a Whirlwind, Ends With a Nut

To hear the narration and learn how I put this episode together, check out this video:

*****

 A whirlwind. It's been an absolute whirlwind. And a certain someone, who can safely be called my favourite bard in the world, sits at its centre. Wherever she is, song seemingly bursts forth! We can be walking in the woods with no one around for kilometres and then, seemingly out of the air, there's music! Aside from the various faerie folk who can appear, the birds themselves change from simple calls to songs! Melodies, harmonies, even percussion! (Although, to be fair, the percussion is more often squirrels banging nuts together, deer scraping antlers against trees, or frogs croaking, or... this girl is like music magic incarnate! And while I continue to gawk and gape, she just joins in, like it's the most normal thing in the world. I guess it makes sense that, for her it is, but it still blows me away. She just watches my jaw drop and laughs.

Such joyousness. Pure effervescence. And it's so infectious! Admittedly, I like my quiet, my calm, my solitude, but I can't help but be caught up in her energy, her fun, her joy.

She's been playing at The Copper Fox regularly, consistently drawing crowds. And those crowds are growing! Which makes sense; the Spring Festival is approaching. Vendors and exhibitors are slowly but surely arriving, setting up tents, wagons, and even little mobile homesteads outside High Rannoc's decaying gates. A lot of what is being vended is food - all sorts of things being served. Some roasted over flavourful wood, others marinated in different types of sauces and rubs. Most of them are mouth-wateringly delicious. Of course there's always that one stall that sells something that, enjoyed by some, is heart-stoppingly, disgustingly,... yuck! (Which, for whatever reason, is mobbed by teenage boys daring each other to eat more of whatever it is that they're serving).

Anyway! I've been spending time at the cottage keeping it up but also spending a lot of time in town. Aside from being a rapt listener as Bess plays, I also help a lot at the tavern. And during that time, I've been able to catch up with Bob, Francie, Robert, and Madame Hightower, along with starting to mend bridges with Madam Wintergleam (my herbology teacher. For all of an hour or two, a couple of months ago), and initiate relationships with others like Mrs. Ruffage (the old witch's cousin). And maybe all this conversation and healing of relationships would've happened naturally, but I can't help but think that Bess, somehow, was helping things along.

The only people I consciously avoided was the mayor and his wife. Aside from the mayor doing nothing to help stem the rumours that his actions had started, his wife, the more I saw and heard, was even more toxic that him. For instance, on reflection, it seemed suspicious that she disappeared right after I cured Bess and didn't start appearing in public again until after her cold, or whatever caused her to dab at her nose repeatedly, was gone. Just one day, days after staying in her house out of public view, she stepped into the tavern, frowned when she spotted Bess, and made some sort of disapproving noise when she started playing her mandolin. But there was no dabbing at her nose or any other sign of sickness. But her voice sounded like it'd been abused, like she'd coughed a lot. It seemed likely Bess had been cursed by this hateful woman.

Note to self - talk to the spirit of the cottage about my suspicions. And discuss setting up protections! I don't want to be attacked by anyone, but in particular not by someone who's malicious, perhaps even malevolent. 

But enough about that situation! Let's talk more about Bess. Like how last night, during a break in her playing, she came up to me, put her arm around my waist, snuggled up close with her head on my shoulder, and just... stayed there. It was close, comfortable, even a little bit exciting. I think my body language just melted into that casual contact; my insides were grinning like an idiot. And then later, after everything was done for the night, she stopped me before I headed home and said we should do something tomorrow. Which was, I think, really today (because it was so late). Anyway, my heart leaped for joy. It's amazing that I slept at all!

Soon enough, either tomorrow came or today continued or... the sun rose. That, I'm sure of! And Bess arrived, riding on Marvin. I was so happy to see her and, considering how that poor donkey must've been put on a tether or in a stall, I was happy he'd be able to wander and roam and stretch his legs. 

"I hope you don't mind that I...", she started.

"No! I'm glad he's here! He's..."

"... he won't be any trouble at all..."

"...very welcome and I'm sure won't be a bother."

"...so, thank you!", Bess exclaimed.

Through all this, Marvin just stood there, watching. Almost like he was waiting. For what, I didn't know.

And then I felt a weight on my head. "Good morning. I hear you have a lovely day not-yet-planned." MouseEye. The mysterious, the mischievous, the mercurial. The now-standing-on-my-head-and-bowing-low-to-Bess.

"I wondered who first greeted me when I first arrived!" Then she stopped and looked at me in confusion. "Is it ok for me to address your familiar directly?"

Before I could answer, MouseEye said, "Of course! And please address all concerns and complaints to me, directly, out of anyone's earshot. Compliments should be given to my mistress - the more detailed the better."

Bess laughed. And then stopped when MouseEye asked, "May I address Marvin directly or should I talk to him through you?"

Like I said, Bess stopped laughing. But Marvin started. A donkey's laugh is... quite the sound. It's like a hee haw on repeat, but with hooves stomping on the ground besides. "I told you they knew." Marvin's voice is deep, sonorous, almost mournful. But as easy to understand as anyone else.

Bess looked at me. "You knew?" It was almost accusatory. 

I was lost for words. Luckily, MouseEye was on a roll. "No. She had no idea. But I... I watch. And listen. So when a supposedly mute farm animal is muttering that he's one of the most intelligent creatures ever in the history of the world, eating hay he wouldn't wish on the least of rodents, let alone on noble beasts like himself, I pay attention."

We were all standing there. Quiet. Confused. 

"I... ummm... no offence meant.", said Marvin.

"None taken. Now, if everyone will allow me, I'll show Marvin where I think some of the tastier grasses and other greens are growing on the land. And some places that could use some extra fertilizer." I felt MouseEye leap off my head, then saw him reappear on Marvin. "Head that way, Runcio."

"I'm not dappled, nor owned by a squire, Mortimer."

"That's funny! You know, there are people in town who think my name is that because..."

"Yeah. I know. You aren't the only one who watches. And listens."

As they rode off, they both nodded to us and MouseEye reached for his non-existent forelock. And their voices faded as they continued to banter, and, I believe, tried to one-up the other.

Bess and I looked at each other.

"Did you understand any of that?", I asked.

"Only the Mortimer bit. I think.", she replied.

"Well, it's not much of a story, but I can tell it over breakfast."

We agreed that I should cook. And while Bess would normally entertain me, she sat back and heard the tale of how MouseEye came to be known as Mortimer in town.

"So... I'm confused. What was the motivation for making up such an elaborate name when Francie asked?"

To be honest, I don't remember why I did it. It made sense at the time. I think. Or not! Which is why the first sounds I made trying to answer Bess' question consisted of "ums", "ahs", false starts, and a fair amount of chuckling. I finally landed on, "I don't know!"

She laughed. "Fair enough. It made sense in the moment. Got it!"

We ate, cleaned up, checked to make sure MouseEye and Marvin were doing ok (they were), then moved on to discussing the adventure du jour. 

"How would you feel about visiting The Cloud Isles?", I asked.

"Sounds fun! Are they isles that are seemingly made of clouds but are otherwise properly on the ground? Or are they more like seemingly ground but are otherwise floating in the air?"

"If I say the second option is much closer to the truth, would that be ok?"

"Ummm... sure. Why not? Let's go!"

Which is how we ended up in front of the cottage, Vapour Trail ready to board, and the two of us getting ready.

"If it's ok with you, I'd like to do something a little different today. You game?" Bess gave me an uncertain smile. "Sure. In for a penny, in for a pound."

I had her stand on the bristles, facing front, with me standing behind with my arms around her waist, keeping us close. And then we lifted off, more like hovered, just a few metres above the ground. I felt her relax as she got used to the sensation of standing and flying. And then I had the broom start on our way. The only difference between my usual flying and now was the gentle way we gained altitude. It took a little longer to get up to the Isles but it was fun and relaxed. Bess enjoyed seeing the lands around the cottage and High Rannoc. And then seeing the undersides of the floating islands closing in closer and closer.

I shared the story about my balloon trip with Madcap. And it was as wonderful to share this time, with Bess seeing the Isles for the first time. It allowed me to relive my first time and also to understand what Madcap must experience every time he beings someone new to this magical place. And in that spirit, I whispered in her ear, "Your wish is my command."

She looked over her shoulder. "My wish is to land somewhere. Like... that island - that big one over there."

Minutes later, we were on the indicated island. She breathed a sigh of relief, then kissed the ground.

"Was it that bad?", I asked, concerned I'd gone too far with my desire to share (and show off).

She laughed. "I got used to it after a bit. But it's nice to be able to walk around! And sit!"

We settled in and looked around. The islands, made of cloud nestled in cloud... it was amazing. We took it all in, walked around, explored the forest growing on this bit of ground... what an adventure!

"Sweet? Do these islands ever crash into each other?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"That island over there is getting awfully close."

I looked where she was looking at the approaching island. I had no idea if they collide but better to be safe than sorry. I ran to where Bess was standing, called for Vapour Trail, then had her grip the broom. "Trust me on this. Don't let go of the handle. We're going to take three strides towards the approaching island. Ready? One! Two! Three!" On three, I had the broom gently life us above the land.

It was effective, but awkward, the two of us gripping the handle of a flying broom as two land masses bumped into each other. And it was interesting, watching as the smaller one (the one we jumped towards) crumpled a bit, becoming smaller, while the pieces of debris floated off. The bigger island (what we had been standing on) had a small ripple, like an earthquake, run over it entirely.

I wondered - if this was how the various islands formed - collisions and joinings and calvings and whatnot. I started wondering if anyone knew the history, the science, the...

"Um... Sweet?"

Bess' voice, normally filled with confidence, sounded a bit panicked. 

"Hi there. I'm not sure what the plan is, but would you mind doing it soon?"

I realized that I'd sent us towards where the smaller island had come from, but hadn't adjusted to where it was now. We were currently holding onto Vapour Trail as we sailed through empty air.

"Sorry! Here... let's do... this...", I said as I aimed the broom towards the smaller island. A few seconds later, we were on firm, or at least floating, ground again.

As we touched down, Bess went immediately onto her knees and kissed the ground. Then, looking at me, amidst a bit of laughing (which held an uncomfortable amount of hysteria), "Ground, I've never fully appreciated the importance of your job until this moment!" And then she half-folded, half-collapsed, ending up on her back, arms outstretched, like she was maximizing contact with the ground. "You, Sweet... do you show all of your guests this good of a time?"

I stood there, dying inside. All I'd wanted to do was to show Bess my world, and here I was scaring her, panicking her, disappointing her. I...

Which is when I more felt than anything else Bess gently hug me. "You are a daredevil. But an amazing daredevil. You kept your head, kept us safe... I mean, yes, scared the bejeebers out of me... but you!" Her laughter, thankfully, had lost its edge. "How about we agree that we have no more adventures today. Is that ok?"

I was just about to agree when another adventure reared its head. Or "baaa'ed" plaintively is more accurate. Stepping out from behind some rocks, a sheep slowly, shyly, approached. "Baaa!"

Bess and I both began asking each other, ourselves, and I think the air, how a sheep had gotten onto this island. I, without really paying attention to what I was doing (being more focused on asking the same questions over and over again and being surprised that answers weren't magically coming forth), slowly approached the wayward farm animal. And realized there was no way for me to know where this sheep belonged. It did look similar to one I'd found on Moonbreaker Mountain a few weeks ago, but I'd had MouseEye there to translate. Here and now, I had just me.

Half-jokingly, I asked Bess, "You don't happen to speak sheep, do you?"

She thought I was fully joking. "No, unfortunately. When I was choosing courses at the Bard Academy, I opted to lean Prehistory."

"There's a Bard Academy?"

"Proud graduate."

"And they teach Prehistory?"

"Um... no."

"Oh."

I began to wonder - could I get anywhere with sheep in the same way MouseEye could? And so I started to focus - on MouseEye and his ability to communicate, on the sheep and its language, on Bess and her ability to transcend language with song, and on the spirit house and its ability to harmonize with everything. I imagined being at the cottage with the sheep in front of me. I felt meaning and compassion rise up from deep inside me, the sounds coming up my throat and out my mouth, even to the point of feeling like I was a sheep. The sounds I made were, to my human ears, absolute nonsense, but when the sheep answered back, I knew where we had to go. "She belongs to the Bleaters."

"What's that? A traveling troupe of sheep?"

"No. It's a family that live on a farm near Moonbreaker Mountain."

"And we're... what? We're going to rescue this sheep? How? There's barely enough room to fit the two of us on the bristles."

And that was certainly true. How could a rescue be effected with Bess and me, a stranded sheep, and one broom? I needed help. So I called for Vapour Trail.

I held her, communed, explained, and... an idea came. A surprising idea. A brilliant idea. And by brilliant, I mean something brilliant. The Pop O'Lock that had enhanced the broom morphed, shifted, changed. A platform appeared along the shaft of the broom. One large enough to fit one lost sheep.

Bess just stood there, in shock and disbelief. "You know, often when I hear tales of wondrous things, I get the feeling that somewhere in the telling and retelling, things get added simply to make it more interesting. If I ever figure out how to tell my experiences up here, I'm going to have to dial it back, otherwise no one will believe me."

In the few minutes it took to get everything situated, Bess was repeating the events of the day. And then muttering about not believing things herself. And then back to recounting the day's events.

If only she'd known things were going to be even more unbelievable before our outing concluded!

Now... by "unbelievable", I don't mean Bess' reaction to my suggestion that, with the rescued sheep perched on the just-created perch on the broom, that we should sit/stand/be downwind of said sheep and any... how should I say this?... waste material that could fly at us. And for some reason, whether Bess would be in front of or behind me didn't really matter. Since I'd always flown Vapour Trail handle-end in front, it didn't dawn on me (until Bess' adamant refusal to fly that way) that we could fly bristle-end first. 

Which then got me thinking about everything we'd done so far with Pop making the needed modifications, which led to my taking a minute with the broom, having a bit of a chat about a thought or two, and...

"What the...? Where did...? What...?" That, probably needless to say, was Bess after she saw the... I suppose "edifice" is an adequate word for what now sat on the bristles. Made purely of light (but as solid as rock) was a tower. Of sorts. It wasn't big in terms of footprint, but was big enough to allow for small rooms stacked one on top of the other. Sleeping cubbies, sitting rooms, an observation deck on top... I think I forgot to mention that there need not be too many rooms or levels.

Bess approached it, seemingly having a difficult time processing it. "It's like something from an epic story The nemesis in the Ramayana was Ravana. And he'd managed to get his hands on a shape-shifting chariot called Pushpaka. With that he made something similar to this. Which just casually appeared after talking to your broom. I mean... who are you?!?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so I went with the familiar. "I'm Sweet. Just "Sweet". A witch. And someone who tends not to ask for help when she should because when I do, things like this are possible."

"Is there a bouncy castle in this thing?"

"What's a bouncy castle?"

She told me. Thinking she was serious, I asked Vapour Trail. A small adjustment later... "Yes. There is now."

"Of course there is." She started to enter the tower, then looked over her shoulder. "Bouncy castles are way more fun when bouncing in them is more than one." And then she smiled.

Tears started to flow. My heart exploded. My mind felt a tremendous pressure release of a sudden, leaving me a complete wreck on the inside. Happily miserable, that was me.

And again, felt more than anything, she slid in, held me, embraced me, hummed a lullaby, and just let me release my anxieties, my fears, my insecurities. I held on to her, my lifeline, my safety, my comfort. "Thank you for being my friend, for coming here with me, seeing the world as I experience it."

She kissed my cheek in acknowledgement, then said, "Do you know what will make this rescue even better? The bouncy castle!" She pulled out of the embrace, wiped the tears from my eyes, then grabbed my hand and led me to the tower. "I know you probably know where it is but don't tell me! Let's find it together!" Which is how we flew to the Bleaters' Farm - one sheep on a platform (which became more of a stall) and two silly women jumping and bouncing and laughing and exhausting themselves. And one broom on more-or-less autopilot (because, since I'd been to the farm once already, it could follow my mental map).

Later, two sweaty women were laying on the springy floor, all played out. "Sweet? Did I ever tell you about my fear of heights?"

"No. But I got the idea."

"I could get used to this, though! Imagine! Flying from place to place in a light palace. Would you ever consider...?"

"Consider what?"

Bess hesitated, then, "No. Nothing. Forget I said anything."

I shrugged. "Ok."

We sat quietly for a minute or two. I was on the verge of not forgetting about whatever Bess had been about to ask when we felt a slight weight press down on us, then release. The thought came to me that we might have landed. That was followed up by sheep bleating, children calling out, and farm smells seeping through the walls.

It took a minute to descend, which gave one of the Bleater's older children time to approach the broom. "Ah! Mistress Sweetwater! This is an impressive... vehicle. What brings you here?"

The baaaa of the sheet came before my answer. "I believe that sheep is yours?"

"I believe so. Find her on Moonbreaker Mountain?"

"No. The Cloud Isles."

That stopped him. "But... how?"

I admitted that I didn't know. And then I opened the light pen and allowed the sheep to exit. By that time Mrs. Bleater had made her way to us. "Mistress. You're getting to be quite the shepherd! Will you and your friend join us for dinner?" Bess and I quickly looked at each other, gave affirmative looks, then I said, "We'd be delighted."

"Wonderful! I'll let you freshen up."

Much like last time, there was a parade of children who led us to a room where there was a basin of water and some cloths. What was different this time was the presence of someone who could muster up martial music at the drop of a hat. We all trooped off into the house.

And much like my prior visit, the dinner served by the family was basic, and yet there was plenty and it was all tasty. After dinner and clean up, Bess was introduced to the song the Bleaters like to sing when hosting company (and was also a favourite of the old witch), She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain. While I contributed a couple of verses, like "She'll Be Flying Vapour Trail When She Comes", Bess put together a few gems, and even included one that got the children excited, "She'll Be Bringin' Sweets and Chocolates When She Comes" (until they realized Bess' pockets were empty). Another verse she used made fun of our failed reagent hunt. "She'll Have Failed to Find Some Whale Poop When She Comes".

See - and I forgot to mention it earlier - we'd spotted Star Shards right away and so I thought we could also find ambergris. Technically, ambergris is a whale excretion. So it could be whale sweat. Or whale eye mucous. Or... it's whale poop. And despite looking high and low for it (and we found plenty of things that looked like ambergris but weren't), we didn't find any. Bess, oddly, seemed relieved every time we didn't find some. Weird.

Anyway, the Bleaters very politely offered to have us to stay the night. Bess and I declined at the same time. Which really was a bit weird. I mean, I know with Vapour Trail I can get home from anywhere and do so safely (and, by special request, do so in a bouncy castle). Bess, though - she seemed unusually anxious to not spend the night here. I had told her, on our way during the sheep rescue, about the group bed and how it had been a bit cramped but otherwise very comfortable. However, in the end, we both were in agreement about not staying. A couple of the younger daughters begged us to stay, with another one saying she was glad I wouldn't be snoring in her ear!

We bid farewell, climbed into the much less elaborate broom, and headed off. (We sat in a small enclosed space on the bristles. It allowed us to feel like we were flying through the dark of night but without the cold wind cutting through us).

It'd been a long day. We were both worn out. Vapour Trail was taking us towards High Rannoc as smoothly as can be imagined. And then... I saw the sky move. It was like the field of stars in the sky were jewels sewn onto a blanket and that it had just been smoothed out. I was suddenly awake. And heading up to take a look.

Bess was reclined into a cozy corner of our space. She looked up at me. "What's up, Buttercup?"

I told her I'd spotted something odd and that I wanted to check it out before we got back home. It was probably nothing, but I thought it important to make sure.

"Thank you, by the way, for not putting the bouncy castle in again. I'm exhausted! But it's a shame the kids didn't have a chance to play in it."

While most of me was watching the sky for more unusual movement, a part of me heard and wondered. That was an excellent point - something children could enjoy. I could set it up for the Festival. Aside from entertaining the kids, it might help my reputation with the parents. I'd definitely need to consider it.

As we approached the summit of the mountain, I spotted the lighthouse that had emitted the aura I'd seen previously. Tonight, however, it was dark. But the sky did move again. Something was going on.

I landed Vapour Trail on the peak, then stepped onto the hard rock. Aside from the stars above us, it was all dark. Dark below, dark around, dark most everywhere. Stars above. And as I watched, a grouping of stars started to move, undulate, twist, and start to form a shape. "Bess? You seeing this?"

She stepped next to me, grabbed my hand, pointed with her other hand and asked, "That swirling bit of stars that's impossibly huge?"

"Yeah. That."

"What is it?"

"Aside from a swirling bit of stars that's impossibly huge? I don't know."

As we were speaking, the stars began to coalesce. And from the general area of the stars taking shape, a voice emerged. "Would you care to be enlightened?"

Gulping a little, I addressed the starlight. "Yes, please."

A shape began to form. Large, serpentine, winged. A dragon! Bess released my hand and performed a deep curtsey. "How may we address you, oh grand one?"

The laughter that shot forth was intense, but not aggressive, and changed as the star shape changed, from dragon to human female. "Of course a bard would know the lore about dragons and massive egos", she said. The voice was now rich, sultry - one that any orator would envy. "And a witch will wish to know what parts of me could be used to treat human afflictions. The answer to that is - none. Or perhaps that's not entirely true - I see you've picked up a piece of my shedding."

It took me a second to realize what was being referred to. "Do you mean the Star Shard?"

"I do indeed.

"As to what you may call me, I've been given a multitude of names by any number of peoples all over the earth. I choose to have you use 'Nut'".

Nut? That sounded pretty... ordinary. You'd think a grand creature like a dragon would have a more grand name. As I thought that, I lapsed silent. Bess, however, was in her element.

"What peoples use that name for you?"

"People who live many thousands of kilometres away, in a desert, who cluster around a life-giving river. They call themselves 'Egyptians'." Then she changed topics. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

I spoke up. "I saw the sky... ummm... wrinkle. I wasn't sure why, so I decided to take a look."

Starry eyebrows raised. "Indeed? Without knowing what could possibly cause it and certainly without any ability to fix the sky, you came up here anyway?"

"Ah... yes. Nut."

The entire universe reverberated with her laughter. "You are as audacious in person as what I've observed from up high."

I wasn't sure if that had been a good laugh or a bad one. "My deepest apologies if our coming here disturbed you in any way."

She looked at us. "I watch the comings and goings of all things from up here. The Egyptians revere me as a god, to the point of believing I swallow the sun at dusk and give birth to it at dawn. I've watched mountains rise and fall, rivers etch the landscape, forests grow and die off. But what I don't ever experience", and here she paused, "is conversation. I see but am too far away to hear. I observe but can only guess the meanings behind actions. You are a welcome distraction."

Which is how Nut, Bess, and I conversed for most of the night. And by converse, I mean that Nut was full of questions about the whys and wherefores of life in and around High Rannoc. What was a little strange was the lack of questions about Bess and I individually, as if she knew that some questions she might ask cold breach our respective privacy. So I guess, while odd, once I realized what she was doing, I was grateful. 

Which... as I'm writing this now, I'm not entirely sure why I would be grateful since I don't have any secrets (that I'm aware of), but maybe Bess did. Does. Whatever.

Anyway, we talked for what seemed like forever. But, as the light of dawn began to glow in the East, Nut said, "It appears I'm getting ready to give birth to the sun. Before it rises into the sky and obscures everything, let me bestow gifts."

Nut reached out and brought into view... something. It had a body, and strings, and... other things... all made of individual points of light. "Play it only in darkness, but however you wish."

"Thank you. May I try it?"

Nut nodded. And Bess... I don't know what exactly it was that she played, but it sounded like something only royalty, and not human royalty, would ever hear. Glistening stars fell from twinkling eyes. "That was magnificent. Thank you, Bess."

To me, Nut gave a crystal. "This is called a Moonstone, harvested from the Moon. It will purify potions. After a few uses, it must itself be purified. You must discover the purification process for yourself - like the moon, Moonstone can be fickle, changeable, and cloak things in layers of shadow."

I curtsied, not as elegantly or smoothly as Bess, but with genuine emotion and gratitude. "My apologies, Nut, but I have nothing to give to you."

"Your curiosity has already given me a gift. Besides, who knows when the needs of a dragon, even a star dragon, might require a skilled witch."

We bowed and bobbed and with all the social niceties observed (I followed Bess for pretty much all of it), we got onto/into Vapour Trail. She lifted off and I pointed her home.

"Sweet? You said, and it feels like ages ago, that my wish is your command. Is that still true?"

"Absolutely."

"Then my wish is that I pass out here and now and not go through all the trouble of going to my wagon tonight. Is that ok?"

"It's your wish, my Lady, so therefore my command."

I felt a change in Vapour Trail - the floor became softer, like a down-filled mattress, and layers of warm blankets materialized. A pillow sprang up from under her head.

"And... join me?"

I looked at her. She'd been through a lot today, said her eyes, and a sleeping companion would be a welcome way to bring a bit of normalcy back to her life. A second pillow emerged, next to Bess'. And I slid under the covers next to her. She threw an arm over me, whispered a thanks into my ear, and quickly gave herself up to a much needed sleep.

Before I dozed off, I instructed Vapour Trail to land on the cottage grounds and to let us sleep uninterrupted until we were ready to wake up.

I just wish Vapour Trail wasn't so easily convinced to allow a nosey mouse and a grumpy donkey to disturb us. 

Also Spring, Week 8 - Vapour Trail

To hear the story narration and learn how I put the episode together, check out this video:

 *****

There's a story I heard once, some time ago. It goes like this:

One day, two monks were walking along and came across an old woman who was trying to cross a river. Because the river was wide and flowed quickly, she feared for her safety. The junior of the two monks passed by her and crossed. The elder of the two offered to help. She climbed onto his back and he carried her safely across. Many hours later, the elder noticed the junior had something to say and so asked him what was on his mind. The junior monk confronted the elder, saying, "We are forbidden to consort with women, let alone have any sort of physical contact with them. And yet you allowed that old woman to climb onto your back!". The elder monk replied, "I left her at the river bank, but you have been carrying her with you for hours."

One idea (of the many interpretations possible) is that you act and that once you have, to let it go. It's supposed to remind you to stay in the present moment.

Try as I might, the episode with the mayor is still on my back! It's done, dealt with, over, finished. And, you'd think after everything I'd experienced in Blastfire Bog (which, let's be honest, was incredibly cool! Super strange? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes. But so worth it!), I'd have exorcised the whole thing. But... I hadn't. It was still niggling at me, still occupying my mind, still slung on my back like an involuntary backpack.

I needed to do something that would give me something else to focus on. Business had been good, I had plenty of silver, and so a bit of retail therapy might be the thing. If I couldn't exercise the thoughts away, maybe I could spend them away. Which is why I was on my way to Bits & Bobs. If nothing else, spending some time with Bob would be a lovely thing.

Once in town, I noticed a couple of things. One was that there were more people out and about than I'd seen before. I didn't recognize anyone, not that that was any surprise given how little time I'd spent in the town and how few, relatively, people I'd treated. What was a surprise was how quiet people got when they spotted me. I tried telling myself it was because they were seeing a witch and that it carried some weight. But I didn't believe me.

At Bits & Bobs, Madam Wintergleam was finishing up a transaction, chatting away with Bob. That is up until I entered. Actually - not quite true - it wasn't until she noticed who had entered that her pleasantries quickly petered out. She avoided looking at me, bid Bob a fine day, and left. She didn't even acknowledge my greeting. I decided it was because she hadn't gotten over my quitting her class. I was already carrying the mayor - there was no way I was going to carry more!

I greeted Bob and he returned it, but... it was awkward. There was definitely something going on, Bob definitely knew what, and I was definitely not leaving until I'd found out what it was.

"Bob, originally I came here to do a bit of shopping. But now that I think on it, I'm here for two things: a bit of shopping, and to find out why everyone is acting so weird."

He smiled at me, nearly sincerely, before asking if there was anything in particular I had my eye on.

"Yes. The truth. What's going on?"

He deflated a bit, grimaced, then said, "There's a rumour going around saying that you and the mayor are... um..."

I didn't like where that was going, but I wasn't going to have the rest of the sentence left unsaid. "We're what, Bob?"

He refused to look me in the eye. "An... um... affair. People think you are having an affair with the mayor."

"An affair? Why in the world would anyone think that?"

With the terrible secret rumour no longer secret, he started talking a bit more freely. "The other night. The mayor had had a lot to drink. Before he left The Copper Fox, he announced he was going to your cottage to, as he put it, 'show that upstart of a girl who's in charge of High Rannoc'. And people watched as he staggered towards your place. It was his not returning until late the next morning that the whispers started."

Fury started to burn inside me, but it quickly died out with the memory of that fat, hungover, half-naked man falling awkwardly out of my tree. "Ummm... ok...", I said at first, then tried to say the rest without my laughter interrupting. "Bob, did you and I have an affair when you came to me for help?"

He still looked miserable, still wouldn't meet my gaze. "They're saying you're a home wrecker. He has kids."

"Bob", I repeated, "Did you and I have any sort of inappropriate anything when you came for treatment for your cludgie mouth?"

He mumbled, "no".

"No." Then, after a deep breath, I continued, "I don't know what the mayor was thinking when he was drunk or why he said what he said. I won't talk about anything concerning my patients - any of them", and I looked sharply at Bob, "but please know that nothing inappropriate or unprofessional occurred between he and I."

Bob just nodded, dumbly. 

"I don't know if anyone will believe me and frankly I don't care", which was an obvious lie, but what the heck, "but of all the people in this wretched town who I want to know the truth, it's you."

He gave a little laugh, if a bit forced. "I'm sure this'll just blow over in time. It's just a rumour..."

Yeah, right. There was no way this rumour was going to blow over quickly. Mentally I watched as my reputation, my business, my livelihood, was going to be destroyed by an arrogant drunk. The laughter in my soul tamped down as that scenario played out in my head.

I needed to get out. Quickly. It was too much. Just all too much. But I couldn't get myself to step out the door, let alone walk another gauntlet of unspoken judgemental shame. So I grinned (against everything I was feeling), forced myself to stand up straight, and asked if he had any brooms for sale.

Talking merchandise seemed to put more normalcy back into the room. "Oh sure. All sorts really. Different handle lengths, bristle types, wood choices, colours..."

I interrupted. "Flying ones. Do you have any of those?"

"Ah. Of course. Flying ones. Of course..."

I closed my eyes. "Bob? What is it now?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I do have one. She's not much, but I..."

"Great. I'll take it."

"Would you like to see it first?"

"Nope. How much is it?"

"It's... uh... would you like a helmet?"

"Nope. How much?"

"Ah... do you need instructions on flying her?"

"No."

"Ah... right. Ok. I'll just package it up for you and..."

"No need. You go get it. I'll leave silver on the counter and meet you out back."

"Ok. Great. I'll..."

"How much silver should be waiting on the counter for you?"

"I... ah... would 100 be asking too much?"

"100 it is. I'll count it out while you get it."

Bob stepped out and I just stood there, shaking. Of all the patients I'd seen, and a few of them had stayed overnight at the cottage while I'd collected reagents, why had this particular patient triggered such a rumour. No doubt his announcement to The Copper Fox patrons has been important - but has that been all? Was it being helped along by someone? And if so, why?

I shook my head to clear it, tried once again to take off the mayoral backpack that had now seemingly fused itself to me, counted the silver onto the counter, and went out the back to see my new purchase. Given Bob's hesitancy, I didn't expect to see much. I wasn't disappointed.

Brooms can come in a variety of shapes and types. Most, of course, don't fly. But of the ones that do, you can't simply look at it to know if it flies. There's a... magical feeling, I guess is what I'm trying to say. And not everyone resonates with every broom. I'll note that I knew none of this before I talked with Bob. MouseEye told me all this after I got home. So while I could've just paid a huge amount of money to sweep my floors, it turns out I lucked out again.

If the land is responsible for my run of luck, it has to be working overtime!

When I first laid eyes on the broom, I instantly saw what Bob saw - an ill-kept, bristle-bare, knotted and mottled handled relic of a prior age. 

"Here it is, Mistress." Bob pointed to it almost apologetically. "I bought it as part of an estate sale, of sorts. I was given an inventory list and, ah... this was listed as a flying broom. I paid top silver for it. Sight unseen, you see. I've just been storing it, not sure what to do with it, and um... I hope you're happy with your purchase. Of course, if it isn't to your satisfaction, I'll give you a full refund."

I heard Bob and I guess on one level I listened, but on another I was connecting to this unsightly thing. But there was more here than met the eye. 

"Of course, it's an older model so doesn't have the lumbar support or the new cushioned memory-bristles that are being produced now. Of course those can go for a lot more than 100 silver, so I hope you feel, after setting eyes on her, it's fair."

Deep within it's twisted handle, arcing from its half-circle burst of bristles (I couldn't identify what they were made of), there was something. Subtle, for sure. But undeniable. She was perfect.

He had it propped up, bristles up, next to the door. "Here, let me get it for you." As Bob reached for it, it shot past his closing hand and landed neatly in mine.

Bob looked over his shoulder at me and the broom that had just come to life. "Oh! I didn't know you're an experienced broom wrangler!"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was deep in the experience of the broom and all that she was. After a few seconds, I released her and had her hold steady for mounting. Now - there's a misconception that all flying brooms are flown by sitting on the handle. Not true! Not only would it be terribly uncomfortable, it'd be absolutely unstable! It'd be so easy to slide off to one side as the broom did a barrel roll the other way! Which is why most brooms have you sit cross-legged on the bristles. I climbed on, kicked off the ground, and launched. My eyes were pointed at the sky - I didn't want to look back and down at High Rumour-ville. 

That load I'd been carrying? Gone. The confusion and hurt from hearing the ridiculous rumour? Disappeared. My anger at it all? Evaporated. Eviscerated. Eliminated. And I was simply elated. It felt so good to be flying again. 

Just for kicks, I flew through a cloud. That feeling of the air whooshing past - what a rush! And the trail I left in the sky, dragging a bit of cloud along! In that moment, I named her: Vapour Trail. 

I was like a kid in a candy shop. No - I was like a dog (one of those breeds that loves water) playing on a riverbank. No - I was like myself lingering in a warm bed on a cool morning. I just loved every minute and I really, really didn't want to stop. So I didn't! I swooped and swerved and dove and climbed - if I could think of it, Vapour Trail could do it.

There was one moment where I did start thinking about a barrel roll and Vapour Trail started rolling! But it was that errant thought that led to an amazing discovery - my butt was held to the bristles like iron to a magnet. I inverted all the way through the roll and, while discombobulating, wasn't fatal. Good to know!

After flying for a few hours, I decided to take the opportunity to land and stretch my legs. Sitting cross-legged is only comfortable for so long! I found an island within the Cloud Isles with a pond and some trees for shade. It was good to lay back on my own private island! And to take a dip (or three!) in my private swimming pool. Aaahhhhh... the world with all its cares and concerns and troubles was down there This place, this peaceful, solitary place, was just lovely. I think if I ever retire from witching, I'll set myself up here.

As good as it all felt - the warm sun, the cool water, the comforting shade - I also wanted to feel the wind and race across the sky and do loop do loops and be silly.

The day was getting on and I was getting tired, but I also wanted to check out one last place. I'd spotted an island that sported a large cave - the mouth of which was so big I could fly into it. I couldn't resist!

I flew more cautiously as I entered the cave. It was a little tight, but totally workable. With the discovery, I found myself wondering if I'd ever walk anywhere ever again!

Looking at the textures within the cave walls was like looking at clouds and seeing different shapes and things. Here a wing, there a serpentine body, over there a giant closed eye. It was fun letting my imagination run free!

And then my imagination started working overtime, seeing myself as I flew hither and yon with kids coming out from houses and buildings, pointing up at me as I came to visit. It felt so good, so affirming as the local witch.

A sound, I suppose what I imagined the kids would sound like, escaped through my lips. And it echoed. What fun! Echoes! And so I let loose with a little bit of nonsensical song and played with the sound bouncing back. The roar that followed wasn't expected. Nor the two eyes that opened deeper in the cave. It was then that I realized the winged snake shape I'd disregarded was: one - not part of the cave but instead lived in it, and two - it was a wyvern.

There was a part of me, for a quick second, that tried discerning whether the creature in front of me was a wyvern or a dragon. That small part stopped its zoological classification and instead decided to table the discussion for later.

The wyvern made to launch at me and I found myself drifting backwards. I didn't know the broom came with reverse but I'm glad it did!

I got clear of the cave mouth then shot off, hoping the wyvern would either lose interest (with me now being gone) or would lose sight of me and break off its pursuit. Neither happened.

All the practice I'd gotten in was paying dividends. I wasn't losing it, but I wasn't being snatched out of the sky and turned into wyvern food. Every move I tried it responded to. Each attempt to out race, out spin, or out roll it didn't work. It nearly got me time and again. I didn't dare stop, didn't dare land and hide, didn't dare do anything. I couldn't lose it in the cloud or two that was up here. I needed a plan.

And then I spotted my chance. Laughing out loud with fear and hope, I knew it was a desperate move, but I had nothing left. I flew into a canyon of sorts being formed as two big islands drifted close to each other. It narrowed so much that it could fit me but couldn't accommodate the wyvern's wingspan - it had to maneuver itself to keep from being crushed. After shooting through the gap, I dashed for a nearby forested hiding spot and hunkered down.

They wyvern wasn't ready to give up, instead flying all around the canyon I'd exited, plus the islands surrounding it (including my current hiding spot). It wasn't until well after sundown that it finally relented and left.

After all the excitement, you'd think I'd've made my way home. And you'd be right. To a point. You see, as I started my way back (or what I assumed was the way back), I spotted blue-green light coming from a height and I just had to check it out.

There are two things I learned: one - there is a lighthouse on top of Moonbreaker Mountain, and two - it emits the most beautiful... it's not quite light, but also not quite water. When I told MouseEye about it later, he said it's called plasma. I called it fun! I could fly through it and have trails of it swirl in my wake. I must've done that for... well... I lost track of time. Maybe it wasn't that long but it felt like I spent all night playing.

It was still night, however, when I got my bearings and finally headed home. I landed, stretched, yawned. Spent though I was, my spirit was still riding a high. I dragged my aching body into the cottage, broom in tow. 

The welcome glow of Pop helped settle me. I was back in my home, my space, my safe space. I breathed a sigh of relief. MouseEye looked up from his place inside the spirit house. "I see you bought a broom. And I'm guessing you went up to the Cloud Isles. What'd you do up there?"

A mischievous grin crossed my face. "You want me to tell you about my adventures today?"

MouseEye closed his eyes, knowing full well what was coming, but still played along. "Yes. Tell me about your adventures today. What did you do? Tell me everything."

Without giving the necessary pause to give the answer the punch it deserves, I jumped in with, "Must I?"

Smiling at each other, sharing in the joke, we laughed. And then we watched, each from our own vantage point, as Pop began to change in hue, in intensity, in colour. She began to expand at the middle and dip at the poles, and then, suddenly, she divided into two Pops. Each the same size as the other, floating side by side, indistinguishable. Then one of them floated over to the broom and attached itself to the end of the handle, making a running light of sorts.

MouseEye's and my gaze met again and with a mutual shrug of incomprehension, we wondered what else this night would bring. 

Spring, Week 7 - That Which Giveth, That Which Taketh Away

To hear the narration and learn how I put the episode together, check out the video:

*****

 The days are getting longer, the nights shorter. Nature is drinking up the sunshine, bringing life and activity to the land. Not to say that the land's been dead! Far from it! But there's a noticeable difference in tonight's sunset than there was when I first arrived seven weeks ago.

Seven weeks! I can't believe time has gone so fast! And I'm certainly not the same person I was, bumbling into a role that, if I'm being completely honest, would have seemed an insurmountable challenge. And yet here I am.

I feel like I'm at peace with things. I know there's more to be discovered, more territory I've yet to visit, more ailments that will need treatment, but I'm at peace with where I am, and even who I am.

Watching the last of the twilight dim, I felt like I'd been part of a daily ceremony, the changing of the guard from day to night. Oddly satisfying, in its way, almost as if the desire to do morphs into the desire to rest. And that, after any day at the cottage, is a feeling I willingly embrace!

I'd banked the fire, letting it sleep. It too would be called upon with the new day. Pop's gentle glow as it moved about the cottage, floating where it will or settled on the spirit house, was comforting. MouseEye's usual spot was empty, but that in itself wasn't unusual - he would just as often disappear as reappear... ok - that's obvious, I guess! What I'm trying to say is that MouseEye isn't tied to my side. Wherever he is, I know he's safe. And I hope he's not intrusive or indiscreet!

Which brings my thoughts to Roger. Bathing. That was... I just don't need to see that much of anyone ever again! Chuckling to myself (and probably I'll be chuckling about it for a very long time), I sat in front of the spirit house, relaxed and breathed, and let the day's memories and labours release.

I did wonder, as I sat, if when I sleep I somehow connect with the Here Yet Not Here. Is it somewhere you can go? Much like up beyond the clouds in Madcap's balloon, could a voyager find themselves Here Yet Not Here? What would that be like? How would it work?

Could I package myself up, set myself on the mantlepiece, and end up... at Pip's house? Could I go elsewhere? What would that be like!?!

When I start to let my mind wander at night (like I "let" it - it just flies off in a direction and I feel like I'm running after it - again like Madcap's balloon), I know my sleep will be more active, less restful. I'll have cobwebs aplenty come morning but maybe overnight I'll garner insights, or inspirations, or epiphanies. But none of that will come until I let me mind drift off with head on pillow.

I close my eyes and doze off. Sleep envelopes. 

And a knock awakens. "Mithtrith?"

Igor? Pop's glow increased, allowing me to find my clothes and throw them on.

Opening the door, I saw Igor's worried face, brows knitted, hands (all three) clenching and squeezing, always in motion. "Please, come in. Take a seat and tell me what brings you here."

He did as I invited. And then told me about Richard, Count von Rannoc, vampire, necromancer. "He doethn't theem himthelf. And now he'th thaying he wantth to watch the thunrithe."

"It... I mean... he won't die, will he?", I asked.

"No. But it thertainly won't be good for him."

"Do you want me to tend to him?"

"I'm embarrathed to athk, but yeth. Pleathe. Thith ith beyond me."

I spent some more time asking about his condition, when it'd started, noticeable symptoms. And Igor, being not just an assistant but one versed in science and observation, was a wealth of information.

As I consulted the old witch's book, MouseEye sat down on the open page. I asked with a glance if he'd heard everything. With a small nod he indicated he had. With a small shrug I said I wasn't sure what it was but tentatively pointed at an ailment description. With a small shrug back he said my guess was as good as his so let's run with that diagnosis for now. 

Or maybe he thought we were talking about something completely unrelated to the visit. 

Anyway, I thought about a plan of action for the case. I had Princess Toad mucous already (and what is it with so many reagents being slimy and gross!?!). Mixed with Coldrust (and luckily I knew where to get some in Hero's Hollow), it'd make a cure for the ailment known as Loss of Experience. I had no idea how someone so old and knowledgeable as the Count could catch something like this, but it made sense in all other respects.

I grabbed the slime... sorry... the mucous reagent... and a few other things and made ready to go to the dungeon. I wasn't sure if I was more or less comforted that Igor would be joining me but I figured at the very least he'd make for interesting conversation on the way.

Such was not the case. Igor, despite appearances, could walk faster than was comfortable for me. I half-trotted to keep up, not leaving me with much breath for talking. I did manage to ask if the Count knew we were coming.

"No. But the Marthter will apprethiate your expertithe when we arrive."

From what I'd gathered about the necromancer's temperament when confronted with the unexpected, this wasn't a great idea. I tried to trust Igor's judgement. I'd almost succeeded by the time we entered the Hollow.

I opted to detour us to the armoury, the site of my last Coldrust harvest, to gather some before making our way to the Count's rooms. The rusting magical weapons and armour may be of no use to warriors but it's a treasure trove of Coldrust for me!

Igor then led us to his "Marthter'th chamberth". It was a quick walk - again mostly because Igor was moving at a speed that would be a near-certain ankle twister for anyone else. Maybe he found a way to distill some of the faires' rat spit so that he could go faster?

I felt my mind begin to wander. And... I stopped it. This was no place to not pay attention to where you're stepping!

Soon enough, we arrived. Igor bade me stay back a couple of paces - to announce me, I guess. I heard:

"Marthter? Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Why? For what purpose? And have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

"Yeth, Marthter. It'th on your dethk, Marthter. And no, I don't know why the witch ith here, Marthter."

"Hmm? Ah, yes. The book is here. Very good. And now if only I had my codex handy..."

"It'th altho on your dethk, Marthter. Next to the book."

"Ah. Yes. So it is. Good. Umm... I feel like I'm missing something..."

"Yeth, Marthter. Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Is she? I'm... very busy... have her... uh..."

As they were talking, Igor reached for my arm, then gently guided me forward. Then another arm reached behind me and gave me a hefty shove forward on my back. I looked up into the eyes of a startled necromantic vampire.

I did mention, didn't I, that his behaviour when startled isn't exactly... carefully considered? Today, however, was different.

"Oh! Mistress Sweetwater, right? How unexpected."

I turned to look for Igor. He was gone.

"I... ah... yes. I thought I'd check in on you. I..."

"Check in on me? Hmmm... Why? Has Igor been gossiping again?"

"Ah... no! No. But he did say you were contemplating watching the sunrise and I thought it'd be lovely to do together."

"Did he now? And... was I really planning to do that? Well... sorry you came all this way, but I'm far too busy to be galavanting off. I've... have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

As I was about to point it out, I spotted MouseEye standing on it (but out of sight of the Count, of course) making "danger" motions: thumb drawn across the neck, glassy eyes with tongue lolling, arms crossed in front of his chest making a big X. I walked up to the table, took the book (somehow MouseEye disappeared. Maybe as I blinked?), pretended to read it, then said, "I think you meant to get it from the library but you grabbed the wrong one. Let me get the right one for you."

As I stepped out of the room, I heard Richard start talking to himself about finding another something or other. Igor was waiting.

"Do you thee what I mean? He'th not right in the head."

"Can I use your lab? I'm sure it's Loss of Experience, but I don't know how he would've contracted it. Unless... where did this book come from?"

"That? Oh... I'm not thure. Which ith odd. An adventurer did vithit a couple of dayth ago. I wath buthy in the lab, and I don't pry into the Marthter'th buthineth, but I do catalogue all the bookth. Thith one I've never theen. I wonder if the Marthter bought it. It theemth odd that he would, but then again..."

"I wonder if it's a trapped book. Like maybe you start to read it and instead of giving you information, it takes it. Does that sound plausible?"

"That'th... you know, people think of necromantherth ath evil becauthe they work with the dead and death. But thith... to turn a book from a giver to a taker... that'th real evil."

Igor took the book. "I'll examine it while you brew."

I just looked at him. "You can be so certain, and safe, while doing it so fast?"

He looked back at me. "You can brew a pothun tho fatht and be thertain you and he will be thafe?"

"Point taken."

He laughed. "Anyway, forewarned ith forearmed."

A few minutes later we reconvened. We both said, "Is it...?", then stopped. I let Igor go first.

"Trapped, as you thuthpected. The book itthelf ith inert. You had to thtart reading the text for the trap to thpring." He then looked at me more sharply. "How did you know?"

I was about to answer when I heard a mouse-y voice behind me. "I told her."

Igor shot me an appraising look. "That familiar ith a keeper if ever there wath one. Now - the pothun?"

I held up the cup holding it.

"Will thith... rethtore him?"

I didn't know. So that's what I answered.

"Here'th to hoping." He took the cup and entered the Count's study. "Reading ith thirthty work. Here'th a refrethment."

The Count, for his part, was standing in front of a tapestry. But he wasn't actively looking - the body was too slumped, the head not quite square. It was like no one was home. He clearly wasn't reading. He clearly wasn't doing much of anything. But he did take the drink without a word and downed it. And then we waited.

The changes were subtle but added up to awareness being reawakened. Then, slowly, he looked at us. Sometimes vampires are depicted with red flames in their eyes. Other times they're shown with wolfish grins and protruding canines. I'd never seen the Count like that. Until this moment.

"What?" The demand was directed at Igor.

"The new book, Marthter."

"Where?"

"Ditharmed. In the Library."

The vampire then turned to me.

"You?"

I was speechless. Frozen. The intensity of that gaze... it grabbed everything I was and blasted it aside. I just stood there, mute.

"Her. Yeth, Marthter."

Richard, Count von Rannoc, slowly approached me, never breaking eye contact. All I could see was his eyes, and beyond them, the Void. He reached down, took my hand, and kissed it. "You, witch, are worthy of the name. I'm indebted to you."

My brain slowly dragged its way back. "I... ah... just brewed a potion."

He continued to stare through me. "No. You returned me. Aside from your usual rate for the mundane task of brewing a potion, I am in your debt. The silver is a pittance. And you shall not refuse."

The more laggard pieces of my mind started to recover. "No."

The Count's eyes blazed again. Before he could speak, I continued. "I will accept that I've done you a greater service than simply treat a condition. And I accept that you feel indebted to me. But it's something I never intend to call. For me, there is no debt."

The stare, that terrible stare, continued. But now I was back, aware, fully myself. And I was able to absorb the stare and withstand it, hold it, and even calmly return it. And he laughed. "Never let it be said that witches are simply crazy women living in little cottages who mutter over steaming cauldrons." Then he held up a hand. "I, for one, have never said such a thing. Others? Yes. But not me."

Of a sudden, he looked drained. "Would you care to sit with me a moment? Apparently I need time to recover. Igor? Some tea please."

"Yeth, Marthter. With pleathure."

The Count and I sat. He more reclined. "Your predecessor. She warned me once about this, or something similar. 'They only have to get lucky once. You must remain perpetually vigilant.' Oh, the tongue lashing she'd've given me, were she here."

He looked deep in thought, formulating what to say next. "She was something, you know. A force of nature. She, a witch, working with all things from birth to death. And me, a necromancer, working with death as birth." He paused. Then, "They say opposites attract. But there was no way it would ever work. And then she went to the Imperial City."

That stopped me. I didn't think he knew about that, that Igor had intercepted her letter to him. He saw my facial expression and laughed. "Igor's protective. But that doesn't mean I'm ignorant."

"Your tea, Marthter. Mithtreth."

"Thank you, Igor.", said the Count.

"Should I track down the culprit, Marthter?"

"No. No doubt the poor fool was duped or geased. The real perpetrator will have clean hands. So we'll have to be more circumspect in our search."

"Yeth, Marthter."

Igor left and the Count and I talked for a while longer. At some point, I yawned. The Count reacted. "Dear me! I just realized what time it is! You must be exhausted! Shall I have Igor prepare a guest room for you?"

It was tempting, but really all I wanted was the peace of my own cottage and the safety of the land surrounding me. So I declined. And soon after, headed out.

On the way out, two things happened.

One was that I passed by the Silverleaf outcropping and gathered some. And then, remembering this unlucky fellow who'd bled to death trying to harvest it. I gathered some Old Blood from near him. Show me a witch who doesn't harvest reagents when they have the chance and I'll show you, not a witch, but a crazy woman living in a cottage muttering over a steaming cauldron. Ha! I still can't believe he said that!

The other thing that happened is that while I was walking passed the jail cells and paying them no mind, I heard a poorly stifled sneeze. It... no... it couldn't be...

I stopped and looked. And then I saw. A figure huddled in a cell, trying to hide. "Show yourself.", I said. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. And I had a very interested vampire relatively close at hand if things went really badly.

"Um... hello?", it said. He, I amended. He said.

"Let me guess. You gave a necromancer a book, probably not willingly, and you are now stuck here, scared, and not knowing the way out."

"I did what?" The panic in his voice spoke volumes. He didn't know what he'd done. "Please, miss, I woke up here. I don't know where here is, but it isn't where I want to be!"

"I won't hurt you. You're safe. Come on out and I'll show you how to get out." It took more convincing than that, but he did eventually join me. I knew the way pretty well by this point, so it was a quick and easy journey to the exit. The feel of the nighttime air felt so much better than the dungeon's stagnancy. 

"Oh thank the heavens! I'm out! Here, miss, this is yours!", he shouted as he dropped a pouch at my feet, and ran off. I picked it up, felt the weight, and heard the clink of coins. I'd count it later. My main thought in that moment was the hope that he'd find his home ok.

As for me, I went home. But instead of going to bed, I sat outside and waited. It didn't feel like a long time but it gave me time to decompress, to process, to wonder, and to eventually watch the sunrise.

Also Spring, Week 6 - Helping vs Rescuing

To hear the narration and learn how I put this episode together, watch the video!

*****

 Early morning. The time when the transition from night to day hasn't started just yet. There's a stillness as night gets ready to recede, day is busy making its coffee, stretching, getting ready, but it hasn't left the house yet so as to be known to the sleeping world. It's the hushed breath before activity begins.

At least in most houses. Not this one. Not this morning at least. In this one... this witch wishes she were allowed to sleep longer, to enjoy the warmth of bed covers until dawn. I mean... dawn!... it's not too much to ask for, is it?

Apparently the answer is "Yes. Yes it is."

I know why I'm up. I'm not happy with myself this morning and I know I should do something about it. I know this because that is the theme of so many thoughts pounding around in my skull. At least if I get up and start to do something, I can get my mind off of my guilt. Perhaps even convince it to go away. Which I know full well it won't, but a witch can at least try! And besides it's too early to do anything about it anyway! So... I'll do something else and maybe, just maybe, I'll work it all out. It didn't help that a presumed sleeping MouseEye just said, "Mmm hmm" right after my last thought on the subject. 

As I got up and stretched, I saw the gentle glow from behind the note on the mantlepiece. That, I think, is worthy of exploration. It'll take my mind off of other things. And besides, if it's from Pip I don't want to leave her waiting on a reply. 

My usual morning routine can wait. I really want to see what the note says and see what's glowing.

Note to self - when trying to read a note, get the fire going first. It's amazing how much light there isn't in the early morning. 

Next note to self - in the dark, writing may not be visible, but it gives a much better perspective on anything that happens to be gently glowing.

I set the note aside and saw what lay behind it. It's... a small orb, tiny really, sitting on the mantlepiece. But not just sitting. More like gently pulsating. Along with the colour changing intensity, the colour itself seemed to shift - whites, blues, turquoises, and more. And the sphere itself gently... bounced? The harder I looked at it, the more movement I saw. It was mesmerizing. 

It was around that point that my lack of even visiting the privy started to catch up with me. I pulled myself away and got my daily routine done.

Feeling much more comfortable and with the fire stoked, I was able to read the note. It was indeed from Pip! Yay! And it identified my new little glowing friend as a Pop O' Lock. That it emits bursts of coloured magic, needs feeding twice daily, and won't tolerate sun nor bugs.

Ummm... feed twice daily? And I've had it for how long? It looks alive, at least. And with all the movement I assume it's happy? And the note says something about trying to save this Pop O' Lock? Save it from what? Simply dying? Or something more predatory? Or sinister?

I'm going to have to write back and get some clearer instructions on the little thing. In the meantime, what do I do with it? I hoped MouseEye could shed a light on the situation.

"MouseEye?"

A little suspiciously, the sound of snoring began to come from his spot in the spirit house.

"MouseEye", I said, a little louder. 

"Must I?", came the response, and then the suspicious snoring continued. 

"Is that where we are now? Preemptive 'Must I?'-ing?"

"Mmm hmm"

Well, for now anyway, everything seems ok.

What happens if I touch it?

It's warm. Not hot. Pleasant. There's a vibration. Subtle. The colour changed slightly - perhaps a bit pastelly. And when I went to lift my finger off, it stuck to it. Interesting! 

I brought it closer to my face. "Hello there. I'm Sweet. I hope you're happy here in my cottage." I didn't expect what happened next - it floated off my finger and landed on the spirit house. Ok - I guess it can take care of itself better than I'd originally assumed. 

And that's where I was as the sun rose - happy, warm, enjoying a steaming tea, secure in my ability to help people... which brought back an uncomfortable thought. Why had I felt the need to add sweet to the potion I gave to Roger Rogerson? Twelve silver worth of sweet. The sweet alone was more than Roger would've made from his guarding of the doctor.

How could someone make a living if they had to pay out so much in a single treatment? Especially if a certain witch were to over-make a potion?

*Sigh* The same thoughts that had greeted me in the dark were now badgering me in the light. There was no helping it - I had to make things right. And that meant a trip to High Rannoc.

I did my best to rehearse what I'd say to Roger and what he might say in response. How angry he might be because of how much I charged him. How disappointed he could be in me for not being more thoughtful in my care, not being more helpful in my customer service, not being as useful a resource to the community as I could be. I must admit the discussions in my imagination turned into arguments, recriminations, accusations, rejections.

I felt miserable. I wanted to turn around, go back to the cottage, and put out a Do Not Disturb sign just so's I could hide and never see anyone again. But my legs got me to the High Rannoc gate. Open, as always. "Why are there walls if the gate is always open?", I wondered. But that attempt at distraction was swept aside with visions of poor Roger eating a crust of bread and being thankful to the person who'd mindlessly cast it aside.

Through the gates I went.

The Copper Fox Tavern seemed the best place to start looking for Roger. Fussy was up and serving a family breakfast. I caught his attention as I walked in. "Mistress Sweetwater. What can I get you?"

I swallowed, gathered my courage, and asked for Roger's address.

"He's in the back. He's just..."

"Thank you." I strode past him.

"But... Mistress?... he's..."

I ignored whatever he was trying to say. I was finally ready to do this and if I stopped now, I might never be able to summon up the courage again.

I went through the inn and out the back, following the sound of singing. Roger's singing. Meanwhile I faintly heard scrambling behind me.

I stepped out. Roger had a small bowl raised over his head. A very wet and entirely unclothed Roger dropped the small bowl onto his head. Which is when Fussy caught up. "Begging your pardon, but he's bathing, Miss." The tableaux froze.

Roger then said, "Have you eaten, Miss? Fussy, would you mind laying a table for two?"

I felt Fussy's arm wrap around my shoulders, steering me back to the Common Room. "He'll just be a minute, I'm sure. What can I get you?"

It was difficult to think, what with the new flood of mortification I was feeling. I just looked at him.

"How about I get you the House Special. Everyone likes it."

"Ok. Thank you.", was all I could manage.

A few minutes later, a still wet but very much clothed Roger joined me. He was smiling. 

We both tried talking at the same time, stopped, tried again at the same time, stopped. Our food arrived, which served as a pleasant distraction. I tried talking again, but Roger put his hand up to stop me. "I just want to say that, when you came storming out and saw me washing - your face! Priceless! I would've burst out laughing, but it's clear there's something on your mind. So - let me now shut up and let you talk."

He sat back and gave me the floor.

I sat up, bent forward, and began. "Roger - I want you to know that I've been thinking about the potion I made you, and its cost. I feel like I didn't take into consideration your... ahhh... living standards... and I..."

He held up a hand again. "I've faced fearsome beasts in my time, so just say what you need to say."

I stopped. "Fearsome beasts?"

"You doubt me?"

"A little. Yes."

His smile grew, carrying levels of humour and abashedness. "Ok. So maybe not as fearsome as I might try to imply. But yes - I've been to places most folks haven't. So a few words don't scare me." He leaned back again. Once again I had the floor.

"Look - you make ten silver on a guarding job. I charged you forty-two for a potion. How can you afford to live if I do that? I want to at least refund you the silver I charged for all the sweet I added." And I started digging in my pocket.

Roger stopped me. And smiled. "I appreciate that you care about this. I really do. You cared for me when I came to you, made a potion that, let's face it, I wanted to keep drinking long after it was all gone, and allowed me to stay at your cottage. Fussy tells me all the time that I should charge what I think is fair to my customers. Most times there's no trouble at all. This last time there was. So thank you for the offer, but I can't accept anything back that I paid to you."

This I couldn't accept. So I tried a different argument. "Why didn't the doctor help you? Why didn't he...?"

The hand had gone up again. "But he did. It's just that I opted to not take his pills. And I'm glad I didn't. Your potion worked a treat and I'm ready to guide and guard again."

"But... how...?"

"Look - sometimes what's supposed to be a three-hour tour becomes something more serious. I can honestly say, and I am being honest here, there have been times that it's only been my courage that's kept my clients from being lost, or worse. And yes, in the great ocean of adventure, I can feel like a little minnow, but I never feel alone. I suppose shipwrecked would work better for this analogy. So whether I'm guiding a millionaire and his wife or a professor or whomever, I know it'll all be ok. And that you have proven yourself to be able to help me so handedly, that helps reinforce that idea. So! Hand out of your pocket, please, and let's enjoy Fussy's House Special." And then he whispered, "Make sure to complement him on the food. He's fussy about how people perceive it." He smiled again, a little conspiratorial one. I returned it.

The father of the family that had finished breakfast approached the table. "Roger, we're on for tomorrow, yes?"

Roger nodded. "Hank, before you go, have you met the new witch, Mistress Sweetwater? Worked a wonder on me the other day."

We all exchanged pleasantries and then the father left. I looked over at Roger, who just shrugged. "Don't mention it. It's what I do."

I felt more at ease in this minute than I'd felt since treating Roger. "I have to admit, Roger, I didn't see you as being... I don't know... I mean, you're energetic and enthusiastic, clearly able to take care of yourself from physical threats, but I didn't think of you as... business-savvy." 

"So you thought I wasn't, what? Smart enough? To take care of myself?"

"Ummm... I... when you put it that way..."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Ok. Fair thought. I wasn't the best student, but I'm doing well enough. Between Fussy helping me out and my adventuring, it's all good. So - you all good?" He reached across the table for my hands. I let him take them. He looked in my eyes. "All good?"

I felt so much better. I was lost in my relief. I heard myself say "Yes". 

"Good." He released my hands, took a minute, then made to get up. "I've got to get busy, so I hope you'll excuse me. But do make sure to give the food two thumbs up." And with that, he left.

Although I was tempted to linger, I decided to start making my way back home. The thoughts I'd had of checking in on my former patients to make sure they were doing well evaporated. The thought of going to the Herbology School to... I don't know what... also disappeared. 

I don't need to check in on Francie. Or the doctor. Or Madame Hightower. I could care from my cottage, but I don't need anyone to prove to me that they're ok. I don't need to try to control the lives of anyone (except, of course, myself). I don't need to rescue anyone.

What a relief! What a weight off my shoulders! I felt good! Who knew that witching could be such a complicated affair?

As I walked back to the cottage, I wondered if the old witch had faced these same problems. Probably, I found myself answering myself. I wondered how she'd faired; how she'd managed all the expectations; the requests; the demands, the reasonable and the unreasonable... all the different ways life could try, could pull, push, cajole... no wonder a witch's cottage sits a comfortable distance outside of town and those walls, those pitiful walls trying to keep everything out. Or maybe just the harmful, the dangerous, the unwanted out. Ugh. Give me free access to wild lands any day.

As I approached the cottage grounds, a dark shape flew low over my head, followed by an unspeakable greasy reek. I looked up as a harpy landed on a low hanging branch. 

How to describe a harpy? To simply say they are a combination of a woman (head, chest) and a vulture (all the rest) is like saying a giant explosion is a combination of a bit of fire and enthusiasm. Harpys are nasty. They stink, have mouths that would make sailors cringe... let's face it - if there's a single redeeming quality, I'm not aware of it. How they'd been appointed as the mail delivery service I'll never know.

"Hello, princess!" it shrieked. Did I mention they don't talk, exactly? They only shriek. "You been expecting a package? Got your hopes up to actually receive whatever this is?" It held up a bit of card with a small bag attached.

The thing to remember when dealing with a mail delivery (I think I'd experienced only one or two at my childhood home) is to not give the harpy any satisfaction in wanting the package. They usually get bored and drop it, sometimes in a convenient place, then leave. So I didn't give the harpy any attention, simply said, "no", then walked away.

The harpy shrieked in frustration, then flew ahead of me again. "Don't you want this wood-care oil? Good for brooms and wands?"

I forgot to mention that they'll typically read your mail.

"No, thank you." They also don't like manners.

It shrieked again. "Fie! On your head, then!" She dropped it then took off. She did try to poop on me as she flew away but I was able to step out of the way. One last shriek of frustration as it flew off and that was that.

As I picked up the bit of mail, I was grateful the harpy had been in a relatively good mood. One last thought dashed through my head - why would a type of creature - one that only has human female parts - agree to deliver "mail"? You'd think something with only human male parts, like a satyr, would be more appropriate. Then again, satyrs aren't big on schedules and responsibility - they just want to party all day every day.

The card was addressed to "The Witch of High Rannoc, or Current Resident". On the back was a sales pitch by a newly established company looking to sell a better brand of wood soap - to help keep a witch's wooden tools clean and weather-protected. The bag held a small sample, formed into an easy-to-transport bar.

Well - when I have a broom or a wand, this might become useful. For right now, however, it's simply something to store away.

I opened the door to my cottage. The usual comfortable dark had been replaced with the glow coming from Pop O' Lock floating happily in the middle of the cottage. 

That... hmmm... it's nice. I'm so used to only having light when things are open or the fire's going or, for special times, a candle's light. This is... it's like a bit of fantastical living. What a luxury!

However, it wasn't up to me if this lovely glowing orb stays or goes. I had to ask the house. I sat and thought, breathed and asked. And got back acceptance. Even happiness that I was going to be pleased.

I opened my eyes and found Pop O' Lock floating near my hand, which was folded in my lap. I opened it and allowed Pop to land on my palm. There was that sensation of warmth, of comfort. I could feel it gently melding with me, accepting my energy and offering me its own.

I thought back to Pip's note and how she'd sent it here to save it. Maybe in Pip's land, something would eat this? Whatever the situation there, I was going to take care of this one here. But I did need to send Pip a note. I gently let Pop (it felt ok to call her that. And she was definitely a she, but why I decided that I don't know) float off and I got my writing things together and started to compose. I'd figured at some point that if I was going to have a penpal in the Here Yet Not Here, I'd better put together a small kit for writing).

The letter I wrote is all about Pop. How she seems to be getting along and is safe and happy here. And I felt the desire to write a bit of a poem about her as well:

What shall I say of who's come my way

the lovely one now known as Pop?

Her gentle glow, a moon you know

is lighting up the dark a lot

She floats so free and alights on me

never dims and never stops

She's found a home where she can roam

and the spirit house is also her cot.

And since Pip has sent me some things, I thought I'd send her the wood soap. If I can simply order it and have it delivered... nope... check that... ask Bob to have it brought in, then maybe where she is they don't have it. At least not yet.

So maybe I'm doing things differently than the old witch. Maybe she didn't have a Pip, or a Pop, or a Fen. And definitely not a MouseEye! But I have love and acceptance. What more does anyone need?