Glorious Stories

* * *

“Master Dante!” I crowed, flinging the door open and flashing him a challenging smile.  “Still laboring away on infinitesimal details for tomorrow’s lessons, are you?  They don’t pay you to be an artist, you know.”

            The thin, reedy man looked up, not at all startled or disturbed.  He pushed his spectacles back to the bridge of his nose and lifted his chin, eyeing me with faint amusement.  “They hardly pay me at all, boy.  I don’t do this for money, you know.”

            I knew.  One look at the glass windows of the schoolhouse, at the chemistry set on his desk, or at velvet hem on his robes told me that he was wealthy enough on his own to do whatever he pleased.  Dante never elaborated on his personal life, nor his past, but I assumed him to have been some nobleman’s younger offspring who, knowing he would never inherit land or title, had chosen to develop his mind.  I wondered if the elders of Casenga knew who he was or appreciated what he did for them. 

            I strode over to the slate board and studied the notes he had prepared.  He was apparently teaching some new algebraic expressions.  I raised my eyebrows, impressed.  These were very new; the latest I’d heard of myself, and Mother and I had all the best of the recent books from our connections in Galland. 

            A crack in the slate caught my attention, and I lifted my hand to mend it, but Dante’s voice stopped me. 

            “Ah-ah-ah!  What have I told you about that witchery?”

            I paused, turning with a wry smile.  It was hard to imagine anyone else in this town speaking to me like that—Dante had never been intimidated by my presence.  I wasn’t sure whether he was truly fearless, or if he was merely a very good actor.  Whatever the case, I admired his nonchalant composure.  It was exactly the kind of attitude I had curated for myself over the years.

            “Master Dante,” I crooned, “surely you would not refuse my help when it comes to improving the education of your precious students!  A cracked slate won’t do; it will only lengthen and widen until your board is bisected.”

            “They’ll learn well enough regardless,” Dante said with a shrug.  “You witches and mages are all the same, thinking everything ought to be solved by thaumaturgy.  There is value in letting life progress naturally, you know.”

            “I know no such thing,” I answered glibly.  “The statement utterly excludes magic from nature, yet magic is natural to me.  Do you suggest that I am incapable of some essential part of life just because the power in my blood affords me some advantages?”

            “I suggest that you are a touch too eager to wield your advantages over those who have not asked for them,” the man replied.

            I held my smile, laughing inwardly.  He might not be intimidated by me, but he was no wiser to my true intentions than anyone else.  A touch too eager?  No doubt that was how it looked to anyone watching me.  I knew the whole village believed I’d intentionally gotten them all into my debt and therefore under my thumb.  I let them believe it, encouraged them even.  As long as it meant I could give back somethingof what I’d taken from them, I could sleep in peace at night. 

            “Well,” I replied lightly, “I suggest that you are a touch too bold with your tongue.  Just wait, schoolmaster.  One day you’ll want my help, and then I’m sure you’ll be delighted to find out how forgiving I am.”

            I left him, laughing to myself.  We traded gibes like that on occasion.  His disapprobation felt entirely different from the kind I experienced from the rest of the village.  They found me morally repugnant; he seemed to find me philosophically amusing. 

            As I had hoped, my overture in the schoolhouse had eased my mood, and I was able to progress down the road toward the farm with better courage.  Yet as the sun began to sink so did my spirits, and apprehension returned with every step.  Confused, I tried to identify its source, but the attempt left me physically dizzy, and I was obliged to pinch the bridge of my nose to steel myself against the feeling.  There was some resistance to this plan hiding within me—but whether it was of myself or the result of my mother’s meddling I could not say.  I chose not to think on it further, but pressed forward, hurrying all the more in the waxing eve.

*  *  *

            The scent of a hearth fire and bread-baking told me that the cottage must be just around the bend.  I heard the sound of chilren’s voices, and wondered if Pru had young siblings.  A pang of affectionate jealousy went through me; I would have loved to have siblings to keep me company.  It was just as well that I had none, since Mother could barely tolerate me at times.  None of my pets had ever lasted very long against her unpredictable moods—Micio had survived the longest thus far—and I hated to think of her turning her wrath on another human being.  If she were ever to bewitch someone as she did me, my composure might finally break and destroy the careful balance I’d striven to achieve with her.

            The farm came into view; a simple, pretty cottage much smaller than my own, and a tiny stable that seemed to house the flock of geese that waddled about the yard, and what sounded like a goat, if my ears did not deceive me.  A garden lay not far from the house, boasting only a sad, scraggly strip of potatoes that sent a wave of guilt through me.  I wondered if I could manage to clue Prunella’s parents into the truth about the witching-powder we sent them, but even the thought of trying made my chest and throat constrict, and I knew it would be impossible.

            A woman with wavy hair the color of dark honey stood outside the cottage, pulling laundry from a line with deft movements.  She seemed not to have noticed me yet, but a little girl who played amongst some nearby shrubs saw me right away.  The child stood up straight and tugged at her mother’s skirts, pointing at me.

            “Mamí!”  I heard her say with urgency. 

            I continued my approach, keeping my posture casual and my pace steady, slow enough to show I meant no harm yet quick enough to hide my anxiety.

            The woman looked at me and froze, and the slight widening of her eyes told me she knew who I was.  I fixed an easy smile on my face and swept my hat off, crossing my arm over my waist as I offered her a courteous bow in hopes of abating her fear.  “Mistress Madiana, I am at your service,” I said warmly.  I did not question whether she was Madiana, lest she feel obligated to answer.  I had no wish to possess her name.

            “M-master Bensiabel,” she returned in a stilted tone, her expression wooden as she beheld me. 

            “I see no introduction is necessary,” I remarked, straightening.  “Forgive me for appearing uninvited; I’ve business with you that will not wait for permission.”

            With gentle touch to the little girl’s shoulder, Madiana sent her child running into the cottage.  She kept her eyes on me all the while, though I was surprised to find that contrary to my initial assessment, it was not terror that held her transfixed.  Her gaze was keen and searching, and fear was not entirely absent, it certainly did not dominate her as I had assumed.

So, this is Prunella’s mother, I thought, surveying her with curiosity that I hoped was not too obvious.  I could see the resemblance between mother and daughter; Pru’s hair was of a more reddish hue, but they both had heart-shaped faces and lovely features.  They were of a similar build too—feminine, yet sturdy—though Madiana’s maturity was evident in her heavier curves.   Like her daughter, she was a bit taller than most of the other village women, though she still stood quite a bit beneath my significant height.  But what struck me more than their physical resemblance to each other was the similarity in bearing; Pru also bore herself proudly when she was frightened.  I opened my mouth to say something to that affect, but a flash of good sense saved me from making an offensive blunder.

            A moment later, a man appeared from the other side of the house.  Helias, Pru’s father.  As expected, he was the same man I had seen in Casenga years ago, and though I now eclipsed him in height, his lanky, broad-shouldered form was no less intimidating as he stormed toward me, blue eyes burning with an intensity that left me in do doubt that he knew not only who I was, but why I had come.  He stopped when he reached his wife’s side, much to my relief.  If he’d intended to come to blows, I could have beaten him with ease by magic, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.

            “Where is she?” Helias demanded, his voice low and grating. 

I held my ground, but dropped all pretense of light cordiality, electing to show my real concern instead.  “About a day and half’s ride northeast,” I answered truthfully.  “I’m sorry not to have told you sooner.”

            Madiana’s hands flew to cover her mouth, and a breathless exclamation of alarm and relief escaped her.  Helias put his arm around her without looking, nostrils flaring as he glared at me. 

            I tossed him a plum which I’d picked on my way, wondering if he’d break his stare to catch it—but he caught that without looking too, his fingers snatching it from the air with ease, even as his hard eyes never left my face. 

            “I regret to inform you that your daughter found herself in debt to my mother for the use of these fruits,” I explained hastily, pushing through the awkwardness of the admission.  No matter how many times I’d turned it over in my mind on the way here, I could not bring myself to spin it in a more palatable light.  The only other option, I supposed, would be to throw myself on the ground and beg forgiveness for depriving them of their daughter, and that did not seem helpful either.

I cleared my throat. “I must bear some blame for this; the tree she’s frequented these last years was my responsibility, and I allowed her to take from it without warning her of its true owner.  You have my sincere apologies.”

Without pausing to observe their reaction, I looked down to retrieve Prunella’s ribbon from my pocket and held it out, draped delicately over my fingers.  “She sent this,” I lied.  “She said to give you all her love, and to tell you that she is well looked-after.  She misses you, but she has otherwise suffered no harm.”

The ribbon was pulled from my fingers, and at once an unexpected sense of loss pricked my chest.  Was I truly so pathetic as to grow attached to her keepsake in the few short days I’d held it?

            “You’ve come as… as a friend, then?” Madiana asked tearfully.

            “…An ally,” I said reluctantly.  I could not presume to call myself their friend.

            “Why?” asked Helias, his tone somewhat cooler.   I glanced up, half-hoping to find a kinder look on his face, but found that while his eyes no longer blazed with fury, his expression had gone stony instead. 

            Well, never mind that, I thought, and prepared to offer an answer that would not reveal too much of myself, but stopped short.  I could offer some paltry excuse, or make light of what was done, but I didn’t want to.  Though it felt strange, I found myself answering his question honestly.  “Because I feel sorry for you.  For her.  My mother…”

            is terrible, is cruel, is unjust and wicked—

            —is wonderful, is beautiful, is generous and loving—

            “…is a complicated woman,” I finished, interrupting my muddled thoughts and suppressing a wave of nausea that accompanied every attempt to think about her real attributes.  “She takes even the slightest offense very hard.  I think it unlikely that your daughter truly deserved the fate she has been given.”

            Pru’s parents were silent, regarding me with strange, serious looks that in this moment I absolutely could not bear.  I could laugh at the villagers’ suspicion and resentment, but  having laid my case out to this couple just now, I was now forced to admit to myself that I had wanted them to thank me.  To open their arms and congratulate my bravery, praise my good conscience. To notice my sympathy and offer theirs in return.

            But of course that had been a foolish wish.  I had known it would not be so, and I had no right to be disappointed.  To them I was nothing but a wicked witch myself, the son of the woman who had stolen their daughter.  For all they knew, I had designs of my own on her—and indeed, they would not have been wrong on that account.  Yet I had wished…

            I adjusted my sleeves and cloak needlessly and prepared to go.  “I understand you have been looking for her.  You need not search any longer.  I will bring you word of her each time I visit; in the meantime, Helias, you are free to stay with your family and look after them as you may.  I’ve spoken to the village elders and arranged for you not to be called to the mines for the next few years.”

            Helias’s thick eyebrows knit together in surprise, and Madiana gasped. 

            “But how?”  she questioned, clutching Prunella’s ribbon in her hands.

            I shrugged, pleased that I had least managed to surprise them.  “Everyone owes me favors in this village.  I thought you knew that.”

            From my pocket, I tossed the vial of medicine Pru had purchased for her father months ago.  Infused with the best of my healing magic now, it would eliminate the so-called miner’s croup from Helias’s lungs forever.  “Take this; another gift from your daughter.”

            He caught it deftly, and seemed about to say something, but I turned away, not wishing to hear it.  I had taken no more than three steps when a movement from the nearby shrubs startled me.  My head was only half-turned toward the sight when a small body collided with mine, small arms wrapping around my waist and shoving me off balance.

            “Stop!” cried a young voice.

            I crashed to the ground, too surprised even to use magic to cushion my fall.  Someone landed on top of me

            “You can’t go yet!” the voice cried again.

            I looked down to see a young girl clutching me, not the little one I had seen earlier, but one perhaps a year older, with honey-colored curls like her mother’s tied with a bright yellow ribbon. 

            Not a fraction of a second later, I was beset by another girl—the little one this time, who joined her sister in attempting to hold me down. 

            “Hold tight, Iseppa!” grunted the older girl.  “He might try to change shape!  If we hold him, he’ll have to tell us about Ela!”

            Ela. The name struck me immediately.  So that was what they called her.  A nickname, of course.  How ironic that it worked with the name Mother had given her.  What was it short for?  Isabela? Marcella? I had seen the name Daniela written often in Master Dante’s notes…

            “Girls!” came the thundering admonition from both parents at once.  The children were pulled off of me almost as quickly as I had been seized, and I sat up, unable to hide my astonishment.  No one, apart from my mother, had ever dared lay hands on me like that!  I was not angry, indeed I was rather amused, but the scolding tone of Madiana and Helias’s voices made me anxious for the children’s sake. 

            “Please, they meant no harm—!” I began, but stopped when I saw that neither parent seemed to be livid, as Mother would have been.  The hands that held each child’s shoulder were protective, not ungentle.  A moment of stunned silence passed between the five of us.

            Swallowing my instinctive defense, I stood up and brushed myself off, knowing it was too late to salvage my dignity.  Tackled to the ground by two small children!  Well, one small child, and then another.  Fates, what a day…

            “But he can’t go!  He’s hardly said anything!”  The girl with the yellow ribbon insisted, earning a warning look from her mother which she promptly ignored.  “Please, sir, at least tell her that we miss her!” 

            The one she’d called Iseppa sniffled and held herself very bravely.  “Can’t you bring her back?”

            I took a breath to answer, but Madiana bent down, pulling the girls’ heads close to her mouth.

            “Hush!” she said urgently.  “Go back inside!  You mustn’t speak to him.”

            Strangely, I felt a big crestfallen as they complied, sulkily returning to the cottage with furtive glances over their shoulders.  An older girl waited at the door, this one nearly full-grown, with lengthy black hair like her father’s.  She glanced at me as she ushered the children indoors, and I perceived the subtle glimmering of mageblood in her being.  So, Ela was not the only one in her family to possess power.  I had no time to ruminate on that, for in the next moment, my shoulder was grasped in an iron grip by Helias.

            “Stay a moment, boy,” he said gruffly, and I found myself inclined to obey.

            “You’ve come to my house to tell me of my daughter’s plight, and you’ve admitted some responsibility.  Now what do you intend to do about it?”

            I fumbled, at a loss.  I didn’t know what to do, or I’d have done it already.  I could not simply set her free, my strictures prevented that.  I would continue to feed her from my own portions so as not to raise Mother’s suspicions, and I would maintain the secret charm over her quarters to keep her sleep more comfortable, and I would support her implied claim of ignorance regarding her magical potential while still ensuring that Mother saw enough evidence of it not to completely discard her.

            Still, the fervor in Helias’s eyes was not to be dismissed.  As I looked at him, I saw through his fierceness to a deep, consuming love for his daughter.  A love that made him risk everything, made him dare defy the village elders for months just to scour the woods for signs of his lost child.  A love that would eclipse even his need to live, if laying his life down was what it took to see her safe.  What would it be like, to have a father like him?  To be cherished like that without a trace of selfishness; with devotion, rather than obsession. 

            I found myself speaking, more open in this moment than I had ever been in my life.  “I promise, Helias, that I will do everything in my power to return your daughter to you.”

            I felt the power of my vow take hold of me, binding me to its fulfillment.  A witch’s word was inviolate.  No matter how my promise might conflict with the promises my mother drew from me against my will, I would never be rid of it.  I would see it through to the end, even if it meant my own end.

            Helias released me, and I stepped back, shaken. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was almost as acute as when Mother used to entrance me.  It did not help the way Helias and Madiana stared at me, practically dissecting me with their sharp, wary eyes.  Madiana, especially, seemed to see right through me somehow.  Was there mageblood in her as well?  In both of them, perhaps? 

            I shuddered and drew myself up, carefully reassembling my composure.  Whatever they saw in me, they still regarded me with mistrust.  The feeble hopes I’d entertained of earning their goodwill were now thoroughly quashed.  I gathered my frayed emotions back into myself and covered my weakness with a mask of pleasantry once more.

            “I will return in two months with further word,” I stated calmly.  “Unless I find some way to return with Ela first.”

            Madiana held Helias’s arm, perhaps for support and perhaps to keep him still, I wasn’t sure.  Whatever the case, I bowed my farewell and initiated my transportation spell, vanishing from their farm back to my familiar room at the inn.

* * *

            Alone at last, I sighed, utterly frazzled.  I pulled my gloves off and dragged my fingers through my hair, rubbing my face as if it would rub away the memory of this day. 

            The memory!  I stiffened, then sat down on bed.  That was important.  I would need to suppress all this, push it deep down beneath my ordinary thoughts.  I would tell Pru about what I had done, maybe, but afterward I would swallow it all out of sight so that Mother would never find out.

            Today had been successful.  I tried to comfort myself with that as I undressed and sank into bed for the night.  I had done what I set out to do.  I had done all that I could, so far.  And I would do all that in my power in the future, all in the name of love. 

            “Ela…”  I whispered, rolling her true name over my tongue as I lay waiting for sleep to take me.  Everything now was for her sake.  The risks I took, the fears I faced, all for her.  I knew she wanted nothing of me; she had made that emphatically clear to me by now.  She had never asked to be taken or imprisoned, or to become dependent on me for the help she so desperately needed.  But that was just it—we were the same, she and I.  Even if she did not know it.  For all the ways we were different, in this we were the same. 

            With a pang, I shut my eyes and laid my arm across my face, seeking the darkness that would let me rest, and vowed to give for her what no one would ever give for me.  For that, I thought, is love.  

*  *  *

The End