Apologies for another late post. Work has been getting on top of me, though hopefully things will be clearly up in the near future.
-oOo-
“How dare you!” shrieked the voice. “How dare you try to deceive me?”
Up ahead a small, uncomfortable crowd was half-lingering around, half-skirting what appeared to be three magicians. The one who was yelling was a woman in a long, beautiful charcoal and burgundy dress, held up at the hem by two page boys. Her hair was sculpted into immaculate curls and woven knots. And her face, though beautiful–almost timelessly so–was also a blanched twist of shock and anger.
“Maybe we should go around?” suggested Dapplgrim, with an edgy sidelong look at Caewen. “I smell powerful magic, and something, hurm, not quite human perhaps?”
She raised a hand, and waved it, loose fingered. “Just a moment. We should see what this is about.”
He sighed. “Here we go then. Hrm. Hur.”
The target of the first woman’s rage was another, far older lady, aged to the point of being bent, wrinkled and white-haired. This witch was also dressed in reds, yellows and greys, but her colours were far more muted; the cloth of her dress was rougher; homespun by the look of it. Although her body was anciently bent, nearly fully over, her eyes were bright, joking and intensely focused. Her irises looked black and glistening in the morning light.
The final person involved in the fracas was also an old witch, but dressed all in black, grey and deep soft blues. Caewen wondered if the two older witches were friends. It seemed from the way the three were standing that the younger witch in the lovely dress was raging at both of the old women. Caewen returned her gaze to the blue-and-grey witch. She had to look hard to be sure of what she saw. Although the witch was standing still, her shadow was moving upon the ground–or rather, all of her shadows were moving. Caewen tried to count, reaching five or six, before it became too confusing trying to keep track. This woman, her soft black and shadow-grey, spoke as gently as smoke, calmly, with the restraint one might show a truculent child. “You have wanted the Enthronement of Flames for too many years now, Sorra. It’s gone to your head.” She nodded at the other elderly witch. “You might at least wait until she is actually dead.”
“She is dead!” screamed younger woman, her face shot with rage to the colour of moonlight. Her sheer disbelief was palpable. “She is dead I tell you!”
With a gesture towards the ancient, good natured looking crone, the shadowy one responded, curtly, “I beg to differ. The Grand Old Lady of Embers is clearly not dead. She is standing right here. Sorra, have you been entirely sniffed by rats? The Grand Old Lady of Embers stands here. Before you. As we speak.”
“Impostor. This is an imposture. The Old Lady is dead. This is some manner of… of… well, sheer fakery.”
“And how is it you are so certain that she is dead, hmmm?” asked the shadow-witch. “Really, Sorra. Don’t push grandma into the nettle patch.”
The younger one did look at least uncomfortable then. “It is known to me. That is all.” She cleared her throat. “And really, don’t push grandma into what? I never have any idea what you are talking about.”
Meanwhile the ancient woman who seemed to be the subject of the disagreement on her state of being alive or dead perked up and said, “How nice, dearie.”
Sorra, screwed up her pale beautiful face even more, and let out a low, unladylike growl from deep in her throat. “And even if this really were the Old Lady of Embers–which it is not–she is clearly senile.” A turning up of the nose. A hard sniff. “She ought be replaced on the Broadtable anyway. The Enthronement of Flames ought to pass on. Regardless.”
“Oh, pish posh. Now you’re just combing the goat. The rules for continued membership on the ruling council state nothing about being fully together in the head, let alone even sane. There have been many archi-wizards and witches who were stark raving mad. They’ve served their time out until their time expired. And so will she, as we all do.” With a sigh, she rummaged around her pockets and took out a grey object. It was a stone with a hole worn through the middle, and with many other grey-brown-white stones tied to it with flax, making a sort of radiant pattern. The shadow-witch held it up to her left eye and peered through. “There’s no tricks here. That’s The Old Lady of Embers, true as true.”
“Liar,” spat Sorra. She took a few hurried steps forwards, forcing her page boys to jumble along after her, tripping over their feet as they scrambled. She snatched the stone and looked through it. A flush of red was starting to creep from her neck up into her cheeks. “Liar! Liar! Liar! That is some creature. It isn’t even human. It’s wearing glamour!”
A slightly absent smile. “How nice, dearies.”
“Well, I say it’s the Old Lady of Embers.”
“And I say you are lying!” She turned to the nearest person, who happened to be a gawky looking young wizard in oversized robes and a blue patchwork hat. “You! Take this. Look through it and tell everyone that Cag-Mag is a deceiver. A maligner of truth!”
But he raised his hands and backed away. His expression said, nothing to do with me.
She pushed the stone-bound charm towards someone else, but he backed off too. So did everyone else.
“I’ll look.” Caewen heard herself say it, before she knew what she was doing.
“Here we go,” muttered Dapplegrim.
But everyone was looking at her now. She couldn’t back out, and she couldn’t pretend not to have offered. So, feeling extremely self-conscious, Caewen walked over to Sorra, and took the stone charm.
“Good,” said Sorra, taut anger still simmering in her voice.
Caewen sneaked a look to her side and saw that the other witch, the shadowy dressed one was now wearing a slight look of worry. With a sense of being not quite sure what to expect, Caewen lifted the stone charm and looked through it, directing it at the old woman. Looking through the hole, the air seemed misty, and very slightly speckled with faint, yellow lights. The old woman immediately changed. With a shock, Caewen realised that it was the faery creature she’d met in the maze. Moggie Mouloch–the hunched creature with one hairy aim and a tail dragging behind it. The younger woman was telling the truth. It was a trick.
But Moggie Moulach gave Caewen a friendly smile and raised a finger to her puckered lips, making a shushing noise. She lowered the stone and saw only the friendly old woman again.
“That’s nice, dearie.”
“Uh,” said Caewen, “that is, it’s just the same old woman. There’s no trick or glamour.”
Sorra shrieked then, louder than anyone Caewen had ever heard scream. “Accomplice! Liar! Accursed speaker of lies! I ought too, why I ought too…” but she trailed off, never finishing what she ought to do.
“That’s quite enough, young lady.” It was the shadow-witch, Cag-Mag. Her voice was suffused full of sudden relief. Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’ve heard quite enough of this. I warn you: I will summon an officiator of the moot if this continues, and I assure you, any such officiator will not be much pleased with you. Causing an upset of the peace. Threatening folks.”
Sorra sneered, then turned her nose up, and snarled, “I will remember this, Cag-Mag. Oh, I will.” She turned to go, but paused to look long and evilly at Caewen. “And as for you, miserable interloper, may your flesh dissolve into worms that multiply so fast they cannot be removed.”
She strutted off then, taking long, reaching strides that carried a bit of a bouncing ponce in the motion of them.
The faery creature who was pretending to be the elderly witch, smiled, murmured, “Well, how very nice, dearies,” and ambled off on her own way, going who knows where.
No need to apologize for being a few days late now and then. Actually, the regularity with which you are posting is quite impressive (considering how impressive what you are posting is).
Once again — thank you, Hob, for keeping up with this wonderful tale. Being occasionally late is ok … just don’t stop!
Thanks for the kind words. It means a lot to know a few people are reading, especially given that I’m not posting a lot each week. Just a thousand words or so. But, we are getting there. We’re heading towards the end of this part of the tale now. Hopefully it all comes together.
The next part should be out a bit more promptly as it already exists as a second draft. It still needs some serious editing, but I tend to find that goes quicker than the first couple writing passes.