“So,” said the she-boggart, “you come before me. In this, I ought be pleased. I suppose. I s’ppose.” She waved a hand of tapering, knotty-knuckled fingers and long, hooked claws. “Will you sit?”
Caewen returned a polite, if awkward, half-bow, half-curtsy. “We will.” She lowered herself into a cross-legged position opposite, and across the fire.
“No, no. Thats won’t do. No. Not at all. Come around the fire. We need to talk closer than thats. Here, let me shuffle.” Moving her great bulk, the old boggart-woman got up, and scuffed herself back until she was sitting nearly at the feet of one of the stone dancers.
The group–Caewen, Dapplegrim, the boy and the shadow–all made their way around the fire. But it was only Caewen who sat herself down next to the creature. The boy felt somehow that the invitation was meant only for her, and neither Dapple nor the shadow made any sign of moving closer to the fire or to the queenie-scarle. They kept themselves back, half-in-gloom, half-in-flamelight.
“Now, did I tell you by what I am called?”
“No,” said Caewen. She held her tongue only a moment before adding, “My name is Caewen. Caewen Turniper, for the fullness of names. But Caewen will do.”
“Oh, high and mighty are we? Or merely foolish?” She squinted and great hairy folds of skin wrinkled themselves into patterns on her face. “Giving out true names, like that? I wonder then. I wonder. They call me Gloambringer. My name is another matter, and it is not for the tongues of strangers and vagabond wizardesses.”
“Still, we are honoured to have had your aid in the fight.”
“You should be,” said Gloamrbringer, abruptly.
“Why did you help us?”
“Because I can smell that trinket of power you are carrying.” A shrug. “And I’ve not much love lost for the grand lords, and kings, and queens of old darkness: all of them thats want to take my sons and husbands away to be slaughtered in war. I could not cross them openly, of course. I’m no fool. But… a little bit of spellwork here or there.” A smile spread on her face. “Who would know it was me?” She paused for a moment then, studying Caewen more closely, she said, “You haven’t hidden it very well, by the way. I can smell it quite plainly. I wasn’t so sure when we met… all those days ago… but I know what it is now.”
“The ivory box should keep it quite hidden, I thought.” Caewen sounded confused, and worried.
“The box?” A long moment of consideration followed. “I don’t know if you are playing at being a fool or not. The box? Well, let us look in the secret little box then. Let me sniff my nostrils again, up close.”
Caewen took out the intricately tooled box and opened it. The she-boggart let out an audible whisper. It sounded as if she were surprised despite herself “An Old Great Spell. Or, I should say: most of an Old Great Spell. A good part of the runes are missing. You’ll need all of it, for it to of use to anyone.”
“I know.”
“May I?”
Caewen nodded.
She reached into the box and lifted the piece of horn using the delicate tips of fingernail claws. “Well, I never thought I’d see one of these left in the world. It is well known to all charmful folk and weavers of spells that the last of the Old Great Spells was invoked and spent long ago. It is written in all the libraries of the art. It is known by all them who are wise. And yet, and yet, here we are.” She spoke then directly to the object in her hand, as if it might answer back. “How did you survive the ages, I wonder? How did you escape the old invokers of the forgotten ages of the world? Hmmmmm?” She shot a quick look at Caewen. “You don’t know do you? It would make for an interesting tale.”
“If it is a tale to tell, it is a tale I don’t know. Athairdrost found the spell-fragment… somehow, somewhere? He kept it such a secret, that barely any knew of it.”
“Though I would imagine his masters knew, and his masters’ masters. I wonder why they didn’t just take it from him? They would want it, and he was not worthy of it. Not a scumling, scurfling little prince like that, oh no.”
Caewen shrugged. “Perhaps they were waiting until he had both pieces. Perhaps they think the other piece is destroyed? Again, I know not.”
“You could destroy this, you know? It would require nothing special. It is just words written on old antler. I could toss it into the fire, watch it curl and blacken and turn to flakey ashes.”
“I have considered it,” said Caewen tentatively, reluctance in her voice.
“So?” said the she-boggart, lifting it’s weight, testing it’s heft. “Well?”
“I confess, I do not want to. I wish to find the other half of it.”
Gloambringer’s eyes flickered with a yellow cunning light. The flesh around her eyelids twitched. “To what end?”
“To the end of ending the fight. The warring. It cannot go on. The great goddesses were supposed to have gone away forever. But they haven’t kept to their word, or at least, not the spirit of it. They must leave. They must abide their oaths. The world is collapsing into ruinous anarchy. All for the sake of two sisters squabbling. But–“
“But an Old Great Spell. Yes. But and but, indeed. It might kill you to invoke it, you know. It is unpredictable, the effects upon the caster. And you might not have the power or the strength in you. It might do worse than kill you. It might change you.”
“I understand that.”
“Ah. I’ve no doubt you do. But do you appreciate it. That, is a different matter.”
For a long span of time, silence twisted between them, an unseen snake upon the air.
Then, at last, the scarle Gloambringer said, “I think I may be able to help you in this. This sharp little piece of horn. It is about the right size and shape to be a thorn, stuck into the foot of a goddess. Or two goddesses, if they like to share a thorn. That pleases my sense of humour. It would please my old heart to stick it to those two miserable old beautiful hags. Both of ’em. Oh yes. Oh, it would indeed.”
And the light of fire and inner magic both were again dancing in her eyes.