Part 1

Chrysopoeia

In his apprenticeship on the Archipelago, the young Wizard’s tutelage saw him thoroughly uninterested in the arts of Alchemy. Though Master Vega’s transmutations were renowned throughout the island chain, and the Apprentice well understood the privilege of his circumstance, the appeasement of the Capital seemed nothing more than an unparalleled bore.

In truth, the Apprentice had only been to the Capital once in the earliest days of his youth. Rarely had he so much as ventured to the other islands of the Archipelago, infrequently sent on errands to gather one thing or another for Master Vega’s work. Even in these times, no sooner had he moored his small vessel had some vague acquaintance of his Master approached, anticipating his arrival, and would, without greeting, hand the Apprentice a parcel to be delivered back to Etherium.    

It was these sparse outings that he Apprentice enjoyed the most, and their appeal grew with age as opportunities to temporarily shirk responsibility and feel the spray of The Salt cool on his face. The journeys to the smaller islands were never more than a full day at sea, and when the Apprentice was sent away to the outermost inhabited islands, such as Tethys to the East or Aegir to the South, he would pass the night in the Apprentice Hostels – if they were near the quay – before rising with the sun to set back out for Etherium. 

It was on the dreary days in the archives when the Apprentice’s mind would wander off the island and out to the sea, wishing he might again soon be tasked to collect a sample from a hooded stranger before whiling the night away on an mbira and dreaming of fantasies to lay in verse over the sweet reverberations of its quivering tines.

There at the Archive, the drones of the guild buzzed about the Apprentice in a flurry of robes and wafts of malodorous substances while he sat hunched over open books, nearly hidden in surrounding stacks in a failing attempt to study the craft. At his stage in his apprenticeship, he was disallowed entry to the few laboratories below the Archive where the Masters and their Compaignons would work on transmuting resources into goods for export to the Capital, or on occasion, on commission from the Wizards in the Delta to the North, or even less likely, by hidden order from those in the Pavilion Southwest. 

Though there existed a typical hum of interest among the shelves of the Archive, despite the signs requesting quiet, the din had risen to a degree unacceptable for all but the most studious – absorbed in alchemical theory. The Apprentice had taken to tracing the lines of words in hardbound volume before him with his finger when those hushed tones grew to the unrestricted cacophony that surrounded him. 

Just as he caught the word, hanging in the dank air of the room, he heard the striking of the bell: Chrysopoeia. The bell’s heavy tone rang out, penetrating the rough-hewn walls of the Archive and mingling with the word. They had finally succeeded. If the Librarian had struck the bell, the fact was verified and recorded. 

He had wondered how the Masters had done it. What elements had they entwined to produce that smooth, delicate metal? He wondered if the stocks of lead in the laboratories had dwindled to nothing in their search, chasing the myths. The Apprentice wondered if those myths were now in the annals as truth. 

Momentarily, he felt a strange shame in his rank – that he was unable to assist with that hallmark discovery whose grandeur now found celebration from every mouth on Etherium. However, those father away from the Archive might not understand the breadth of the accomplishment, but as the news traveled, they soon would. Any chime of the bell certified progress to its audience, and though it wasn’t always the case, that progress was usually to the great benefit of the islands.

The Librarian was steadfast in the alert. It was clear even over the chatter in the Archive, which had then regressed into scattered groups of conversation. The Apprentice hadn’t peeled away from his stacks of literature, and in fact, his finger still held his place when he first saw Master Vega enter the room. 

In the air of euphoria, her graven face was unmistakable. She stopped at the room’s entrance, falling still to scan the area and only resumed motion once she caught the Apprentice’s gaze, which he quickly returned to his book. He was gliding his finger along the page, when out of his peripheral vision, he saw the robes of his master come to a halt beside his table. 

“Follow,” she said. “You may bring the book if you insist on perpetuating this illusion.”

And then, after plucking a volume from the middle of one of the Apprentice’s stacks, she began to exit without waiting, thumbing through the book’s pages as she hurried away. Leaving his heaps as they lay, he gathered himself and followed Master Vega’s leave.

In her study, she asked the Apprentice to close the door behind himself. Before he could speak his congratulations on the Masters’ new discovery, she spoke.

“I’m sending you to the Capital.”

She was scrawling something on a small scroll of parchment at her desk. The Apprentice couldn’t read the words from his vantage point, but saw that his Master’s hurried hand had smudged her ink as she wrote. In other places on the parchment, the dark, excess liquid had dripped from her quill across the page, blotting and bleeding as it dried, seeping into the fibers. 

“Yes, Master,” the Apprentice said. It was indeed his only option, in truth. He held his tongue in his congratulations and bit it at the thought of its releasing a question seeking information above his rank. 

“Very good,” Master Vega replied, as she rolled the parchment tightly before flattening its middle with a seal of wax, stamped with the insignia of the Alchemists. The woman also produced something from a top drawer on her desk, then stood and relayed the message to her Apprentice, which he took with great care.

In her other hand, she revealed a slice of lagana, tearing it in half and handing one of its pieces to the Apprentice who took this, too, with great care. It was still warm.

“I apologize,” Master Vega said, “for the lack of ceremony. There simply is not time.” With nothing more, she ate the bread.

She must have had the refectory staff bake it that very morning, and that made the Apprentice wonder how long the Masters had known about the transmutation. How long had that new and unsullied gold sat in the laboratory, slick, gleeming, and studied?

The Apprentice also ate his half of the lagana, swallowing to say, “Thank you, Master Vega.”

“You may thank the Ouroboros, sapling. You are not yet oak.” She repeated, “There is no time. Go.”

Ygduil's Note: Beyond this point is Unedited Lore written during NaNoWriMo, 2023. The Journey is Incomplete—Containing plotholes and other various errors. If this does not concern you, then go forth.

She pointed toward the door, ushering out her reluctant Compaignon with a gentle press of her palm on his back. As the young Wizard passed the threshold of the study, his Master said, “Take passage to Tethys. Rest, and then continue on and leave your vessel on the beach near the Weird House. This will not draw attention. Do not sail Southeast to the Capital directly; walk the foothills on the coast. Do not let anyone at the Tower see you. Do not use Magic. They will find you. Deliver the message to the consul at the Capital. Destroy it at first suspicion you are unable to fulfill this duty. Remember what I have taught you.” She held the Apprentice’s gaze for a moment, then closed the door.

The Apprentice gathered his few belongings from his dormitory in a bag, to which he added Master Vega’s message and then set out for the shore. 

When he arrived at the Alchemists’ dock, night had fallen. As he began to untie the boat, he saw that it had been prepared with a lantern, unlit on a rod protruding outward from the vessel’s stern as well as a small bindle which contained what appeared to be the remainder of the lagana he had shared with his Master that morning as well as a thermos of water for his short voyage to Tethys through the night. He suspected Master Vega had sent a page with the preparations before even seeking him in the Archive. The Apprentice’s mind lingered on these preparation as he tossed the mooring line into the boat, and kicked off of the shore and out into The Salt.

The night was quiet, and the water was calm, and as the Apprentice approached the shores of Tethys, he had all but been taken by his exhaustion. Light had yet to spill over the horizon. The sun still slept. He had taken to paddling toward the shoreline in every attempt at haste if only for the sleep within his grasp if not for his mission. 

When he dragged his boat ashore on the bank, he removed the lantern from the stern and carried it with him toward the island’s hostel, feeling a strange sense of protection within its flickering light. Whether or not his weariness from the night’s travel welled this hallucinated feeling within him, he was not sure. However, once he reached the door to that cramped building, he drew out his Apprentice’s key, unlatched its lock, and was glad at the sight of the rows of tightly made beds that greeted him on its interior. His gladness then faded as his attention found a single unkempt bed near the back of the place.

There were no other occupants in the hostel save for himself, that was easy enough to see, but a rucksack left beside the unmade bed left a pit in his stomach. Though it wasn’t uncommon for training Wizards to share the lodging. That was its sole purpose, after all. Even so, the Apprentice would have rather met the other traveler, though he loathed the shallow chatting of passing acquaintances. Better that than waking with a stranger in his midst, knowing they had seen him while he slept. As best as he could, the Apprentice cast these reservations aside, and settled his own belongings  underneath the simple, metal frame of a bed as far from the stranger’s as he could before finally allowing himself the small comfort of rest to wash over him and giving up to the realm of the Dream Masters.

The Apprentice was not practiced in the way of dreams, but it took no expert to determine that his sleep was restless. He awoke cold with the bedding tossed to the floor. In that unconscious state, his evident turmoil had shaken him to bodily fits, but in the fog of waking, those ephmeral phantoms fled, replaced by the urgency of the task set to him by his Master.

It was also in this fog that he saw the hostel’s other occupant already risen and turning back the folds of his own bedding. The Apprentice knew the place’s stewards would undo this work, performing it in their own way according to their standards of hospitality. The stranger must have heard the Apprentice stirring, as he began to strike up polite conversation. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I didn’t expect any arrivals so early this morning. You must be exhausted.” The Apprentice responded with a shrug as he stood, and began to reposition his own bedding in a strange trance of mutual obligation.  “Don’t mind me if you would like to keep resting,” said the stranger. “I’m setting out for the Capital just now, and I’ll leave you to your solitude.” Before the Apprentice could catch the words, they had already fallen from his mouth, “What business have you in the Capital?” The terseness hung in the air, but the stranger didn’t seem to notice or otherwise seem to mind. “My master has been in the city making observations, and he sent a raven calling me to collect him. I’ve stopped here in the Alchemist’s Archipelago for a bit of sleep, and I’ll make another stop at the Waypoint safe house off the coast farther South.” Only foreigners referred to the island chain by their cartographic name. Most of its inhabitants simply said “the islands” or either gave them their own proper name. It was then that the Apprentice came to notice the stranger’s dress was unlike his own or any of the common clothing in the islands. They were faded and dingy, if not of a sturdy build. It also appeared that the fellow was unshod, though that was not as uncommon a sight on the islands outside of the Archive and its satellites.  “You would not travel by land?” the Apprentice asked him, and the stranger responded with a laugh.  “Why would one travel the coast when the Salt makes a much faster journey? I could hardly expect my Master to make that trek back to the Delta, though in truth he would probably enjoy his time walking the land.” He chuckled again, continuing, “Master Aleister is much too busy, and as I understand, he’s eager to return home to the tilled earth and greenery. The Capital is nothing but stone, you know.” “I know,” the Apprentice replied, though it hadn’t occured to him. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but he gave the stranger a piece of information he regretted soon thereafter. “I’ll also embark for to the Capital today, though I will sail East and make the journey by the coast.” “Do you make for the Tower?” the stranger asked. “No,” the Apprentice said. “Do you have business with the Skylords?” he asked, incredulously. “No,” answered the Apprentice. “Well if you have no reason to oppose, you may come along with me. My boat is not large, but there is ample room, though I cannot promise return fare. Plus, and extra set of hands would make the trip easier, and the company may prove to pass the time quickly.” Then the stranger moved to the Apprentice and held out his hand, “I’m Solomon, by the way.”  The two shook, but the Apprentice said, “My own master has requested that I take to the coast, though I do not know why.” “I see,” said Solomon, and he returned to his bed.  “That’s too bad, but I understand your position, as I am in a similar one myself,” he said. The Apprentice let the words dissolve without response as Solomon drew the strings on his rucksack and fastened it tightly.  “Best of luck to you. I must be off,” said Solomon, and he left.  Though the Apprentice was feebly tired and without as much rest as he would have enjoyed, he too finished packing up his few belongings and set out. 

The hostel was located on the inner coast of the island which faced toward Etherium and the Apprentice had to tack around the thing as the winds were not in his favor that day. He had hoped to sail toward the Weird House with a chance to lay in the hull and thumb his mbira for a moment, but he did not get the chance. 

He did eventually make his way around Tethys and according to Master Vega’s instruction, made for landfall Northeast. The few hours sail was mostly uneventful, with the exception of a few fits of the sea that tossed his small vessel like a plaything. The lantern, which he had not yet fixed back to the stern rolled around with some noise as the Apprentice crested those waves. In these moments, he was quite glad that he had been forbidden to sail to the Capital. The Salt was showing its anger that season, though the waters calmed once he was in sight of the shore.  The Apprentice could feel the approach of the Weird House. Odd to him, as he had never had reason for visitation, though the house’s history preceded itself. He wondered if its past occupants had themselves been tasked on small rites by their own Masters, or if they even had studied in apprenticeship at all.  He had been embarrassed to find that not all Wizards were brought up in the throes of academia, and even moreso to reveal himself on the lowest rung of his own ladder to those to which informed him. They had been youths of his own age in a margin of a few years, yet it seemed they had freedoms unknown to the Apprentice, and he felt it acutely.  It was now he was feeling that those freedoms come at a cost, and internalized his own weaknesses as Master Vega’s words rang in his mind like the toll of the Librarian’s bell. Though he no longer occupied that lowest rung on the social ladder of the islands, he knew it was unearned, but he steeled himself. He would find the consul and return to Etherium to prove his worth as a Compaignon to Master Vega. It was then that he unknotted the bindle which had been left in the small craft and pulled from it a piece of lagana.

The sensation of nearing the Weird House is indiscribable to those who have never felt its clutch. Unrelenting Magic that teased at the mind and weighed on the soul. It was generally avoided by many, though some Wizards had studied it at great length, without much success. The ways of the Weird House were such that it was incongruent with itself, producing hallucinations and, in some fringe cases, implanting memories to those in the wake of its mysticism. Some had theorized that the fallout of some disaster by its previous occupants evnetually led to the fleeing of the main land and foundation of the Archipelago and later the Pavillion.

In the instance when the Apprentice found it, the Weird House appeared emptied and eerily quiet. 

After his vessel hit the land, the he dragged the thing as far onto the shore as he could muster, sure to avoid any rising of the tide. He had hoped it would still be there upon his return, though he wasn’t sure when that would be. He wasn’t quite sure of much in his current situation, and he had wished that he might have had the courage to ask about the task on which Master Vega was sending him. She had raised him to Compaignon. That should have given him voice enough.

Still, her words played on his mind. “You may thank the Ouroboros, sapling. You are not yet oak.” 

To her, he was nothing more than a child. Though, then, why had she trusted him with this message? It’s urgency was clear.

Perhaps he was disposable. None of the other mages would do, as they were likely too precious in their discovery. Perhaps the Red Wizards would dispose of him after all.

He ventured to peek at the scroll, though the broken wax would give him away and facilitate a certain expressness of any future disposal. He desperately wanted to know the words he carried and the weight of what they meant for the islands. 

He could not dare to break that seal of trust, nor pry it free in attempt to hide his observation. He shook it free, or so he had tried.

The feelings of regret and shame he felt even as soon as the walk back to his dormitory haunted him. He hadn’t even the time to celebrate himself, even falsely, in his new post. 

“No matter,” he consoled himself aloud, grabbed his lantern from the interior of the boat, along with the rest of his things, and began his travels on foot. However, he didn’t get ten paces from his boat before he heard his name called from a familiar voice behind him. When he turned some phantom stood before him, yet he knew her. It wore the face of his master. 

He knew this was a phantasmagoric trick, but her words still cut. “Your uselessness knows no bounds. Any of my other charges would be halfway to the Capital by now.”

“That is impossible,” the Apprentice said, though he had heard of some who knew the ways of short teleportation. He was not sure if the tales he had heard were true. His winds seemed to have left him; he felt he needed to cough.

“Those who have been studious and in my care are too important to be messengers. The guild thought it best to send you away on crows’ duty so you wouldn’t get in the way of progression of our work. I’ve already sent my great owl to carry the message. He will have returned to me before you even arrive.” She was much too like his Master, even if she had never used such direct language with him. The phantom was feeding on the shadows of his thoughts.  “Open it. See yourself for the fool that you are.” “No,” the Apprentice tried to feign combativeness, but he found his hand retrieving the scroll from his bag. “It’s a fool’s errand,” said the phantom. “Why don’t you lay down your task and seek shelter inside of my house?” The apparition guestured to the Weird House behind her, now suddenly shaken from cobwebs, furnished and taking on the appearance of a welcoming abode. The Apprentice hadn’t had much sleep in Tethys, and the sea had made him weary. He considered entering briefly but dug his heels into the dirt, and stayed his hand.  “You would refuse my hospitality?” hissed his master, yet the voice strayed further from the one the Apprentice knew so well.  “I do not wish to know the ways of the Weird House,” said the Apprentice, trying still to rid himself of the vision.  “Your ignorance then has sealed your fate.” As the thing grew more angered at the Apprentice’s refusal of its call, the less it held its form, and its shape skewed as the voice had into something more unwelcome. In the presence of the morphing shape, the Apprentice grew cold yet his face still with the burn of shame as he knew the phantom had spoken some truth.  Yet now, it twisted and howled at unholy decibel that set he Apprentice’s heart to a new clip and his feet in motion. He ran without knowing how fast or how far he might need tread if he wished to be away from the phantom and the strange horror of that house. He had heard of nightmares in the world – liches, revenants, poltergeists and the like – but never had he dreamed they might appear so close to the safety of his islands. In the stories the Librarian charges told to frighten the young apprentices, these horrible creatures dead yet not dead held their own dominion elsewhere where they toiled in their own bastardized hierarchy of great evils.   As the Apprentice fled, he only thought of these stories, and all of the strange and terrible monsters that may be at his heels if he were to look back. His hurried flight continued until the snaps of twigs beneath his feet drew him out of that reverie and he had noticed he had entered some forest. The chill in his veins remained, but the cool night air soothed the heat from his face and he slowed his pace to a quick walk.

It had been dusk when he arrived on the shores at the Weird House and now night’s darkness crept in so quickly that beneath the forest’s canopy, the soft glow of the moon was all but hidden and the Apprentice needed lantern light if he wished to continue. Though he lit the lantern indeed, with a summoning of that eternal flame the Alchemists knew how to conjure and keep contained, he was not sure if he wished to continue – either deeper into the forest or toward the Capital. 

Yet he did continue on in the forest, despite all of his weariness. As he went on, the heaviness of atmosphere surrounding the Weird House faded, though the words that came from his Master had not. Of course, he knew the words had not truly come from Master Vega. She had never ventured to be cruel, though she could be quite stern. Even so, the speech with the timbre of her voice sparked a dormant fire of doubt that had been smoldering within the Apprentice. It was true that he had been lax in his studies at the Archive, and it was true that Master Vega had not wished to raise him to Compaignon, though she had in her emergency. He turned her words over in his mind – those of the real Master Vega who remained on the islands. He wondered if he might ever break free from the guidance of assisted growth and at last become oak.

This sudden wave of depression began to slow his pace until at last he was still, and decided to sit beneath the nearest tree. He knew he would have to spend his night in the company of the foliage and whatever creatures lurked therein, and though his thoughts had tired, his body had not. The Apprentice was unsure if he would be able to find sleep in that time. He was more accustomed to his nights being filled with the boisterousness of the other apprentices, or at least the comforts of the stiff hostel beds among the islands around Etherium. It suddenly came to him that this was the first passing of night outside of the confines of the Alchemists’ rule. Even in the nights that he passed in the Capital, he spent with others, Masters, or others to whom he answered.

It was then and only then that the Apprentice felt a sense of pride in his new position, however undeserved and in his sudden wave of joy, he pulled his mbira from his bag of goods and began to play. His thumbs and forefinger of the hand which played the high octave danced over the tines in a brilliant tune that the Apprentice took from nowhere but within himself.

In that unfamiliar and personal melody, his heart swelled, and the cadence of his song resonated in the trees. He began to hum and sing in a language unformed —unfettered — and was transported to a realm outside of himself, as the mages who preach of astral projection may only know. Within and without, the Apprentice was calm.

In the wake of the music, as his thumbs had grown sore from dancing on the metal tines, he heard a low voice. “Very nice playing, lad. Though I do prefer the pipes myself.”  The voice startled the Apprentice to his feet, and another feeling of foolishness flushed his cheeks. It was, now that he was on the other side, perhaps unwise to produce as much sound as he had in unfamiliar surroundings. He might have known that someone would find him. “Alright, now,” the voice said. “No need to be frightened.” The Apprentice bent to pick up his lantern, and cast its light around the surrounding wood. “Show yourself,” he said, and felt the breaking in his voice before it had even reached his own ears. “Oh,” the voice chuckled, and then a nearby hedge rustled to reveal a disheveled looking fellow who donned atop his head a rather large brown hat with a wide brim and a crown that bent, pointed toward the earth. “I thought your light had reached me.”  The man seemed enough of a friend that the Apprentice lowered his guard and lantern. The laugh and disposition of the man dispelled the Apprentice’s initial thoughts that the spirit of the Weird House had found him to cast him further into misery. That did not seem, at least in this sudden interaction, the goal of this new arrival at all.

“So what’s a young Wizard like you doing in the woods at this time of the night?” the man asked. The Apprentice hesitated to respond, still unsure of the man, despite his disposition. In the teachings of the Archive, he had learned to take heed of strangers outside of the island, and even some of the occupants therein. It wasn’t all too often that he had met a stranger, in truth. Most of his life had been spent in service of the Stacks, and when he was away from the Archipelago, an elder had always been with him to warn of potential dangers.  “Shouldn’t be too much danger out here,” the man said, as if reading the Apprentice’s heart, “so long as you steer clear of that Weird House.” He belted out a hearty laugh that stirred some small creatures in the tree above the Apprentice. “Strange things happen over there that can cause quite a ruckus if you haven’t got the verve and know-how for it.”  The Apprentice was quiet.  “Oh alright, I see you come from ‘round that way, did you?” The man asked, again with no retort from the Apprentice. “No wonder you got the blood drawn right from your face. Hell, if I was you, I’d be tight-lipped about it, too.” He gave the Apprentice a half-smile and winked, which softened his face to a degree that made him seem more approachable than if he had flashed all his teeth in the lantern’s light, yet the Apprentice only watched him. The man’s smile faded, and he fumbled to find more words, poking his staff at the dirt instead.  He raised his eyes below that wide brim to meet the Apprentice’s again. “Real pretty sound you’ve got there,” he said, gesturing with the upward end of the staff to the mbira that the Apprentice still clutched in his hands. “Haven’t seen a thing like that in some time,” he said, and ran his fingers through his thick, matted beard. “Not since last I went South to the Alechemist’s Archipelago, I’d say. That’s been some years. Lifetimes ago. Not much business in those parts now. They mostly send a little group to us if something comes up that they need us for.” The man’s stature stiffened. “You need something from the Delta, little Wizard?” He hadn’t meant it as an insult, but the Apprentice couldn’t help thinking of his verbiage as such. “No, sir.” The Apprentice’s engrained manners drew another laugh from the man. “Well that’s good, I suppose,” he said and he moved farther into the lantern’s light toward the Apprentice. “You might not need nothing, but looks to me like you could use a little help.”  When the man was upon the Apprentice, he offered his hand, much as Solomon the apprentice had back on Tethys, and by instinct or sheer gladness for his kindness, the Apprentice gripped old Wizard’s hand hand, and they exchanged introductions. 

He learned the man’s name was Oberon and that he lived at the edge of the forest of the Delta near Rabbit lake. He had been out that night in search of a creature that had been destroying crops some of the other Wizards in the area were growing.  “Nothing too foul,” the man had told him. “Not to the likes of anything but a few cabbages,” he rushed to say, seeming to remember his new acquaintance’s position.  He said he was giving up the search for the night, when he had heard music and came to see who might be playing it. The man offered the Apprentice shelter for the remainder of the night, and against his teachings, he followed the unkempt Wizard deeper into the forest.      The to walked for some time in the cool air of the night as a gentle wind played in the trees. The man had quieted on their journey, but after a time asked if the Apprentice would play more of his instrument for a awhile as they walked, and at once, he offered his lantern to the man and pulled the palm-sized, tined boxed from within his bag. “Do you know ‘The Creek and the Hollow’?” the man asked, but the Apprentice shook his head. “Then how about ‘Dirt Rabbit Dance’?” Again, the Apprentice signaled no. “Alright, well surely you know the tune to ‘Wanderer Wolfkin, Where Do You Go?’,” the Wizard asked, but he knew the answer as the Apprentice stared toward his feet.  “You’re all a bit more under rock out in the Salt than they say of us in the Delta, aren’t you?” He stifled another laugh, seeing the Apprentice’s head still hanged low. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “Play us something you do know, then.” In the silence of a moment’s hesitation, the Apprentice held his thumbs on the metal tines, mulling over his own internal book of melodies, and then with slow cadence began to play. After a first few slow measures, his thumbs and forefinger worked with more confidence, even in the somber tones that rang out in the quiet of the forest. He played to the percussion of their footfalls and the droning low whistle of the breeze. The song had lyrics, though the Apprentice had forgotten most of the verses, so he hummed quiety along to the warm vibrations of the metal, and before he realized it, the two had come upon a clearing in which sat a small cabin made of timbers. “That was something else,” the man said. “Thanks to you for the accompaniment. It made the walk seem much faster. I see why you carry it with you.” 

Pushing open the door to the cabin, he welcomed the Apprentice to his castle, as he called it. The furnishings were sparse, but homely. It was filled with the air of sanctuary – a greatly lived-in feeling that the Apprentice never quite had come across himself in the dormitories and bed-rowed hostels of which he had grown accustomed.  “I’ve only got the one bed,” said the man, removing his hat and placing it on a thin rack by the entrance, and he placed his staff in a large vase beside it.

The cozy building reminded him vaguely of Master Vega’s study. The soft glow of a fire that had reduced to ember’s glowed in the bed of a pit in the wall at the far end of the room. There was never a time since the Apprentice had been in the company of Oberon that he had felt unease. In fact the old wizard had already taken to his own comforts and left the Apprentice to himself as if they were also his own, and after a time, Oberon did tell him as much.  He had already had a kettle on when he asked the Apprentice if he wanted a cup of tea, and the two divided a portion of sweet bread with their drinks without much more conversation until the Apprentice said, “Thank you for finding me. This is a much nicer dwelling for the night than the forest floor.” “I didn’t find the creature that’s been off with my crops, but I couldn’t very well leave that music be.” He took a loud drink from his cup. “Tell me, how is it you don’t know “Wandering Wolfkin”? You don’t get the classics out there on – what what it you said?” Oberon rubbed his beard and resigned himself to his memory. “They don’t teach you the traditions out in the Archipelago?” “No,” the Apprentice said, “they don’t.” Oberon grew bashful at this response, likely not expecting such a taciturn volley to his retort.  “The compaignons do get to enjoy these kinds of things more than apprentices as they are able to venture away from the islands unchaperoned. I’ve heard some of the older students return from their work with tales of examinatio of works in artistic museums and galleries and hearing music performed in pubs and even in city squares. ‘Mingling In the Fey,’ the piece I attempted on our walk here, I learned from one such a student overnight in Aegir. She had only just returned from The Tower, where she claimed she had been taught by a geomancing Bard who played the fiddle. She had transposed it to her pan flute, which I adapted to this,” he said, pointing to the mbira that he had yet to put away, “so, forgive me if it deviates from the original composition.” Oberon sipped the last of the liquid from his cup.  “Lad, I think that might be the most you’ve said tonight.” The Apprentice’s mouth drew upward into a half smile, looking away. “Suppose you had asked me about Alchemical compositions and we would have had a much shorter conversation.” “Oh, well I’m sure you know much more than I about even that.” “And you much more about the dirt beneath us and what will grow to harvest and what cannot be sown.”  “That could fill conversation enough,” Oberon said. “Perhaps another time,” the Apprentice said, before Oberon could pour himself another cup of tea.  The wizard’s expression sank, and then he said, “I suppose you’re off somewhere in the morning. You’d best be getting your sleep, then. Where is it that you’re headed, if you don’t mind my asking?” “The Capital,” said the Apprentice.  “Well, you’re making pretty poor time,” Oberon said. “Poor navigation, too.”      The Apprentice affirmed and took his cup to a wash basin that was already piled with other used dishes and set it inside of a bowl that appeared to have been used to mix an herb sauce.  After a moment, Oberon said, “Well, the city isn’t for everyone. It certainly isn’t for me, and I would be the first to understand taking to its opposite direction.” “Do you know anything of the Wizards in the Tower?” asked the Apprentice. “Have they truly got eyes in every corner of the world?” Oberon chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure about every corner of the world, but they do have that Tower secured in ways I don’t myself understand. An odd bunch, that. Well taken to their own sort of mystery. Folk say we’ve got a representative or so of our own over there, but I’m not so sure. It’s no one I know, that’s for certain.” Oberon narrowed his gaze. “Why, are you on a mission to infiltrated the Secret Tower on your jaunt tomorrow?” “Quite the opposite, though I fear I’m behind on my time and couldn’t even set foot in its vicinity even if I were.”  “Not on foot you won’t, and tarrying like you are with your music box, lovely as it is.” The wizard gave a pause of thought. “Have you any plans for your return from the Citadel? If you give your word of care and return, I’ve a mount you may borrow.” The Apprentice was incredulous, and in his need his Master’s urgency reclaimed his thoughts and, but he could not accept such a generous offer from this stranger, though in his company he did not feel as such. “I thank you for your kindness, but I cannot accept your good faith,” he said with the true stiffness of an apprentice addressing an elder. “Horsefeathers,” Oberon said. “The stable is a bit farther North still, but even so you can ride far faster than even if you ran yourself silly. Follow the path from here in the morning; it’s a bit overgrown, but you’ll find it.” With a motion to doff a hat he had long since removed, the strange old wizard turned and went to bed. 

The morning came, as usual, quicker than the Apprentice would have liked. When he rose, Oberon was nowhere to be seen. Both his hat and staff had disappeared with him. The Apprentice folded the blanket he had been lent and took the path Oberon had indicated to him would lead to a stable. The old Wizard was not wrong in that it was overgrown. The tall grass along the walk brushed against the Apprentice’s waist, but the song of its rustle with the early morning calls of birds and buzz of insects please him so that as he walked, he began to hum softly to the sounds, but before he was able to lose himself to the world song, a blur of white streaked by him underfoot, followed by a slightly larger streak of auburn. The two things breached through the path and out the other side, but the Apprentice could follow their chase by the waving grass in their wake, which bent and broke in a loop out and back toward the path where they had come, breaching briefly again in a flash before the Apprentice, revealing a fox in pursuit of a small rabbit.  He followed the zigzag motions of this chase until again it looped back upon itself toward the path and aimed where the Apprentice stood watching nature’s course. As the grass tossed and shivered in his direction, the Apprentice moved to allow passage, but as the trail approached him, it shifted with his feet, and in breaching, the rabbit gave a great leap directly into the Apprentice. He caught the quivering thing in his arms instinctually as anyone might hurry to catch an object hurtling toward them, but then, outside of instinct, he gave a great shout at the fox, and stamped his boot in its direction, which led it to a swift reversal to find food elsewhere. He watched as the grass swayed while the creature fled, feeling the rapid heartbeat of the rabbit nestled in his arms. Its legs kicked in trying to find a comfortable position, but it soon settled, as did the pace of its heartbeat. Other than the rabbit’s being startled, it did not appear hurt in any way, outpacing and outsmarting its pursuer with its wild run.  “Lucky for you I came along,” the Apprentice said to it, and stroked the softness of its dusty white fur.  The rabbit wriggled its nose. Yes, how lucky indeed The sound of a woman’s voice entered the Apprentice’s head, and he spun in a full circle to try to see the speaker, but when he returned to his original position, it was clear no one else was around. Thanks for the catch! He heard again, and with the sound of the voice, the rabbit leapt from his arms and scurried off back into the tall grass, sprinting away opposite the direction which the fox had ran in fright.  The Apprentice stood on the path and the cool breeze moved the tall grass to tickle his hands, which he drew up and scratched absentmindedly. Surely, he had slept poorly and was already too pressed with thoughts of the task before him that his mind was running away with him. He watched in the direction the rabbit ran until he could no longer tell what was the creature’s movement and what was the movement of the wind rippling the overgrown clearing, and then, he put his thoughts aside and continued along his path. 

He didn’t have to walk much farther until he came to the stable of which Oberon had mentioned – a small, weathered structure large enough to keep two horses, or perhaps three if they were able to roam often. At the sound of his approach, a marbled head with a long gray mane peered out from the stable. When the Apprentice neared, he could read the names plaquarded onto each of the horse’s gates; however there was only one animal in the stable. On the empty pen, the name read, “Horsefeathers,” and the Apprentice couldn’t help but produce a genuine laugh. This was the old Wizard’s place. Beneath the head of the mount that was still present, the name read, “Boko.” The beast whinneyed at the Apprentice’s further approach, and when the young mage spied a small bucked of sugar cubes that seemed to be left out for him, he lifted one from the bucket and offered it to Boko. Its lips lifted back to reveal a long tongue that slid out of the horse’s tilted head as it took the treat from the Apprentice’s hand, which in turn lifted to softly pet the beast’s face. “Good boy,” he said to the creature, and unlatched the gate that held him in.  There were no saddles or bridles anywhere to be found in the stable, and the Apprentice had made sure of that. Though he had never ridden a mount without riding gear, he swung himself up on the horse, gripped its mane, and did his best to stay upright as the beast raced through the clearing from which he had come and into the forest.

He had guided Boko back to Oberon’s cabin, and the swiftness of this first stop gave the Apprentice hope that he might be able to keep time as if he had not made such a drastic detour. Outside the cabin, he had no rope to restrain Boko, so he allowed him to graze outside while he went inside.  The Apprentice didn’t have to leave the mount unattended for long. It was clear that Oberon had not yet returned from wherever he had gone that morning, so the Apprentice found a scrap of parchment, a near-dry well of ink, and a dull quill with which he scratched out a message of good wishes to Oberon and left.  Outside, Boko was snorting and pacing with his eyes fixed on something to the side of the caibe. The Apprentice walked around the front of the building to see a sizable garden that he hadn’t noticed in the night or even as he had taken leave that morning but then – right there in the the row of cabbages, was a small, dusty, white rabbit devouring a one of the green, leafy heads of the plants. It must have already grow accustomed to Boko’s indecisive anxiety about itself, because when it heard the new sounds of the Apprentice, it ceased its meal and darted to the opposite edge of the garden and hid.

The Apprentice calmed the stallion and knelt down and peered through the vegetation at the rabbit, which was still crouched low behind a stalk of corn at the edge of the tilled dirt. It sniffed at the air, but did not take its eyes off of the Apprentice. He then pulled the chewed leaf off of the cabbage the rabbit had been nibbling and held it out toward the animal in a gesture of kindness he had hoped it would perceive. Yet, still, the rabbit nestled lower into the dirt. At that moment, the Apprentice’s heart lept when he heard the voice of the woman from the clearing. Why have you followed me? The voice made him stand, dropping the cabbage leaf he had held, as he gave a hard look at his surroundings. Though, just as it had been earlier that morning, there was no one else around. The Apprentice gripped his head in his hands and doubled over, blaming the auditory hallucinations on his encounter with the spirit at the Weird House, with sharp but fleeting wonder if these hallucinations would strengthen over time or dissolve with more distance from that strange place.  Are you quite alright? the voice spoke again, and its sound made the Apprentice right himself again. “Who is there?” he asked into the open air, and he was surprised to hear a clear response.  It is I in the garden.  A pit formed in the Apprentice’s stomach, and he strained to look through the tall stalks of corn, for a crouched and hiding woman, though he felt he knew now it was not a human form he sought. This feeling was confirmed when that same rabbit gave a hop out of its place of hiding, and stared at the Apprentice. The voice came again. I do appreciate your assistance this morning with that beast, but I must say, I am not fond of your pursuit in exchange for its. Had I needed a good following, I would have remained lurking around its den. Now, out with it. What is it that you have tracked me here for. It was only then that the Apprentice had realized the sound of her voice was not heard, but rather felt internally. He finally spoke to the small inquisitor with some hesitation.  “I’ve not followed you here. I had taken rest at this place in the night and came to wish Oberon well in my leaving.” He was sure, had anyone come upon their conversation, that it would seem a one-sided one and would perhaps pity the loss of the young Wizard’s mind. What is an Oberon? The head of the rabbit tilted with the question. “Oberon is the Wizard who lives in this cabin – the person whose crops you’ve been feeding on.”  Her nose twitched. That’s an Oberon? Mighty name for such a despicable creature. He’s worse than the foxes, you know “Well, he certainly didn’t seem that way to me, offering me tea and shelter when I –” the Apprentice stopped, feeling all of a sudden the fool for the conversation. “He’s not a bad man. Just a protective gardener. You should stop eating his crops.”  The Apprentice pressed into his knees and used the momentum to stand again, settling his pack on his shoulders and whistled for Boko, who trotted over to him.  Perhaps you shouldn’t take for face value every stranger in the night, her voice rattled in his head as he was mid-mount, and though Boko wished to gallop again, the Apprentice reined him in circles beside the garden. “What do you mean by that?” You may be too quick to trust, is all. “And why is it that I should then take the word of a thieving rabbit?” Who else are you going to take the word of?  This gave the Apprentice pause, for he knew that she was right. He had not even questioned the gesture offered to him by the stranger Oberon in the forest. In his want for common comforts and the aftermath of the rocky start to the Capital, the sheer companionship seemed to him as useful as his lantern in the darkness. “Where is your warren?” the Apprentice asked without truly meaning. “That is, why do you travel the woods alone? Surely you have somewhere that you are meant to be,” Surely you have as well.  Her words traveled through the Apprentice somehow with more weight than the rest of her conversation, and he could feel a sadness permeate him.  “It is true, so let me be brief,” he said. “Would you like to travel to the Capital with me? It’s possible I could use some apprehension before rushing into some other stranger’s home and exposing my vulnerability in the night.” I’ve not use to travel to a concentration of Oberons, she said. I am well enough left here to much on these crops as I please when this one is out. I’ve learned of his routine and now can safely come and go as I need. Though it does seem that I may be in your debt for your earlier coincidence in running that wretched creature away, so I feel I might regret letting you leave to walk yourself into some trap without my guidance. The Apprentice squinted at her from atop of Boko, but his face couldn’t betray his feelings.  “I will return here to bring Boko back to Oberon.”  Well that’s good, as I might tire of you. What is this Capital you say is your destination? The Apprentice dismounted and unshouldered his pack. “We shouldn’t tarry any longer if you really do wish to come. I’ll tell you on the way.” The rabbit climbed into the Apprentice’s bag, which he left unflapped and once again climbed atop Boko and left the cabin in a full clip.

The two held conversation on the way with Boko’s hooves beating the earth and the wind rushing. The Apprentice wasn’t sure if Helena, who the rabbit had introduced herself as, needed to hear his own speech or if she registered his words internally as he had her own. Even though there journey together was long, he never thought to put the question to words, but Helena told him that there had been a time when her kind had lived peacefully in near a lake that was just farther North from where the two had met, but at some time the number of predators in the forest had grown exponentially and now there were few of them left.     

In their days of riding, they passed the Weird House, which had its ways on hiatus for the duration of the day, it seemed, and in the day, it was possible to see the tips of the Sacred Pillars, to the East in their space at the summit of one of the tallest peaks in the world. Helena had never heard of the Pillars, and the Apprentice recounted a tale he had been told by a merchant once in the Capital that once a great Warrior went mad in the range of those mountain, not knowing the potency of the magic that resided there. Though eventually she was lost to the depths of her psyche, she razed the mountain with untold might, and left only the Pillars as a warning for others who could not harness the powers there. The Apprentice realized as he recounted it to his companion that he had quite liked the story, though he thought it impossible. Yet it seemed in his own telling that was maybe even its impossibility was the story’s purpose. And in its telling, the Apprentice grew more gregarious with Helena, who sniffed the rushing air and listened. In a time when the Apprentice had grow quiet again, Helena asked, From where did you come? It was clear you are not of the Delta, as the Oberons there have different ways about them. The earth they walk seems as if it always their own, and of them wholly. He did not take her observation as an insult, for he knew, in the few times he had accompanied a master to the Delta, that the Wizards of the Brown Order who lived there were exactly as Helena described. He saw it in Oberon, too, who he hadn’t realized until that moment had wandered through the forest that night with no light to lead him on his task to find the rabbit that now resided in the Apprentice’s pack, atop of Oberon’s own horse. He told Helena that he came from a small collection of islands South of the Delta, not far offshore, and he told her about the Alchemist’s. Though he nearly did not, he saw no harm in it and told Helena that the Wizards of the islands had discovered how to turn base metals into that of Gold, though he was not certain that was in actuality the true nature of their discovery. Once he had spoken of it, it dawned on him that proof of the transmutation had never once been shown to him, even if the word “chrysopoeia” rang out in the halls of the Archive as clearly as the Librarian’s bell. It hadn’t mattered either way. The rabbit was as uninterested in gold as one might expect, and when the Apprentice laughed at her disinterest, Helena’s white brow drew down and she became mildy cross.

Entered by: 0x3f80…DE2E