The moon, a silvery crescent in the sky, cast its ethereal glow over the village of Blackberry Vale. Mari sighed as she trudged along the cobblestone path, her boots slightly damp from the evening dew. Her magic-blocking cloak swished around her ankles, muffling the sounds of her footsteps. She'd left her pony Maude in the Citadel stables for now, and Alistair was following on the wing, keeping her in sight but resting on tree branches as she made slow progress on foot.
Uncertainty - rare feeling - buzzed in her brain, as intoxicating as sparkling wine. Perhaps she was taking a simple moonlit walk to clear her head, before returning to the problem of the Red Derby Society.
Maybe she was building up resolve for a much bigger undertaking.
She didn't have to decide just yet.
"Ah, there it is," she murmured to herself, spotting the stone cottage with a thatched roof and vibrant garden nestled amongst the slumbering village. This was once her home. Now it was the residence of an herbal witch. By all accounts, the villagers adored her. Though relatively young, the witch's wisdom and kind heart had earned her a place in the community.
Mari lowered her hood, and summoned a worn leather backpack as she approached the door. Clearing her throat, she prepared a story - a weary traveler in search of a brief respite on the road to Riverbend.
Her hand raised to knock, a feeling of unease fluttered in her chest. But before her knuckles could make contact, the door swung open to reveal the witch herself – a woman with twinkling green eyes and wild, chestnut hair cascading down her back.
"Goodness me!" the witch exclaimed, her eyes widening with concern. "When Bess said we had a visitor I thought she was joking. You must be exhausted to be traveling so late! Come in, come in."
A smoky gray cat, presumably Bess, wound its way around the witch's ankles, purring.
"Thank you," Mari replied, stepping inside and doing her best to mask her surprise at such a warm welcome at such a late hour. "I'm just passing through on my way to Riverbend. I probably should have stopped in Haversham for the night, but I was so close I convinced myself it was better to press on."
"Ah, I see," the witch said, closing the door behind her. "Well, you're more than welcome to rest here for a while. My name is Elara, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Elara. I'm Marigold." It was safe enough to give her real name. Most of the city folk just referred to her as Sorceress, anyway.
"Come, let's sit by the fire and have some tea." Elara gestured toward a cozy area near the hearth, where a kettle whistled merrily atop the flames. Mari followed, her muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped her. She rested the backpack on the stone floor next to a sturdy, padded rocking chair clearly meant for guests, and settled into it.
"Thank you," Mari murmured again, watching as Elara deftly prepared two cups of steaming herbal tea. The earthy aroma entwined with the scent of burning wood, creating an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. It would be a simple thing to enjoy this hospitality, and go back to the Citadel at least a little refreshed and encouraged.
"Maybe I should have come to call on her before now," she thought.
Elara handed her a cup and sat down in the armchair across from her. "So, what brings you to Riverbend?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.
"Business," Mari replied, hoping her tone was casual enough. "I'm a yarn witch of some skill, and thought perhaps I could find a weaver or small mill willing to pay for enchantments." She felt the words tumble from her lips with the weight of truth. As if it were an idea she really had been mulling for some time, and only now spoken aloud. "I've heard it's a lovely city."
"Indeed, it is," Elara agreed, her eyes sparkling. "Though I haven't spent much time there myself, I must admit."
As they sipped their tea and chatted by the fire, Mari couldn't help but feel a pang of envy towards the kind-hearted witch. The little cottage was filled with small gifts and tokens of appreciation. But then, the villagers would have a clear, uncomplicated view of Elara's work. Making a tonic for a sick child or a poultice for an injured animal was a direct, obvious kind of help. Casting a truth spell during trade guild disputes or doing upkeep on wards to contain the rat population was not the sort of thing that prompted people to send a person jars of huckleberry jam with handwritten notes of thanks.
The fire danced, casting flickering shadows on the walls, as Mari watched Elara's hands move gracefully over the teapot. The steam curled up like tendrils of smoke, carrying the scent of chamomile and rosehips with it. Mari wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic cup and took a cautious sip.
"Elara," she began, hesitating slightly, "I was wondering if you could tell me more about Riverbend. Your thoughts, impressions...anything really."
The young witch looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze lingering on the firelight playing across the dark wooden floor. "Well, I haven't spent much time there, to be honest," she admitted, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But from what I've seen, it's a bustling city, and the people seem fairly content."
"Fairly" was doing a lot of work in that sentence. Mari could almost hear "but you know how restless and unreasonable city folk can be" appended to the end of it. It was a typical attitude of small town folks towards city dwellers.
She covered a chuckle with a cough.
"Ah, that's nice to hear," Mari responded. "And the rulers? I hear there is no noble family in Riverbend."
"That's true," Elara continued, her eyes sparkling with merriment, "They ousted the Lord and Lady positively ages ago. Some sort of kerfuffle with a necromancer? It was all long before my time. The Knight Commander is said to be just and ... competent."
Mari noted that she'd stuttered a bit over how to describe Cedric. Calling him "just and wise," probably was overselling him. "Smarter than the average plowman, but not by much" was a hard thing to sum up. She appreciated that Elara was striving to be honest, even if she was softening her opinions - always a sign of a clever witch.
"Competent is not exactly a ringing endorsement, if you'll excuse my bluntness," she replied, curious to hear the witch's response.
"Well, he's a trustworthy leader for the city guard, and wildly popular. But to be honest, I think the Sorceress makes most of the major decisions."
Mari felt a small knot of unease form in her stomach, as she feigned surprise. "And how do the people of Riverbend feel about this Sorceress? Is she also well-liked? Is she just and competent, as well?"
Elara frowned briefly, nibbling on her lower lip. "She's a bit of a controversial figure, I'm afraid. You know how superstitious and uneasy some people can get around someone with a little magic. And the Sorceress is rumored to be very powerful. Supposedly, she appeared out of nowhere to defeat that necromancer ages ago. There are folks - mostly old-timers - who insist she saved the city. Others are just as adamant that she conquered it and called it a rescue."
"And what do you think?" Mari asked.
The village witch gazed into the fire for a few heartbeats, then sighed. "I think the old-timers probably know what really happened. And if she were bad, the gossip about her would be specific. Or at least consistent. Stories of enemies who disappeared, or abominations in the dungeon. Instead, it's all vague hearsay, and never the same story twice."
Elara shook her head. "No, I think anyone with that much power, if they couldn't resist using for evil, they also couldn't hide it. Say what you will about sorcery - it's rarely subtle."
"Sounds like a formidable woman," Mari ventured, her voice reserved.
"Indeed," Elara agreed, her smile warm and genuine. "I've always believed that those with magical gifts should use them to help others, and just the fact that she hasn't done anything dramatic in ages probably means she's doing just that."
For a few moments, they sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and watching the flames dance in the hearth. Mari felt a strange sense of comfort in this quiet interaction—it felt like closing a book you had very much enjoyed reading. Satisfaction mixed with the bittersweet resignation of a story coming to its natural end.
"Thank you for sharing that with me," she said softly, placing her now-empty cup on the small table beside her chair. "Your perspective is truly appreciated."
"Of course," Elara replied, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "I'm always happy to share my thoughts, even if they're not particularly profound."
The laughter that bubbled up from Mari's chest surprised her, but it was genuine—a fleeting moment of joy in a life that had grown increasingly sad.
Mari's gaze wandered around the cozy room, taking in the eclectic assortment of trinkets and baubles that adorned Elara's home. She noticed how each item seemed to have a story behind it, as if these objects were relics from another time or place—perhaps even imbued with their own kind of magic.
"Magic is such a fascinating thing," she mused aloud, stirring her tea idly. "But I wonder, do you ever feel like it's... limiting, in a way?" Her eyes flicked to Elara, curious to see how the witch would react.
Elara paused, her lips pursed thoughtfully. "Hmm. I suppose it can be, depending on one's perspective." She leaned back in her chair, cradling her teacup. "Having magical abilities is certainly a gift, but it also comes with its own set of responsibilities. A witch or wizard must always be mindful of how they wield their power—or when they choose not to intervene. Every action has a consequence."
"True," Mari nodded, pondering the question. "But what about personal freedom? Do you think those with magic should be allowed to live their lives however they please, or should they be bound by duty till death? Is there any such thing as a free lance witch, in the same way as a free lance knight?"
"Ah, now that's an interesting question." Elara's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "I believe that everyone should have the right to choose their own path, magic or not. However, having said that, I also think that those with the power to help others should strive to do so. Whether that means being tied to a particular place of service, or simply acting with kindness and compassion—that's up to the individual."
As they spoke, Mari's eyes fell upon a postcard perched atop the fireplace mantel, framed by two ornate candlesticks. The image on the card was striking: a sun-soaked landscape dotted with palm trees, their fronds swaying gently in the breeze. She couldn't help but wonder where such a place might be.
"Elara," she asked, her curiosity piqued, "What's that postcard from? It looks beautiful."
"Oh, that?" Elara glanced up at the card fondly. "It's from a city called Sunhaven, far to the southwest. It's a desert oasis, near a silver mine. My sister sent it to me—she's a traveling merchant, you see."
"Sunhaven," Mari repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a sweet melody. In her mind's eye, she imagined warm sunlight on her skin, soaking it up like a lizard on a rock—a carefree place of rest and enjoyment.
"Your sister must lead quite the exciting life," she mused, feeling a pang of envy course through her veins.
Elara chuckled softly. "Yes, she always was the adventurous one. But I find my own satisfaction in helping the people of Blackberry Vale." The witch's gaze met Mari's, her expression thoughtful yet content. "We all have our roles to play, magic or not. And so long as we strive for balance between freedom and responsibility, I believe we can find happiness in whatever path we choose."
Ah, the moral clarity of youth. It was different from the more cynical wisdom she possessed, but no less valuable.
As the fire crackled and hissed in the hearth, Mari contemplated Elara's words, feeling a newfound sense of direction beginning to take root within her heart.
The hearth's warmth seemed to seep into Mari's bones as she pondered her next move. The idea of Sunhaven, a place where she might find peace and perhaps even forge a new path, bloomed like a vibrant sunflower in her mind. She smiled warmly at the young woman who had unwittingly provided her with a glimmer of hope.
"Elara," Mari began, her voice steady yet tinged with excitement, "Thank you again for your hospitality. I feel quite refreshed and ready to continue my journey. You're a remarkable young witch, the people of this village are lucky to have you."
"Of course." Elara waved a hand dismissively, though she couldn't hide the pleased flush that crept up her cheeks. "Anyone in need is always welcome here. And if fate ever brings you back this way, don't hesitate to visit again."
"I won't," promised Mari, feeling a genuine fondness for the herbal witch. She rose from her seat, and as she adjusted her magic-blocking cloak, her thoughts raced ahead to the steamboat pier on the river—the first leg of her journey to Sunhaven.
With a final glance at the cozy room that had provided her sanctuary, she raised the hood over her cloak and stepped out into the cool night air to make her way toward the steamboat pier.
As the stars twinkled overhead, casting a silvery glow on the winding path before her, Mari couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation bubbling within her chest. She didn't know what awaited her in Sunhaven, but she was filled with curiosity and optimism for the first time in many years. As she passed out of the village, she gestured to Alistair, who swooped down from a pine bough onto her shoulder.
And so, with each step bringing her closer to the river, Mari felt lighter than she had in years—buoyed by newfound purpose and the promise of discovery in a distant city bathed in sunlight.
