It Began In A Tavern (Official)

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Following the first post below, the order of writing is:

1. @ps102
2. @Louanne Learning
3. @Gravy
4. @SoulFire
5. @EFMingo (In Vacation Mode 3/14/25)
6. (Open Seat)
7. (Open Seat)
All others will be added below in order of arrival. If you do not post for 7 days, your turn will be skipped, and you will wait until the next round! Have fun and remember this is casual writing.

 

It Began in a Tavern

Chapter 1
​

The barkeep, Bossman glanced around the medium-sized tavern at the evening crowd, all tired out from a long day and ready to kick back with a warm drink next to the roaring fire. Even though Bossman was of the Poet Class, it did not mean he slacked about all morning. No, he was changing the kegs, updating the quest board, preparing the soup, and bread. Much was done to ensure all who came inside to escape the biting winter cold were as warm and comfortable as his family.

The ones he always heard walking around in the apartment above the tavern as he worked. His daughter, Dusca’s tired and weary gait, and his granddaughter’s enthusiasm echoed upon the floorboards. Through the years, Bossman attempted many a time to show his granddaughter Katara how the Wooden Ladle was run. But, she was more content to focus on her artistic pursuits. Which, was fine by him as once again, Bossman was reminded of the silent dangers of his profession.

Most nights in the Wooden Ladle were brim with gaiety and joy, but tonight was somber and brim with paranoia. Many of the patrons were chatting in low-tones, worried a municipal mage would overhear; while others sat in silence in the corners, keeping an eye out for any spies.

The Bossman kept a pleasant smile and un-intrusive demeanor as he went around serving drinks. It was best not to listen or remember any of what was said or done that night. The tavern was as usual if anyone, especially government officials, cared to ask the next morning.

As for his current barmaid, she was his ‘niece’ who came to help around the tavern. However, to quell his own worries, Bossman placed her in the kitchen. But he knew the soup was the least of her worries, or the worries of anyone here. The High Scientist had requested more volunteers for his latest scientific research. Volunteers was merely a polite name for ‘lab rats’; the delinquents of society who were used to advance scientific knowledge. However, in the eyes of the law, anyone could become a volunteer, for no one was perfect.

A legal attitude which, Bossman noted, did not help sales. Everyone was drinking in moderation- staying sober so they would not wake up the next morning in a testing lab.

Why couldn't we be satisfied with magic? Bossman wondered to himself as he brought a round of spiced ale to a new table. This group was quiet like the others, but seemed cheerful enough to greet him. “So, are you all from out of town?”

That was the only explanation as to why this table was happy at all. Which would pose a real danger to them if they weren’t careful. There were too many prowling the streets for suitable volunteers at the moment. So, Bossman was glad these travelers stumbled into his business. Any other tavern owner who was short of coin would have no qualms turning them over to the Volunteer Center, where many went, but few returned; and those who did were changed forever.

His ’niece’ was all the proof he needed to know what happened. Bossman had found the young woman sneaking food out of the rubbish pile out back months ago. He took her inside, gave her a proper place to sleep and eat. Yet, Bossman knew she had nightmares- Ravenna always had and he swore to always be there for her.

 

When the door opened with slightly more force than he was used to hearing, Bossman turned to find a peculiar sight. A young woman was there. Her cyan robes, visibly light in length and weight, were soaking wet. And even more notably, her hair and eyes seemed to match in their dark-green colour.

She closed the door behind her and just stood there with her dripping sleeves, slowly checking out the place. Bossman, growing suspicious, approached her just as she locked her gaze to the fireplace. Even as he went close, she still didn’t notice.

He finally grunted and asked, “Can I help you?”

The words struck her like lightning and drove her to turn swiftly towards him. “Oh, uh, well, yes. I just came here to eat...”

It took him a while to respond. “We serve soup. You can take a seat anywhere you like.”

She returned a warm smile for the kindness. “If it’s possible, I’d like to stand right in front of the fire.”

Bossman thought it was strange, as was she, but he couldn’t find anything malicious with the request. “Just take a stool. You don’t have to stand.”

“Oh, right… thanks.”

“Your name?”

“Olive,” she answered plainly, and Bossman kindly lead her to where she wanted to be. The dancing fire radiated deep orange, sunset-like colors. Olive extended her arms closer to the fire and let its warmth embrace her.

“So, soup, was it?” Bossman noted in his head. “I’ll be right back with it.”

“Thank you,” she said, without taking her attention away from the warmth for even a second. Olive clearly had a rough day of some sort, and though he did wonder of it for a few seconds, it wasn’t his business to ask. He went to the back and ladled the chunky golden soup in a wooden bowl.

When he went back to serve her and collect the payment, he found her with a frozen gaze cast to either the floor, or some other place deep in her mind.

Bossman trotted closer. “You sure space out a lot.”

Olive didn’t have a jolting reaction this time. She looked up slowly to find a steaming bowl of soup held towards her. She gladly took it and answered, “I’ve had it happen for as long as I remember. I’m sorry. You must think I’m strange.”

He laughed through his nose just a little. “Strange? I’ve seen much worse, young lady.”

Olive laughed herself. “You’re too kind. But anyway… What do I owe to that kindness?” She asked as she took out a pouch. Bossman noticed that it mostly had copper coins. There wasn’t much silver in there.

“It’ll be two copper pieces,” he said, and Olive gladly handed them over before she went back to focus on the warm fire and the food. He could see how she slowly descended back to her reverie. He thought that for now, she is probably best left there and turned around to go back to his duties.

 

The window seat in the storeroom was Katara’s favourite place to hide. Quiet and removed from the public space, she could indulge herself there. Notebook on her tented legs, she scribbled lines to a poem she was composing. “What rhymes with groan?” she murmured to herself.

Bossman found her there. Standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, he said, “So here you are.”

With enthusiasm, Katara sat up. “Listen, Grandpa,” she said. “I am writing an ode.”

“An ode?”

“Yes. It’s called Ode to a Beaver.”

Bossman smiled. He always had a ready smile for his only granddaughter. “Alright,” he said, “let’s hear it.”

Katara raised her chin, preparing to recite. “Beaver, beaver, oh beaver,” she read, “to you tribute I pay—you make work look like play—gather up ye sticks while ye may—for tomorrow is another day! Like magic, you build a home of your own—your industrious is shown—without whimper or groan—may you never be alone!”

Eyes wide, she regarded her grandfather. Bossman licked his lips, as if weighing the words he was about to deliver. “It’s not boring,” he finally said.

Katara swung her legs around to stomp her feet upon the floor. “Oh!” she cried. “I know it’s no good. But beavers are such fascinating creatures! I can watch them all day. You should see their tails move when they swim. And they know how to choose the best sticks. And the best place to build their dam. How do they know? Do they learn as well as us? There is one, especially, I noticed, that seems to be the leader. Do you suppose the leader is selected by all the other beavers? Or do they fight for the position? Oh! And I saw baby beavers the other day! They wrestle, just like children. I wonder what else we have in common with them.”

Bossman’s grin grew. “You are an inquisitive young woman,” he said, with pride.

“But a lousy poet.”

“No, my dear, your love of nature shows you to be a poet, indeed.”

“But I seem to have more questions than answers.”

He came to sit beside her on the window seat. “And I have something to ask of you,” he said.

“What?”

“A young woman in need has come into our establishment. I’d like you to see to her, see what she needs.”

“Why can’t the lab rat take care of it?”

“Katara,” Bossman chided, “the ‘lab rat’ as you say has a name.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Ravenna.”

“I do wish you would try to be more kind.”

“It just that—it’s difficult to know what to expect from her. Sometimes, she acts like a child, and other times, she scares me.”

Bossman patted her hand. “There is nothing to fear,” he said. “For now, I’d like you to see to this young woman. Ravenna is busy in the kitchen. The young woman’s name is Olive. She’s sitting by the fire.”

Katara nodded, briskly got up and left the storeroom. As usual, she would do what was best for her. She went straight to the kitchen and said to Ravenna, “I’ll take over here. There’s a young woman named Olive sitting by the fire. See what she needs.”

 

The lab rat stopped stirring the soup and turned to Katara, making her shiver. “Yes, if that’s what you want.” Ravenna handed her the spoon and left the kitchen. Once gone, Katara turned her attention to the cooking fire and begrudgingly began stirring.

A few months ago, she would have never been forced to cook. No, her mother usually did that. While she tended to the soup, Katara was on the floor reciting poems and smart limericks for entertainment. Sometimes, she got a few copper coins, which really made her feel accomplished.

Ever since her family took Ravenna in, Katara’s tranquil life had changed. Now, she had to pretend she had a cousin, do more chores around the tavern because her mother insisted she learn along with the lab rat, and worst of all, stir soup. It wasn’t a poet’s- a true artist’s place to cook for the masses.

No, it was to entertain. A few minutes later, the sounds of laughter and cheering seeped through the kitchen doors. Everyone around her was happy, but how could they be, Katara wondered. She wasn’t present or had recited her latest poem about beavers- she was in the kitchen doing a lab rat’s job.

~.~.~​

Ravenna didn’t mind helping out around the tavern. It was pleasant and the people warm and gentle. But when she walked out of the kitchen, she was greeted with the silence of a funeral. She paid no mind, however, and went over to the woman by the fire. Her light blue clothes were dripping with water, and she was studying the wooden ceiling.

“Did you enjoy your soup?” Ravenna asked, making the woman jump as if she had been lost in deep thought. “Would you like another? Perhaps with some bread?”

“Um, yes. But maybe just the bread,” the woman said and reached to pull a coin out of her pouch; but paused when her left hand met air. “Wait, it was here a minute ago…please wait, I swear I have it.”

Ravenna obeyed and watched her search for the money. The woman finally stood and found it on her chair. She laughed nervously and was about to pick it up when the tavern suddenly came to life. The people around her began cheering, toasting and-

“Laugh with me,” Ravenna ordered, drawing the woman’s attention.

“What?”

“Do it,” Ravenna didn’t dare to glance at the tavern door, but by the change in tone, someone of importance had entered the establishment. The high class were never to be greeted by the sadness of the lower. Such emotions would only draw suspicions and cause disappearances. Worst of all, if the municipal mages saw sadness, they would be pleased-that was the last thing anyone wanted.

“Settle down,” a stern voice tried to reach above the crowd. “I said, settle down!”

The patrons reluctantly ceased their false celebration and turned their attention toward the speaker. A tall man in light green robes and a brown staff at his side. The typical uniform and tools of those to be feared. Once he had the attention of the room, he asked a simple question:

“Does anyone know the whereabouts of…Roman Demid?”

Ravenna glanced at the woman to her left, hoping she would remain silent. Ravenna herself had not heard of this person, but she had a feeling someone here did- or why would the MM be here?

“I have a warrant for his arrest, and I do not take the obstruction of justice lightly.”

 

The municipal mage pierced the tavern crowd with a glare. His platinum star brooch, pinned to the right side of his golden robe, glinted in the firelight. It’s what everyone stared at—more than the mage’s austere gaze. The star brooch represented authority. The rarer the material its crafted from, the higher the rank.

“Well?” The mage raised his voice. “Anyone? Surely, someone here knows something, so speak up. You can arrest assured that“—the mage snapped his finger and spawned bright sparks—“justice cannot be evaded. Justice is absolute. Any offenders of it will be prosecuted to the highest applicable degree. There can be no exceptions to that.”

The mage cast a wide smirk to the crowd. People groaned and turned to each other as the conversation spread around the tables. That’s exactly what he wanted. It grew louder and louder, until suddenly, a man in the back of the crowd rose from his seat.

With a raised hand, he said, “I know the whereabouts of Roman Demid. ”

“Oh?” The municipal mage smiled. “I knew it. A tip I received said that he frequented this tavern. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll reward your service to justice generously.”

The man’s facial expression didn’t waver. He took a step forward and started to make his way through the crowd. Everyone remained silent. All eyes were on him, and all ears on the sound of his footsteps—the only sound in the room.

Ravenna tensed. “Something is wrong,” she whispered to Olive, who chose to remain silent like everyone else.

The man went right in front of the municipal mage and stopped. He stood silently as they exchanged glares. “Well?” the mage tilted his head and shattered the silence with sharp words. “Where is he? Where is Roman Demid?”

But the man didn’t answer. He looked down on the mage and continued to remain silent. Finally, he reached for his pocket and brought something out, hidden around his clenched palm. “I’ll tell you where Roman Demid is.” He opened his palm wide. Nothing was there but thin air. “Roman Demid is”—the center of his palm brightened—“right in front of you.”

Before anyone could make a further thought, pure blue fire sprouted out of Roman’s palm and swallowed the municipal mage in its raging flames.

People screamed and cried as they all scrambled to escape through the door and windows. But Roman didn’t move a muscle. He stood firmly in front of the inferno and clenched his palms tight. And then, just like the flames, he erupted as well.

“Justice!” he shouted to the flames. “What justice? Where is this justice?” he asked the flames—the place where that mage once was. “You aren’t justice. Your people aren’t justice. You are tyrants!” he swiped the air with his arm. “TYRANTS! But you are nothing now! You’re just ashes… just like the ashes your people made out of my son.”

The flames spread further and reached the ceiling. They were rapidly spiraling out of control, and soon, they’d engulf everything. Yet, Roman didn’t move a muscle, even as they were inches away.

Ravenna was about to take off to safety when, suddenly, Olive went running towards the flames. She extended her arms towards it and shut her eyes tight. A ball of floating water started to float in front of her. A perfectly round ball. At least at first. It grew more and more deformed by the second. Olive had inadequate command of her own Ether. She couldn’t use it to save her life if it came down to it.

But, in this case, it was perfect. She let it happen and the seemingly small blob of water burst and sprayed every corner chaotically. The fire was extinguished and and steam erupted from its place.

Olive collapsed to her knees and Ravenna ran towards her. “You… saved the place,” she said. The steam in front of Olive cleared and slowly revealed a large black-and-grey crater in its place. Just that, and nothing else.

Roman didn’t move a muscle. He was just staring at the crater. Ravenna studied him. How could he defeat a platinum-brooched municipal mage? It didn’t seem possible. In fact, it shouldn’t have been possible.

Loud voices lingered outside the empty tavern. A woman rushed inside and scanned the room. She had a golden brooch on her robes, and she was followed by four other platinum mages as well as a civilian, who pointed at Roman. “He is the one!” he shouted. “He made fire!”

The mages made a formation and raised their arms. “Capture him… dead or alive!” commanded the gold-ranked mage. Roman raised his arm, ready to fire, but it became encased in rocks that rapidly spread to the rest of his body.

It was over then. No movement, no magic. The mages took Roman away in his rocky prison.

 

The wild-haired woman with the golden brooch stared down Bossman and Katara. “I am Araspeth,” she said. “You know me?” They nodded, and bowed. “You know the penalty for harbouring rogue mages, who use their magic contrary to the law?”

“I do,” Bossman replied. “Believe me when I say this man was not known to me.”

Katara could not contain herself. “Where are you taking him?” she asked.

Araspeth snapped livid eyes to her. “Impudence is unbecoming.”

“I just meant—”

“You dare question the High Priestess?”

Katara dropped her eyes. Suddenly, Olive was standing beside her. “They robbed him of his son,” she said, in her timid voice. “Now they will rob him of his Ether.”

Indignantly, Araspeth drew up to her full height, her accusatory eyes on Olive. “Would you like to join him?”

Olive shook her head with insistence.

“As far as I can see,” Araspeth went on, “you interfered in an official act.”

“See here, now,” Bossman put in, “she was just trying to keep the place from burning down.”

Araspeth, tugging on her black gloves, peered up at them from the top of her eyes. “We’ll be watching you,” she said, more threat than promise. “Magic is only to be used in the service of authority. Rogues—and those that harbour them—will not be tolerated.”

With a flourish, she turned and exited the tavern. Ravenna joined the group, and she, Bossman, Katara and Olive all stared at the burned-out hole in the floor. “Nothing left of him,” Ravenna said.

Bossman nodded. “That was some powerful magic.” He glanced at Olive. “But you, you surprised us all.”

No-one looked more surprised than Olive. “Luck was on my side.”

“It’s not luck,” Katara said. “It is all cause and effect, of this, I am sure. We saw your effect. Now we must come to understand your cause. In my estimation, you do not understand it yourself.”

“Well, I—”

“How did you do that?” Katara pressed.

Olive stared at the floor, then looked up. “It was when he mentioned his son. Something turned on inside of me—”

A loud, shrill voice sounding from the doorway cut her off. “What in the blazes happened here?” Dusca demanded. Katara’s mother strode over and quizzically cast her eyes about the group. “I’m gone for one day, and all hell breaks loose. Who’s going to fix this?” Deeply, she sighed. “I have a headache. Will someone please tell me what is going on.”

 

“Don’t worry, darling,” Bossman stepped forward and took her aside to explain what happened. “And it’s thanks to this young lady-“ he gestured toward Olive, “the tavern was saved.”

“Well, thank you,” Dusca muttered, clearly still annoyed by the events. “Now, how are we going to fix this? The damage is-“

“Don’t worry,” Bossman said once again, “I will contact Nalki to patch up this place as soon as possible. We’ll be back in business in three days, I am sure of it.”

“With Nalki, I would say five days,” Dusca never understood why her father adored the lazy, but cheerful Earth Mage. But she supposed it was due to the colorful stories the man shared while he worked. Hence, every job took far longer than needed; but this time, Dusca realized she wouldn’t mind the delay. It wasn’t every day the Municipal Mages bothered the tavern- and if it was closed, there was less risk of further trouble.

About thirty minutes later, all other patrons aside from Olive who had not fled during the confrontation, had staggered home. Then, Ravenna flipped the sign on the tavern door to ‘closed’ and Dusca locked up for the night. Once she had, Bossman gathered everyone in the kitchen. It was a bit cramped, but warm, unlike the main room where the cold winter air seeped in through the broken windows.

Bossman ladled a bowl of soup and handed it Olive. “You have my eternal appreciation, young miss. You saved my family’s livelihood.”

“You’re welcome,” Olive awkwardly took what was offered and waited until the others were served before taking a taste. “I just did what I felt I needed to do. I am not sure how I-“

“Don’t worry about how,” Bossman told her, “but I suggest you stay here for the night. We have some blankets upstairs-“

“It’s warmer down here,” Katara noted, making the others turn to her. “I mean, it’s cold upstairs and-“

“Now, now,” Bossman gently scolded, “this young woman saved our tavern and our home. Let us be a good host, Katara. Please, stay the night.”

“Um, sure,” Olive nodded, wishing she could explain what happened. But it was reflex, not a calculation. “Thank you.”

Following the conclusion of soup and the remainder of the bread, Bossman showed Olive upstairs. It was a cozy little apartment with two rooms, one for sleeping and another for living. “And you are welcome to sleep in here,” Bossman set the three blankets he retrieved from the cupboard under the stairs next to the small table. “It’s more spacious than the bedroom.”

“No, please don’t go to any trouble-“

“It’s not,” Bossman promised and before long, the guest’s bed was made and a fresh pair of sleeping clothes were set out.

~.~.~​

When Bossman went upstairs with the water mage, Dusca continued closing the tavern. After the front door was shut, the main room needed to be cleaned and swept and kitchen dishes needed washing. The tasks were simple to delegate as Dusca needed to speak to her daughter alone. Once they were, she began a conversation she did not want to have; but it was for Katara's own good. “You need to be more careful, Katara. You can’t talk to a Municipal Mage the way you did today.”

“I was just asking a question,” Katara replied, waiting to dry the wooden bowls. “What’s wrong with that?”

“They don’t like people asking things they shouldn’t,” Dusca told her, pausing to scrub a stubborn piece of food out of the dish in her hands. “Doesn’t matter if-“

“I just wanted to know-“

“Katara, I need you to listen to me.” Dusca did not like scolding Katara any more than she enjoyed being scolded. But this was important- perhaps one of the most important lessons she needed to learn. “Curiosity is good, but there are matters which are best left alone. Is that understood?”

Katara said nothing for a moment before marching out of the room toward the steps to the upper-level. Dusca watched her leave with a heavy heart- she only wanted her to understand. She loved her curiosity, but she had to understand there was a time and place for everything.

 

~ ~ ~​

There was a knocking. It was… day. That much Ravenna was certain. She pulled her hands up from the murky water and studied the pruning of her fingers through the light that filtered into the washroom’s window. Her head swam, like she were pressing onward through a bog. On her wrists were those ugly copper bands again. No matter how many times she tucked them away, nor how did she had done so, they always managed to end up back on her. She slipped them off and tucked them into a pocket of her tunic.

That knocking again.

“I hate to be a burden… miss.” The muffled voice said through the dense wood. It was familiar. Feminine.

“Just a moment,” Ravenna said through gritted teeth.

The last thing she recalled was retiring to her room after closing up the tavern. She did not remember actually going to bed, nor getting ready this morning. Dwelling now served little purpose, she set herself back to task. Focusing on anything other than herself always put her mind at ease.

Ravenna pulled the sodden towels from the wash basin, wrung them out, and hung them over the drying racks. She pulled the plug at the bottom of the basin and turned to look at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were heavy, not an uncommon sight when she came-to such as this. With her still wet hands, she rubbed her face thrice over, the pressure a small comfort.

Then three more knocks, and a slow boiling rage settled over Ravenna. Angrily, she reached for the handle. But before ripping the door open, as she desperately wanted to, she took in a breath. Slow, methodical. She already scared the other women in the house enough as-is. She did not need to threaten her place here by berating whoever was on the other side of the door.

Ravenna opened the door and, thankfully, recognized the woman on the other side. Her green hair was tousled and put up in a lazy pony-tail that frayed every which way. She held a chamber pot in her arms. “Olive,” Ravenna said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. The room’s yours.”

“It’s okay,” Olive said, her voice quiet and downcast. The two crossed paths awkwardly, and as Ravenna went to leave Olive spoke again. “Actually, miss. Would you mind waiting just a moment?”

Ravenna turned, and with mild confusion, nodded. She leaned against the wall and watched the running river out the window while she waited. Out there, by the beaver dam, Katara sat on the shore with that same notebook in hand. Once, when Ravenna had first been taken in, Katara tried to show her the things she had written. Once Katara learned that she did not know how to read, the two hardly interacted again beyond the work at the tavern.

Despite lacking a willingness to tell her, however, Ravenna admired Katara’s dedication to the craft. Everyone wrestles with something, and it seemed to Ravenna that Katara wrestled most with meaning, and a desire to be known. Deeply known.

The door to the washroom opening pulled Ravenna from her trance.

“Can we talk?” Olive asked.

Ravenna nodded. Olive had left the chamber pot in the wash room and Ravenna hoped silently it wasn't going to be left to her to clean and return to the room.

“Also,” Olive looked at the ground shyly. “I failed to ask for your name last night.”

“Ravenna,” she said. “Where to?”

 

Olive rubbed her palms together nervously. “A-actually, I wanted to say thanks for last night. I was totally lost but you were calm and composed. That helped.”

Ravenna narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. This Olive person sure was a pile of nerves. “You’re welcome,” she simply said. “But didn’t you save the place? You seem to be rather powerful.”

“Powerful…” Olive laughed at herself more than anything else. “I seem… to be. But my control is non-existent. There is nothing I can do with my magic.”

She recalls Olive by the fire place, retrieving copper coins from her lean pouch. Most who were lucky enough to possess magic usually pursued it to make a decent living. Magic is magic, and many are willing to pay good money to make it happen.

“Hmmm… and you can’t do anything with it?” Ravenna wondered to herself out loud. “I take it you aren’t licensed, then.”

“No, not really… I can’t get licensed. I need to find a mentor first to even start the process. I’ve travelled to so many places but nobody wants me for a student. It’s really hard.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I hope you’ll find a mentor one day.” Ravenna walked past Olive and towards the stairs. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got work to do.”

Ravenna thundered down the stairs and left Olive in silence. Work sounded like such a blessing. Her magic could facilitate so much of it. She’d make a decent living. She wouldn’t have to travel the whole country. She wouldn’t have to sleep in bug-infested inns. She wouldn’t have to survive on stale bread. Life would be more bearable.

Most importantly, she’d have the means to pursue the truth about her own self. She’d be able to chase the answers that really matter. And then she would—

“There you go again, staring into space.”

Bossman’s voice shattered her thoughts. Olive swiftly turned around to find the kindly barkeep with a big wooden box nestled in his arms.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She immediately stepped aside for Bossman to pass through. “I was on the way…”

“It’s alright. Though I must say, young lady, you do space out a lot. Maybe that has something to do with your control.”

“You overheard me?”

“Yes. Last night, I also saw you just staring at the floor for what must have been at least an hour.”

Olive’s face went cherry red. “It’s my weakness. I’m always lost in thought.”

“Maybe there is just a lot to think about.”

“Or maybe I am just lazy.” Olive frowned. “I do enjoy it, if I’m quite honest. It drove one of my potential mentors mad. She said I lacked the discipline it takes to be a professional mage.”

Bossman took a second to respond. “I think she’s wrong. You’ll be a great mage someday.”

“H-how do you?”

“I just have a feeling. My feelings are never far off, I’ll have you know.” Bossman made a warm smile and turned for the stairs. He took two steps down before he stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Business is very good these days and I need an extra pair of hands. I can take you if you’re up for it. The pay isn’t the greatest but you’ll get free food and free housing. The entire attic will be yours.”

Olive froze. Then the door downstairs opened and a loud voice called for Bossman. It was Nalki, here to make the repairs. Bossman hurried downstairs and left Olive with her mouth half open.

To stay? And to work in a tavern? Such an arrangement never crossed her mind. She was a traveller in search for answers. But maybe she needed a change. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay still for a while to think of what could be next.

Besides, she could use the coin. And the attic. She truly couldn't remember the last time she had her own space...

 

Olive, trying to envision her future, glumly stared out the window at Katara with her notebook, down below, out on the riverbank. She wondered who would be her greater ally—Ravenna or Katara. She could really use a friend.

The swishing of skirts turned her head. Dusca imperiously stood on the top landing of the stairs, and she did not look pleased. “This is a working inn,” she said, curtly, to Olive. “All of us have to earn our keep. There’s no time for staring out windows and dreaming. Go, go and make yourself useful.”

Dusca’s harsh tone slammed Olive, and knocked loose a forgotten image in her mind. It flashed for only a moment, a frightening scene in an unfamiliar place, and a threatening man wearing a platinum brooch. A mage! The cold darkness of his face became seared into her mind. She would never forget that face! Unkind words hurled by him came to Olive’s consciousness. “Your body is safe,” he said. “The only thing I will rob you of is your memories.”

The brief remembrance paralyzed Olive, and she stood gaping at Dusca, who continued her harangue. “Did you hear me?” she demanded. “Go and make yourself useful.”

Olive blinked. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, “I got distracted.”

She rushed past Dusca, down the stairs.

***

Dusca exhaled forcefully, and then sauntered to the window. Her face fell in sadness when her daughter on the riverbank came into her view. She had tried to do right by Katara, even while she never got over the loss of the man who had turned her into a woman. The feeling he gave her had never died, but it became something to be borne, rather than exalted.

Katara was so like him. Dare she think his name? Yes, yes—Barnabas. Dusca, castigating herself, shook her head. What folly it was to harbour a spot inside of her for him after all these years. Most likely, he forgot about her the very day he rode off, never to return.

Slowly, she made her way down the stairs. Ravenna and Olive were busy washing the large windows that lined the front of the tavern. “Make sure you do a good job,” Dusca commanded, as she went out the door, and then made her way to go and sit with Katara.

***

Slopping the big, wet rag over the window pane, Olive glanced at Dusca and Katara, in the distance, lounging riverside. Dusca’s harsh words echoed in her mind—go and make yourself useful—but the sight of them being decidedly useless pricked her sense of fairness. “Katara is the favoured one,” she mentioned to Ravenna.

Ravenna looked aghast. “Oh, it’s not for us to say—”

“Some day, I will have better for myself,” Olive said, with determination, then glanced at Ravenna, whose face had become a mask of agony. “Ravenna!” she cried. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

 

The barmaid sank to the floor, her left arm wrapped around herself. Olive followed her movement, asking once again if she was all right. Just as she was about to call for help, Olive heard Ravenna audibly exhale.

“Sorry about that.” she said, a hand gesturing for Olive to move away. “It’s okay now. Just a bit of pain.”

“Just a bit? You-“

“Don’t worry,” Ravenna slowly stood again and surveyed the room with a calculating glance. As she caught Olive’s eye, the new hire shivered. Something about her seemed different, but she couldn’t place it. “I won’t hurt you. It’s the scientists who deserve my anger- thinking they could remove pieces of me for their experiments.”

“You mean-“ Olive began, only to be cut off as the other laughed as if recalling an amusing joke.

“Yeah, and if you ask me, Roman ain’t gonna last a day in the labs. When I left, the scientists were still figuring out which organs humans needed to live. Thankfully, one of them discovered the liver regrows. Which is why I’m still standing here. Although, I had to say they did a shoddy job. It hardly works anymore, and I won’t be surprised if it gives up in a few years. But for now, I am alive.”

“Y-yes,” Olive agreed, nodding nervously. “You are. Um, so do you have any medicine or anything? I mean-“

“I don’t trust those assholes,” Ravenna stated, grabbing the broom from the corner of the room. “They’d just send me back. Last thing I ever want. Do me a favor?”

“Sure?”

“Don’t mention the conversation we’re having tomorrow. It’s better you don’t. See, she doesn’t know that Bossman knows about me. She thinks she has this all under wraps and it’s better she keeps believing she does.”

“Um, who?” Olive wanted to run out of the kitchen, screaming maybe, but she wanted to understand what was going on. “Please… If it’s not too much trouble, explain what you mean.”

“Okay, okay,” Ravenna gestured to the nearby stool next to the dead kitchen stove and Olive took her place. “So, it’s kinda hard to explain, because I don’t understand this myself. But I’m Ravenna’s friend, Alisso. We’re kinda twins, I guess. But we’re in the same head. I help her when things get bad. She likes to keep me a secret, so I try to let her go about life. But in times like these, I can’t help but protect her and part of protecting her is by letting her believe she’s hiding me.”

“I guess I can?” Olive still felt unsettled, but what Alisso was saying made sense.

“Good. So, even though I have a different name, just call me Ravenna. Makes life less confusing.”

“Sure,” Olive promised.

“Good,” Ravenna patted her on the head and Olive asked if she was feeling any better. “No, not really. Pieces of my liver are still missin’, but I don’t really mind pain. Now, want to go see what the old man is talking about with Nalki? I like that fellow. He’s so innocent and adorable.”

Without a word, Olive took this opportunity to bolt from the kitchen with a smile on her face.

(*Research Reference Post)

 

@SoulFire skips his turn. It is now @EFMingo’s turn.

 

Fifteen years of a hard street life should have taught me better, Nassim thought. Lightfooted, he padded down the edges of streets and alleyways trying to beat the hot angles of the morning sun. Small drips of blooded dotted his path every twenty paces or so. If they had a damn mutt I’d be easy pickings. He gritted his teeth. When a small river came into view he tossed his walking pipe and dove in, clothes and all. Nassim pulled off his cloak to view the stab wound in his side. It wasn’t deep, mostly a slit in the oblique musculature, but enough to leave a trail down his side. Over the last hour it had bled enough to coagulate mostly. It left him in a daze. The cloak stopped most of the initial spread, but its saturation allowed a trail of drips to mark his way. That stops now.

Nassim washed the wound delicately, then cleaned his cloak as best he could. His eyes darted from tree to tree, building to building watching for eyes. Listening for the pounding drum of rat catchers' feet. But none came to pass. In a few minutes he had done all he could for the moment. It was time to go to the only place he had left in the light. His pace was slow from the riverbank. The adrenaline was gone and the waterlogged cloak weighed him down. He couldn’t discern if he bled too much or if his lack of meals in two days dragged more out of him. In the end, he just felt burdened by knowing his time was running out. Not as fast as he was. Not as resilient. He knew they would bring him down eventually. He walked with a spent life burdening each step.

The tavern came into view, quiet and warm against the gentle rumble of the river. Bossman would be there, he knew, but the thought of encumbering that good man again made Nassim tired. Except there was nowhere else to go. He shook off some of the water and approached the back of the building. Ear to door, he listened to the busy maintenance inside. The scraping and pounding of repairs, the orderlies cleaning, the heavy steps of Bossman. Closed for repairs. Only better time for my arrival would’ve been night, he thought. Nassim stood as erect as he could muster and raised his pipe staff. With a precision of movements he knocked the door twice with his free wrist hard, scraped a ‘J’ shape on the door with his pipe, and pinged the rocky gravel hard with the metal of his staff.

Thump, thump. Skurrrrishhh. Ping! Bossman froze and his face aged ten years in seconds. For a few moments he stared at nothing. Then he heard Dusca yell out “For the love of the Gods, can’t anyone read a closed sign!”

He caught her as she stomped off towards the back door, “No!” He paused and realized he was too brash. “No. I’ve got this one. You keep to your duties please. I can handle this.” He gave the warmest smile he could muster.

She frowned at him, hands on her hips. “I’ve heard that before.” She eyed him with suspicion.

“Just do what needs doing Dusca. Don’t press.”

She frowned deeper and stomped off towards the women cleaning the windows. Bossman could hear her outlet of frustration berating them over “Streaks! Streaks on the windows! Do them again!” He walked past the washroom and saw Ravenna toiling away. She looked at him with mild interest. She looked back at her work but he thought he could see her ears perk up as if listening closely.

Thump. Thump. Skurrrishhhhhh…then there was a clatter and a muffled thud on the ground. Ping!

Bossman opened the door to view a man puddled into a mass of wet cloak with a solid forearm extended forcing pipe to rocky ground. Another arm shot up for help. Bossman mustered what strength he could to assist the man to his feet. Bossman looked into Nassim’s half exposed face under the shadow of a hood and frowned. “I was hoping you weren’t coming back.”

“So was I,” grumbled a voice like coarse grit sandpaper. “And tidings are worse this time around.” Nassim let out a sigh that presented more like a growl. He went to dust himself off but realized the wet cloak stuck the dust on like it was glued.

“What do you need?”

“Just a needle and thread, and a bowl of soup. I can pay some.”

Bossman reluctantly shook his head. “You know you never need to pay, though you demand to. You know this place. Everyone is welcome. Especially one who can barely stand.

“They were a step ahead of me, Bossman. They’re never a step…”

“You’ll be needing a room for healing and meals for time as I see it.”

“You don’t understand. They’re ahead…”

Bossman shushed him. “We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s just pull you out from death’s grasp.” He helped Nassim in the back door under his arm.

As they passed the washroom, Bossman called Ravenna. “I need a room ready immediately. Needle, thread, and bowl of hot soup in it.”

Ravenna slammed down the pot and gave Bossman a furiously look. “I can’t do three things at…,” then she saw Nassim. Her mouth dropped open as one word came out and a thousand thoughts flashed in. “Rust.”

A flash of an alley, a rat catcher, his blood spraying on her, and the unhooded man shot across time and lived in her mind. But only for moments, as if the memories weren’t her own. Her body straightened, mouth closed, and head cocked slightly to the side. She set down her washings and dried off her hands. Alisso looked at Nassim without fondness but without hate. Just with memory. “Yes, Bossman. I’ll get right on it.

 

Somewhere in the city, deep under its ground, conferenced together four mages. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Their hoods shed darkness on their faces, while the wall-mounted candles behind cast their shadows upon their jet black round table.

Alpha, the mage of spring time, was the first to speak. “We have failed. Roman Demid has been captured by the state.”

“Araspeth’s unit captured him,” replied Beta, the mage of summer time. “And we have you to thank for it, Gamma.”

Gamma, the mage of autumn time, silently leaned forward. Her shadow danced just as the flame intensified.

Alpha lightly slammed the table. “She has your blood. She has your power. Your power benefits the state.”

“Precisely.” Beta agreed with a loud remark. “Araspeth is taint to our cause and dirt to our name.”

Beta’s voice bounced around the room until silence befell the three mages. Gamma still didn’t speak. Beta stood up. “You’re letting your emotions taint our mission. You know exactly what we must do to Araspeth. You—“

Then, just as cold air pierced his skin, Beta stopped. Delta stood up from her seat—the highest seat of them all—and raised her hands. The candles went out. Frost expanded between the bricks, and frigid air ran through the very veins of Beta's arms.

“You will keep your voice down,” commanded Delta behind the darkness of her hood, “and you will show respect towards your subordinate.”

Beta could not see her eyes behind that darkness. Yet they still pierced him like sharp icicles of a winter cave. He remained frozen in place, wrapped in ice, silent in compliance.

“You and Alpha!” Delta continued. Her voice was the loudest. The walls trembled. “You two will never understand what it’s like. To harbour life and to give birth to that life, just to end it again.”

The frigid air whistled as it ran through Beta’s robes. Yet, he gathered the breath inside of him, and he lifted his dried lips. “Delta, I—“

“Silence!” Beta’s body went limb from the frost. “Have you forgotten our identity, Beta? Have you forgotten our cause? We’re the Alphabet Society. We conspire against those rotten royals. Those who have sucked the freedom out of this country. Those who will do anything to keep their power. They would kill Araspeth in a heartbeat. Do we want to kill Araspeth in a heartbeat? Do we want to be like them? Tell me, Beta!” Delta shouted. “Tell me!”

Beta looked away. He looked into the ground. “No…” he answered with a low and soft voice.

Delta lowered her arms. The frost melted, vaporised instantly, and gave flame to the candles. Warmth ran through his robes again. He slowly melted back to his seat as silence engulfed their round table once again. But only for a moment.

Alpha was one to break it. “I apologize, Delta, Gamma. I gave fire to this disagreement.”

“It is of no concern,” Delta answered, her voice now as soft as a feather. She sat back down. “I understand that this topic is a heated one. But I also understand our unity. We all seek the end to tyranny, come the end of the day. Still, I must ensure that we are all in the same page.”

“Yes, Delta.” bowed Alpha. “You’re right.”

“The Roman ploy was our first. The start of a bigger plan. We meant nothing more than to cause commotion and to test the rigidness of municipal mages.”

“It went no further than that tavern,” Gamma reminded. “My Araspeth, I assure you, is the best the state has to offer. It speaks greatly of their upper limits. We can proceed.”

Delta smirked and laughed. “Yes… we very much can. Our commotion went no further than that tavern. That is okay, funny even. We can go on. And we can say that… it all began in a tavern.”

Her contagious smile spread to the other three mages. Gamma extended her hand towards the center. “Death to the royals!” she chanted.

Delta, Alpha, and of course Beta did the same. Their palms united. “Death to the royals!” they chanted in unison. And that brought an end to that day’s meeting.


Meanwhile, back to the tavern, Olive—with a broom in her hands—gazed at the skyscape. And she dreamed of the day before. Of Roman. Of his blue fire. Of his raw power. How, she wondered, could he defeat a municipal mage?

It made no sense.

 

Nassim lay on his back in the bed, an arm draped across his weary head. He cracked open his eyes as the dark-skinned girl with one eye green and one brown seemed to float into the room. She set a mug of broth upon the bedside table. Regarding him warily, she asked, “You remember me?”

His throat felt too dry, but he croaked out, “I try not to remember.”

“You saved my life.”

“Ravenna,” he simply stated.

“I have been safe here,” she said, letting him know.

He winced, reminded that he had disturbed her peace. “I had—”

“No where else to go,” she said, completing his thought, as if it reflected hers, too.

“I will regain my strength … and I will go.”

She nodded. “I never properly thanked you … Rust.”

“A criminal’s name,” he murmured, then closed his eyes.

Ravenna brought the mug of broth to his lips. “I long ago fell into a confusion about good and bad,” she said. “It seems to me that all that matters is survival.”

***

Dusca glanced at Katara, at the sink, as she strode into the kitchen and then cornered Bossman. “He has to go,” she commanded.

“He is near death’s door,” Bossman responded, by way of appeal.

She firmed her mouth. “And who will he bring to our door?”

Bossman dropped his face and made no response.

“Rat catchers!” Dusca went on, supplying the answer. “Municipal mages and rat catchers! We get it both from down below and from above.”

“Please, Dusca—”

“You would put your own family at risk?”

“There is no risk.”

“Stupid old man. How about Ravenna? Do you care about her?”

Katara snapped wide eyes to them. “If there are rat catchers coming, Ravenna has to go, too!”

Bossman roughly rubbed his face. “No-one is going anywhere,” he said, in a quiet voice.

***

The bridle path out behind the tavern led through the dense woods to an outcropping of rock near a small waterfall. Bossman and his loyal hound, Kip, made the walk on a fine day.

Bossman sat waterside, on a flat boulder, and Kip splashed around in the stream. “Good boy,” Bossman called, and then he waited.

Gamma soon appeared from the woods. She pushed her hood back to reveal sculpted features. Without a word, she took a seat beside Bossman. “Araspeth is a problem,” she said.

Bossman nodded. “She called Roman a rogue.”

“If only she knew.”

“What I want to know is—how did she know that Roman was here?”

“Some break in the chain,” Gamma replied. “And, now, the question becomes, how will we get him back?”

“I may have some help from an unexpected source.”

“Oh?”

“You heard the story told about the waif that extinguished the flames?”

“I did.”

“I think she will make a good ally. The young woman’s name is Olive. I suspect her magic is quite powerful.”

“What position do you see for her?”

“Araspeth’s … in time.”

 

The hooded mage paused as if too emotional to speak and Bossman gently patted her on the shoulder.

“She has betrayed us. I said nothing to the others- we were already in disagreement as to what action to take. I did not wish to make it worse. But I have known all along. As her mother I feel responsible as this may lead to our undoing.”

“I am sorry the matter troubles you. Why don’t you come inside and meet the young lady?” Bossman offered, knowing hope was a good bandage for the soul.

“No, no,” Gamma shook her head, “it would be too dangerous.”

“Then, why did you come here?”

“To tell you to no longer trust Araspeth and secondly, to ask if you have learned anything from that little lab rat. Escapees are rare and it’s possible she knows the interior layout of the lab where she was held.”

“It’s possible, agreed,” Bossman said, “but I haven’t asked yet. I have a feeling it would unsettle her and that’s the last thing I want.”

“I know, but I have a way to send Roman a message, and if there’s a chance-“

“I understand,” Bossman sighed and told Gamma about the tavern’s ‘newest’ guest. “Maybe he has similar information you can use. Give me two days. I am sure he would be happy to strike a deal.”

“All right.” Gamma stood and was about to say ‘goodbye’ when Bossman asked:

“Why did Arapeth turn? She knows what the state does- her father was sent to one of the labs.”

“I don’t wish to know,” Gamma admitted, raising the hood of her cloak. “But I suspect it is a rather simple reason. She grew up in the streets, how could she turn down luxury and comfort afforded to her station?”

“I want to say I don’t understand, but I do.” Bossman knew at their core, humans wanted security and safety above all else. “It’s a shame, if I’m honest. But it can’t be helped.”

“I will see you in two days.” Gamma promised and the two parted ways. Bossman called Kip and the dog followed him back to the tavern. Once there, he walked into the main room where Nalki was working on the floor. The last thing Bossman wanted was another argument with Dusca or Katara. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

“How goes the repairs?” he asked Nalki who was sprawled out on the charred floor, measuring the damage.

“Just great!” the Earth Mage seemed to be as chipper as always. “I’ve been talking to this fine lady.” He gestured to Olive and shyly waved. “I was telling her about the time I traveled to Ka’Zaria and got robbed. I still can’t believe I got back, you know? I had to live on the streets and let me tell you, it’s rough out there! Anyway, when I got back, I scared the mage magic out of my boyfriend. He thought I was dead! But we had one happy reunion and even better marriage week and…”

Bossman continued to listen to the story and took the empty seat next to Olive. The young woman looked distant and unsettled like she had the night before after saving the bar. But there was something about the fear in her eyes that told Bossman something else had happened. But now was not the time to ask. No, it was time to enjoy a story and forget one’s troubles. Even if only for ten minutes, for trouble soon found Bossman once more.

 

Something about Nalki’s story struck Olive. She couldn’t place the sensation beyond a feeling of external deja-vu. Somehow, deep down, she felt as though she could feel the way Nalki felt. Alone in a strange place, a threat of violence, fear of never returning home. She felt Bossman’s eyes on her as he sat down. She flushed and looked down at the ground. Something about this feeling embarrassed her. Perhaps it was the not-knowing or it was the fact that she sat here just listening to Nalki while Dusca, Katara, and Ravenna work around the tavern.

Olive focused on the mage in an effort to calm herself. One thing that struck her was just how right Ravenna… or rather Alisso’s assessment of him was. Nalki is innocent, and if she permitted herself, adorable as well. Despite the stiffness of his clothes, the dirt crusting his beard and hair, and the semi-mad look in his eyes when he focused, he radiated a youthful joy. From prone, Nalki rolled over and bounded up to his rear end. He wound his measuring fabric around its spindle and chewed at his lip in thought.

“What’s the damage?” Bossman asked. Olive jumped at his deep voice tried to mask it with an awkward giggle. No one looked her way, thankfully.

Nalki sat the spindle down and scratched his head. He looked down at the black-and-grey crater before him. “It’s strange,” he looked up at the ceiling, “I’ve never seen this much concentrated fire damage that didn’t spread further through the building.”

Bossman beamed and patted Olive on the back. She forced a smile.

“That’s thanks to Olive, here. She saved the place! Her water work was a true piece of art, let me tell you.”

Nalki looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You’re a mage? I can think of no other way to explain this.”

“It… It just sort of happened. I wasn’t thinking, I just acted.”

Nalki nodded sagely. “Are you licensed, dear?”

It was the third time today someone had asked her, yet it surprised her all the same. Why did everyone care so much about her magic? All she did was put out a stupid fire. It didn’t warrant all of this attention.

“No…” Olive whispered.

“She says she can’t keep a mentor,” Bossman said. Olive blushed at that. It was one thing to share in private conversations, but to have it told to strangers was deeply depressing. Her weak, insufficient magic a constant reminder of her failures. But Nalki perked up at this.

“Would you mind joining me down here?” He asked. There was no malice in his voice. No mockery. She agreed and joined him beside the crater and ashen remains of the municipal mage.

“Do you know what wood is composed of?” He asked.

“Carbon, mostly,” Olive replied. “I don’t see the point I work with—”

“Water, I know,” Nalki cut her off. “Aside from carbon, wood has a high concentration of hydrogen and oxygen. And while I can work with those, it is significantly harder for me than carbon or the base metals.”

Olive slowly caught on and felt a sudden dread. She recalled her previous attempt at study, the biting words of the woman she looked up to all but calling her inept. But Nalki wouldn’t berate her like that, would he? He seemed so calm, so kind.

When Olive didn’t respond Nalki held a hand out. She felt the ether slowly radiating out from his palm in warm waves and longed for that level of precision, that degree of control.

“Put your hand over mine,” Nalki said. Olive looked up at Bossman who studied her every move with a jarring intensity. She opted to focus solely on Nalki for now and placed her hand over his. Nalki’s ether soothed her skin yet tingled the nerves in her hand all the same. It was oxymoronic. Icy and hot all at once.

“What we’re going to do would normally take me trice as long if things go smoothly,” Nalki said.

Olive nodded. Perhaps it was from the calm of his ether, the steadiness of his voice, or the evidence of her own prowess at her feet, but she felt a small confidence bubbling from within.

 

Nassim stared at the ceiling for a long while after Ravenna left him. He couldn't decide if it was the wound, the ratcatchers, or this infernal mattress that was too soft and comfortable that kept him awake. It's the way it hugs you, he thought, the way it won't let you run. Won't let you escape. He hated it. And yet, he didn't hurt as much. "The little things" he muttered to himself. "One must appreciate the little things."

When he tried to roll to better position a blanket, he was reminded sharply of what he actually needed to do. The wound had stretched and split. He could feel a warm ooze on his right oblique muscles, and it wracked his whole body. Eyelids forced closed; teeth clenched as if to squeeze the pain free of his mind. When it subsided to anything less than a hot poker, Nassim slid carefully out of bed and up. A fresh red blotch glistened on his new small clothes. He took off the shirt and used it to stifle the flow. One would first notice the wound with his shirt off. It was black with blood around the small one-inch-long incision. Blood oozed thick like blackberry syrup. The shirt ate what wasn't coagulating. But once the wound was covered, one would notice Nassim himself. His skin gleamed a vampiric white, yet rippled with stories of near misses, bad luck, and hard life. Slender and somewhat muscled but ravished with a hundred scars. A life of a thousand cuts.

A hook needle lay with thread on the table as asked. Bossman was anything but a proper host with understanding greater than any high lord mage or scientist. Or maybe the girl knew, he thought. He breathed slow as he took the needle and let the flames of the small apartment's hearth kiss the iron. It heated, then moderately cooled before he began his work. Nassim's grimace would turn wolves from a fat rabbit. The heated metal poked through pinched flesh grotesquely. His breaths held in his chest despite his efforts to release them. This one had been left undone for too long.

Suddenly, Dusca burst through the door. She shut it quickly behind her and whorled with the speed of a child's top on him. "Now that Bossman's out, you listen to me goo..." her voice trailed as she saw what he was doing. Without speaking, she took the needle from his weakened fingers, with a small bit of force, and set to work. She lifted a small branch from the excess firewood and set it forcefully in his mouth. "Bite."

Nassim bit. And bit. And bit. His face screamed with silent anger, staring rage filled eyes at the ceiling. Teeth nearly busting through the branch. There were only a couple stitches to mend, but the pain of an unattended wound sent him into his own memory.

***

A large cart unloaded itself in the town center two ratcatchers. Nassim frowned. Usually, it was three. Have I been winning? he thought with a deep hook in his already distempered face. He shook his head. I haven't been winning in fifteen years.

Nassim knew exactly why they had stopped here. The orphanage. More children for the labs. In the last year or so, he had heard the rumblings. He'd broke enough legs and arms, splintered enough fingers to get an idea of it. The scientists were searching for something. Someone. A lieutenant once told him they were looking for a specific trait. And children. It had to be a child. In every child's face he saw Elaine. He watched as they played in the street and saw only her, a master with the vice bending metal to her favorite designs with the ease of a savant. That's why they were most interested in her when the sentenced smeared his family name. Why they consumed her before he could even get a handle on managing any life in the labs. Her brain was apart on a table long before they told him she wasn't coming back. Teeth-barred, his displeasure turned to its usual hate. This contract for ratcatchers he would do for mere coppers he decided. Free if he didn't have to eat.

Sitting rumbled like trash against building and cobblestone in the shadows, Nassim watched them through his hood. He was all but invisible. The men conversed shortly a plan, then trod forward toward the orphanage. One to the front, one the back door. "For runners" he growled. When they were both past his position, he launched like a cat down alleyways. His run was silent on thick calloused feet. In moments he found himself stalking mere meters away from the back guard. The walking pipe slid out from under his robe. One slow step at a time he crept, his pipe moving with proportional speed horizontally in readiness for strike. The children screamed in the building and a great raucous crash echoed out from its windows. Nassim's muscled tightened about to strike. Thena woman on the street frantically screamed "Rust!"

Both the ratcatcher and him turned towards her sharply. His face was disbelief in local betrayal until he saw her. An outstretched arm pointed not to him, but behind him. He whipped his head back behind him to view a ratcatcher in black leather armor bearing down on him with sword in horizontal swing. The third one he should have known was always there. The man roared through gritted teeth "Ruuusstttt!" Nassim swung his pipe stick a full hundred eighty degrees behind him and knocked the blade from running through his face by mere centimeters. The men filled with hate fought and parried attacks in a flurry. Full bore they fought until something hot and warm glazed Nassim's side. A blade pulled out of his skin. Nassim's eyes followed the arm up to face the other guard. He had been a fool and forgotten he fought two men. A pommel for the dark armored man struck Nassim in the head and he fell to the ground.

"I finally got you, rust." The dark armored man spat on him. "Finally put an end to this charade."

The man walked towards him and raised his sword. When the blade came crashing down, Nassim rolled free. It pinged loudly against the cobblestone. Off-balance, the man fell forward. Rust kicked the other ratcatcher aside the knee, breaking the joint. The ratcatcher screamed in agony, while the armored one screamed in rage. Nassim was off in a run before the armored man could even regain balance.

Stupid. A stupid fool I am.

***

Dusca had finished and cleaned it long before Nassim opened his eyes. Her face was near his. She looked him straight in the eyes. Then her eyes slowly wandered down his torso, stopping at scar here, a scar there. Sometimes even at a discolored skin spot or muscle she didn't expect. With each event she passed her eyes grew wearier, then looked back at him. "Dress and rest," she sighed. "You can stay as long as you need." She stood and left expressionless.

Nassim stared at door she left for minutes longer. Eventually he lay down to stare at the ceiling again, but sleep came easily.

 

The crystaline chandeliers, each encircled with several layers of candles, hanged over the ceiling. Patterns of tree-like branches were etched along its fine marbles which intertwined and grew more complex as they lead to the back of the throne room, where the queen patiently waited.

Curtains of royal purple enveloped her throne like a cloak. Its rich fabrics reflected the glow of the hundreds or so candles flickering along the slow passage of time and the silence it brought.

Queen Milena drew a deep breath. Then at long last, the doors to her throne room opened. Two men stood behind their towering panels, Hemios—The High Mage—and Barnabas—The High Scientist. The scientist wore a heavy white coat, and the other pitch black robes.

The two men walked into the room and gave their due bows to the queen. “Your Majesty!” they greeted her in unison. “We have returned with news about the incident at The Wooden Ladle.”

“Do go on,” the queen, unimpressed, played around with her dark curls.

Hemios took the lead. “It’s as we feared. The incident was no ordinary one.”

“He speaks the truth,” added Barnabas. “Roman Demid was most unusual.”

The queen continued to wrap her curls around her fingers. She straighned her posture and looked straight ahead to the two men. “Is a malicious third party involved?”

Barnabas, firmly standing at his feet, answered. “We believe so. Roman was an ordinary mage. Yet his power far surpassed that of his class.”

“Blue fire,” said Hemios. “It’s a highly advanced fire-style spell. The most devastating of its kind. The likes of Roman could not achieve it. Not on their own.”

“And that takes doing. I am still studying concepts of amplification. Whoever backed Roman far surpasses our understanding on that domain, Your Majesty. It could be revolutionary technology, even. Something yet to be seen. For that to be demonstrated in the soil of our kingdom”—Barnabas paused for one long, unbearable second—“must mean malice.”

Silence followed the conclusion. The queen, staring outward her vast throne room, remained still. So did Barnabas, Hemios, and the two guards always by her side. Guards that she hardly made use of.

Queen Melina smiled. Then, that smiled burst into a short laugh. “Very well…” she stood up. “If it is war they want,” the ground beneath her feet started to shake, “it is war they’ll get.”

Hemios and Barnabas did not dare to move. The queen’s smile grew into a wide smirk, and the stairs before her cracked as the seismic waves intensified. “I am afraid of no soul,” she declared. “And we, as a kingdom, will crush anyone who dares interfere with our affairs. Lands will be sunk!” she swiped her palm, tearing a rift across the ground. “And nothing will remain standing.”

She lowered her arms. The shaking subsided. Splinters of ceiling and clouds of dust rained around her.

Hemios spoke up. “What are your orders?”

Melina walked down the fragmented stairs and came closer to the two men. She glared them straight in the eye. “Find them,” she said, “and bring them to me alive. I care not about how as long as it is achieved. Failure is not an option.”

The two men bowed and said in union, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very good.” she walked past them and onwards the doorway. “I will be in the training grounds. Do not disturb me, for I might mistake you for a target.”

Barnabas and Hemios didn’t look behind. They stared onto the rubble and the cracks as their queen made her loud exit—by destroying the door. Its pieces crashed on the ground and thunderous laughter echoed from the halls.

As soon as that laughter grew sufficiently fade, the two men turned to each other.

“It’s your turn,” said Hemios.

Barnabas pointed a finger straight to his nose. “No, it’s your turn. I fixed the throne room last time!”

“What are you talking about?” he raised a brow. “Besides idiocy, do you also have memory problems?”

“Idiocy!” laughed Barnabas. “Watch who you are talking to. I am the High Scientist.”

“And I am the High Mage.”

“You can’t even fix a broken throne room. Some high mage you are! High is only your ego.”

Hemios clenched his palm. “You’re fortunate that the situation doesn’t permit for much time, otherwise, I’d put you in your place. I’ll fix the cursed room. You have Roman in your labs. Try to gather more info.”

Barnabas’s coat waved as he turned sharply for the broken door. “I have some ideas already.”

“Oh? And those are?”

Still on his way out, he spun one eighty degrees and said, “Let’s say that I like to… start from the root of things.” Barnabas smiled. “You’ll hear soon enough from me.”

He spun back around and exited the throne room, hand waving up in the air. Hemios, meanwhile, analyzed his words. “The roof of things…” he whispered. “He must mean the tavern.”

Then he thought more of it and realized that little in this life is a coincidence.

 

Hemios emptied his goblet of honey mead in one long gulp. The fortifying liquid diffused a warm feeling throughout his body. He sat in his stuffed chair in his chamber, contemplating Barnabas’ bold move, yet another attempt to bring all the accolades upon himself. It was easy for him to ride the countryside to that infernal tavern, but the trip would surely strain Hemios’ unused muscles. A whole day upon a horse!

But his mistrust of Barnabas could not be ignored. With a groan, Hemios lifted himself from the chair, adjusted his blue velvet mage’s robe, and made the walk down stone halls and stairs to Barnabas’ laboratory. As he passed by the barred cells, he glanced at the prisoners kept within. Roman Demid, the instigator of all the trouble, lay on his cot with his face to the wall. Oh, that had been a tough ether to contain.

Hemios continued on to find Barnabas at his desk in the back room. He turned to greet him, and beckoned him to come in. Instead, Hemios remained standing in the doorway. “When do you depart for the Wooden Ladle?” he asked.

“On the morrow,” he replied.

“Oh? So soon?”

“Duty calls.”

“Ah, yes, about that—” Hemios straightened his back with resolve, “—I plan to join you.”

Barnabas’ grin was sly and knowing. “Oh?”

“Yes, yes, I will ride with you there. I hear the hilly regions are lovely this time of the year.”

“Certainly. You may be of some use to me.”

Hemios popped his eyebrows at the condescension. “I have more knowledge of blue fire in my ass than you do in your whole body.”

Barnabas laughed, then said, “I seek not to understand blue fire, only to discover where Roman Demid got it from.”

***

The High Scientist and the High Mage, together with two guards, steered their horses on the bridle path along a ridge thick with trees and bush. Barnabas looked sideways at Hemios repositioning himself in the saddle. “How fares the backside?” Barnabas asked.

“Tip-top. Never better. If it were any more magnificent, it would be singing praises in heaven.”

“Oh, alright … I thought it might be that knowledge of blue fire you store there letting itself be known.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

***

On the ridge thick with trees and bush, a flat slab of grey slate along the bridle path protruded out and over the river below. Katara lay on her back on this table-rock, gazing at the leaves overhead, rimmed in gold by the shafts of light breaking through. She wondered, if the leaves let the sunshine inside, what did they do with it? And why don’t human beings absorb sunlight, too? The only things people took in were food and water. But—yet—both trees and humans grew. Everything alive grew. She supposed that people grew because they ate. So, did the trees somehow use the sunlight for the same purpose? But their roots branched underground. What went on beneath the surface? Maybe that was where plant food was found—

Katara’s thoughts were interrupted by the neigh of a horse, and then the soft thud of approaching hooves. She got on her feet, and waited for them to appear, emerging from behind the dense foliage. Suddenly, four strange men on horseback were before her. They halted their horses and regarded her, as she regarded them. Her gaze wandered from one face to the other, and settled on the good-looking man with long, dark hair, dressed in leather tunic and pants. A shiver went up her spine, and her jaw dropped.

“Don’t be alarmed, young miss,” he said. “I am Barnabas, the High Scientist, and this man here is Hemios, the High Mage.” Hemios bobbed his head in greeting, and Barnabas went on, “We seek a landing place—the Wooden Ladle. Do you know it?”

 

Alisso made his way downstairs to the tavern kitchen with the half-finished mug of soup. He dumped the remainder and cleaned the cup along with the other breakfast dishes. At first, he was worried Rust had found his way here. But on the other hand, it was a blessing. Now Alisso could state the two were even, in a way. Even though he was grateful for Rust for saving his life, Alisso did not like being in debt to anyone.

Especially Rust.

We're finally even. You saved my life and I’m saving yours by not ratting out your ass to Bossman.

Once done, he went to find Bossman to ask how the repairs were going. If Nalki was actually working, not just talking, it was possible the tavern could open again that night.

When Alisso walked into the main tavern room, Bossman asked what he needed while the woman in blue quickly left. I bet she’s still scared of me. Shame. But it’s her choice.

“Are we opening tonight?” Alisso asked, half-listening to Nalki’s story. The repairman had not paused his tale when Alisso came into the room. “I mean, how close is he to fixing this mess?”

“Now, now, be polite,” Bossman reminded him. “Nalki is working as quickly as possible.”

“Right,” Alisso did not believe him for a moment. “Anyway, I think scared Olive. Kinda feel bad about it.”

“Don’t worry,” Bossman slowly stood and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll go talk to her.” The older man left Alisso to stare down at Nalki who was still cheerfully chatting away.

“Stop talking and get to work,” Alisso ordered and sat down in the now empty chair. Before Nalki could reply though, the door to the tavern opened and Katara walked. Behind her were two people, one dressed in a white tunic and leather and the other in rich purple mage robes. “Hey, we’re not open.”

“Don’t worry,” the one in the tunic said, gesturing for Alisso to sit down again. “We won’t be long. I merely wish to speak with the owner of this tavern.”

“Sure, whatever.” Alisso glanced toward the kitchen doors. “Hey, Bossman! We’ve got guests!”

“Tell them we’re closed!” the man called back moments later.

Alisso glanced at the pompous strangers. “What he said. We’re closed.”

“We are the High Mage and Scientist, Advisers to the Queen,” the mage said, glancing at the other. "We merely wish to speak with the owner of the tavern. Would you please get him?"

"Fine, fine," Alisso muttered and wandered off into the kitchen in search of Bossman, leaving Katara to deal with the unwanted guests.

 

Sitting at the desk in the attic of the Wooden Ladle Olive had a clear view of the wilderness on the outskirts of town. She ran up here to chase off the feeling of shame roiling through her. Despite her concerns, she opened herself up to someone and fumbled it, again. She had tried to follow Nalki’s instructions, infusing his ether with her own. The outcome was supposed to be wood, solid floor growing up from the crater as if no damage had been done at all. Instead what they created was a sort of spongey substance with the texture of mushrooms. Nothing remotely suitable for a tavern floor.

She had looked up to see Bossman staring down at her intently. His expression was indiscernible, but Olive assumed the disappointment she felt was reflected in his eyes. Nalki was kind, however. He deftly severed the amalgam from the wood and set it aside. Then, he let out a soft chuckle.

“This reminds me of that time my cousin and I were assigned to repair a trade ship mid journey across the great sea…” His voice trailed off as Olive lost focus. She heard the kitchen door open behind her and as she saw Ravenna—or was it still Alisso? She couldn’t know—approaching. It was all too much. She couldn’t bear another person looking at her shoddy craftsmanship. So she quickly got up, and left the way Ravenna had come.

Ignoring Dusca’s frustrated question, asking where Olive was off to, she shut herself away in her room, where she now found herself. She softened, however, at the sight of freshly laundered clothes, new to her, folded neatly on the bed. It was a kindness she felt she didn’t deserve, but appreciated regardless. If she couldn’t figure out her ether, though, she did not know how she could possibly repay them.

There came a knock at the door. “Go away,” Olive said, weakly.

“Are you decent?” Bossman asked.

Olive considered lying, but didn’t. “Yeah,” she mumbled.

Bossman let himself in, softly shutting the door behind himself. Olive didn’t turn around. She watched in the distance as Katara led two men on horseback toward the tavern. They looked official, Mage and Scientist class respectively. That certainly wasn’t good. She thought they had heard the end of it when Araspeth’s crew carted off Roman, but what other purpose could these men have for coming here?

“Ravenna thinks you’re scared ah’ her,” he said. “What’s that about?” He walked over and leaned against desk, his back toward the window. The men grew closer.

Olive shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. I just… I told you I’m no good with my ether. I thought I could do what Nalki asked but I made a fool of myself.”

Bossman furrowed his brow and looked at the young woman with a serious expression. He opened his mouth to talk when Ravenna yelled out from below.

"Hey, Bossman! We’ve got guests!”

The old man frowned and ran a hand over his face. He whispered to Olive, “I swear, it’s never ending with these people.” Then he shouted back to Ravenna. “Tell them we’re closed!”

He looked back to Olive. “You haven’t disappointed anyone,” he said. His voice has such sincere finality that Olive felt struck by the words. When she didn’t reply, Bossman continued. “There’s a lot you could learn from Nalki. Sure, he’s a bit of a talker, but he’s talented and he’s clearly taken kindly to you. Let him teach you.”

“And if he gives up on me too?” Olive asked.

“He won’t,” Bossman said. This time with a soft smile.

Another knock at the door and Olive increasingly became convinced that while she stayed here she would get no true privacy. Bossman patted her sympathetically on the shoulder and answered the door.

Ravenna stood there, huffy and frustrated, her voice full of mockery. “Two men were led here by Katara. They claim to be the High Mage and Scientist and they specifically asked to talk to you.”

It was subtle, but Olive thought she saw Bossman’s back straighten and skin flush.

“Let’s see what they want, then,” Bossman said, leading the way down the stairs. He didn’t remotely try to finish the conversation with Olive, and that worried her.

 

@EFMingo skips his turn.

 

Dusca pressed her ear tighter against the kitchen door. Her father’s footsteps, treading firmly down the stairway, thumped in rhythm with that of her heartbeat.

There, on the other side, were two very powerful men. Two very, very powerful men.

Sweat dripped down her forehead. Her palm tightened around the door handle.

Their power and their ranks was not what scared Dusca. It was something else entirely.

Her father’s footsteps came to a halt.

“Well, well,” Bossman finally began, “The High Mage and The High Scientist. What pleasure do we owe your visit at our humble tavern?”

“Roman Demid,” said that voice. Yes, that voice. She didn’t mistake it. She couldn’t mistake it. She was sure of it. She was sure of it the first time. Yet, she listened harder. She had to confirm. She had to be sure.

“Yes, it’s about that case,” replied the other voice. The one that claimed itself as the High Mage. That one didn’t strike her as familiar. Not even a little bit. Friend? Acquantince? Brother? It went on. “We seek to clear up some… observations.”

“We know nothing,” Bossman asserted firmly. “This Roman person merely happened to dine at my place. That is all.”

“Nothing, huh?”

There it was again. Dusca’s arm nearly moved. She wanted to open the door. She wanted to see for herself. But just as she turned it, her whole body froze solid.

Katara was on the other side. If she barged into the scene now, and if her suspicisons were true, he was bound to recognize her. And then, he was bound to make other observations. Observations she wasn’t sure she wanted to exist.

Her breaths quickened, as did her mind. Her mind spun faster than those wind mills down the green hills, split by that silver river she’s forever known. The same river Katara has always known.

The river… a stream of water, endlessly rushing from down the country mountains. Dusca briefly recalled that storm from ten years ago. A storm that threatened to flood their community into a minature ocean.

Pictures of that day flashed through her mind. Water, chaotically raining down from the open heavens, smiting the land with purple rods of lightning which sweeped through the fields. Pure chaos from just water.

Water. The River. Chaos. Chaos creates distraction.

Dusca let go of the door. The bad memories faded into golden light. “The green window-staring brat!” she muttered to herself. Bossman gave her the attic. But to reach the attic, she had to go through the tavern hall.

“We’re not convinced!” exclaimed Barnabas. “And if necessary, we’ll use force. We always get what we want. You should know that about us.”

Dusca immediately dashed for the backdoor. Always got what he wanted? That’s not wrong.

But this time, she knew, it will be different.

***​

Olive stood beside the attic window, gaze cast outwards the vast hills. The now-red sun, dipped behind the big mountain the horizon, drenched her figure in scarlet rays. The noticable but not so loud voices from below her feet muffled past her ears—past her.

For a moment—and only for a moment—those sunrays reached deep into her soul and shed light into scenery from long ago. That of an orange ocean, drunk with the sun in its ripply, vast plane. A wave washed into the coast, rich in golden sand.

She turned to find someone by her side. A blurry figure. The figure dissolved and spread its darkness in a flash that brings Olive back into the present.

It was not the first time she recalled that scarlet scenery. But it was her first—and only memory—from a life she so craved to know.

The sound of a knock grabbed her attention. She spun towards the attic door to find nothing. Just those voices from below. Then the knock sounded again. She turned to find Dusca behind the attic window.

“Wh—“

Dusca gave another loud knock. Olive snapped back into reality and rushed to open the window. Her new employer breathlessly jumped inside and immediately latched into her shoulders. “You!” she toned in a whisper. “You’re a mage!”

“U-uh, n-no… I—“

“I don’t have time for games!” she shook her rapidly. “We have an emergency, you hear? Emergency! And I know you can use magic.”

“Ah, em, uhm…” Olive twisted her tongue several times before she composed coherent words. “I uh um, yes. But actually, no.”

Dusca shook her even more rapidly. “I know you can! Don’t you lie to me. Bossman told me all about it. You’re a klutz, but you can do it!”

“T-that! I can do it. But I’ll flood the whole tavern…”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what I want. Do it!”

“Wait a minute… why—“

Finally, Dusca stopped quaking Olive. She let go off her shoulders and looked straight into her with a stone cold gaze. “I can’t explain. I just need you to flood everything to create distraction.”

“A distr— f-for what? What will that do?”

“Surprise them!” Dusca urged. “After that, I-l’ll take the opportunity to hide. I can’t let them see me.”

“B-b-but why?”

“Don’t ask! They can’t be around Katara for long either. You understand?”

“B-b-but—“

“You understand?” Dusca repeated herself heavily.

“Y-yeah…”

“Good. I depend on you. Do not fail.”

Dusca went to hide. Olive stayed where she was and closed her eyes.

***​

By that point, Bossman and Barnabas were face to face. Bossman did not move a muscle. He stood his ground. “I have nothing to hide,” he said with a straight face. “I am telling you everything that I know.”

Silence followed and their eyes stayed still. Then, abruptly, Barnabas turned his back again with a little laugh. He took a good look at Ravenna, and then another at Katara. “She must be a relative of yours. Daughter? Granddaughter?” He asked without giving much opportunity for an answer. “It doesn’t matter. Hemios… do your thing.”

Hemios grunted. “Don’t order me around,” he whined, but nonetheless opened his palm towards Katara. Within a split second, she became encased in solid ice that reached all the way to her mouth. She struggled, and struggled, but little Katara could not even speak.

Barnabas laughed and faced Bossman once again. He still remained firm to his ground, but his face had gone visibly red. “One little squeeze and she’ll be minced! Do you have anything to add now?”

“She has nothing to do this,” he protested calmly. “Let her go. I am the one you want.”

“Oh, please don’t worry. I won’t mince her! Not if you’re telling the truth.”

“I am,” Bossman insisted.

“Hemios!” Barnabas made the biggest grin yet. “Come and perform your only notable invention—truth magic.”

“Shut up, insufferable swine.” Hemios came forward and raised his palm. “The only reason I am cooperating is because you’re acting in the interest of our queen.”

“Whom you’re infatuated with!”

“Do you want me to encase you in ice as well?”

“That wouldn’t be in the interest of our queen.”

Hemios grunted. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“Just do it already.”

Bossman, at last, stepped back. “I’m not—“

Hemios forced his way. “This won’t hurt. It’ll only last for a minute. A minute where you’ll tell us everything.”

“Unless you’ve got something else you want to say, old man!” Barnabas added. “It might just save the kid.”

Just then, the ceiling creaked as little droplets of water slipped past the planks. Barnabas’ smirk disappeared. “What the—“

And before they realized it, warm water violently rushed down the stairway and slapped Hemios, Barnabas, and Bossman straight into the corner. Hemios rushed to his feet and attempted to freeze everything except them solid.

But then, out of nowhere, his hand became grasped by someone. “You will not,” Hemios heard.

He then turned and saw her—the blue-hooded figure. Gamma.

“Who— Who are you?”

Gamma glowed with pure Ether, the levels of which Hemios had only seen in the royal family. “I am your worst nightmare,” answered Gamma. “Not them, but me. I did it all. I am responsible.’

Hemios jumped back along with Barnabas. “We’re retreating. Now,” Hemios whispered to his ear. “We’ll have to come back later.”

The air around Gamma distorted. “There won’t be a later. This is the end. I know what your queen wants with the gear fragments.”

Those words struck the two men like a hammer. But nothing more needed to be said. Hemios did a handmotion and spawned a smoke explosion. Everything dissolved in a smoky screen, and the two men fled behind it.

Gamma, however, did not follow. She turned towards Bossman and nodded. So did he. There wasn’t any need for it. Not now.

And then, she vanished Into thin air. The smoke slowly did as well, revealing a wet and once again messy tavern.

Bossman sighed. “Give me a break...”