Return to White River

     “Do you have a name?” Charrie asked.

     “I’m Ivan. Ivan Sokolov.”

     “Portia never mentioned you to me.”

     “She probably wouldn’t. I have a job that requires a lot of secrecy and stealth. Having my name and identity known is not good security.”

     “Yet you trust me with it?”

     The Yurble spared him a bored glance.

     “Honestly, Mr. Riddle. Given your…occupation I would tend not to. However, in my frequent exchanges with Portia via letter, she has expressed great trust in you. And somehow, you impressed the Tsar as well. Although I don’t exactly see…how.”

     “I suppose I should thank you for your honesty. I will admit, I’m not sure how I am supposed to respond.”

     Ivan waved to the tall and fur-covered guards outside the palace, who let them pass without incident. Once inside, they travelled through a maze of corridors and hallways. Ivan was silent, directing Charrie with a hand on the shoulder. Finally, they came to a set of silver gilded doors.

     “Please wait inside. The Tsar will be in shortly.” Ivan said, gesturing towards the handle.

     Charrie nodded, then entered the room.

     The room appeared to be a small office or study. A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and a small furniture set sat before the fire. Charrie noted the silver tea set on the small table beside the chaise, and the teabags sitting beside it. He placed a hand on the pot and smiled when he realized it was warm.

     He poured himself a glass of tea, blowing on it gently for a moment before sitting in one of the chairs. He looked into the fire for a few moments, then closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of it. He felt the hum of his magic, always vibrating under his skin. He could feel it pulsing now, like waves on the rough-hewn coast of Meridell.

     He flicked his wrist and felt the fire respond. Bright tongues of flame leapt towards his fingers, whirling and dancing. He could feel the heat and raging power of the fire within. He moved closer, letting it snake up his arm, dancing and leaping. He stood, trying to keep it away from the furnishings. With a cackling hiss, it curled around the back of his neck, and down his other arm, where he cupped it with his hands for a moment. Then with a smile, he knelt down, and allowed the fire to return to its cosy home in the fireplace.

     “Back to your home, old friend.” He whispered.

     “An amazing feat, Mister Riddle.”

     Charrie turned, smiling as he saw the Tsar enter the room.

     Tsar Nicolai Kozlov was an intimidating person to look at. Tall and bulky, with a heavy beard and long dark hair, the Pirate Gnorbu looked wild and fearless. A few scars married his face near jaded grey eyes that reminded Charrie of ice.

     “Not much of a feat, your highness. Fire does what she wills. As long as she likes you, however, she can be a fine companion.”

     The Tsar chuckled, then gestured towards the chair as he took a seat of his own.

     “You may dispense, Mister Riddle, with the formalities. I have never liked using them among friends. I hope I can count you among mine.”

     “I have no reason to call you an enemy. Portia thinks too highly of you.”

     “And see that you don’t. I’ve heard of those with…talents similar to yours. I would never want to count myself an enemy of any one of them.” Nicolai chuckled, then sobered.

     “Speaking of Portia, why are you not there now, in that village of yours? I am certain she would want you to be there.” The Gnorbu grabbed a cup, and began to pour himself some tea. He stirred aimlessly, waiting for Charrie’s response.

     “I was visiting my sis-”

     “Try again.”

     “Wh-?”

     “I said it once, do not make me repeat it. Do you not think I would not have YOU watched, along with Portia? She is my dearest friend. I know every childhood scar on her arms and legs, every horribly delivered joke from our teenage years, and the pain in her eyes after one of her closest comrades was taken away from her. Anyone who enters her life, I will know about. She may never have had a sibling, but I will always be the closest thing she has to one.”

     Charrie sighed, staring at his own reflection rippling in his cup.

     “Nicolai, if I am honest, I am...afraid.”

     The Gnorbu raised a bushy eyebrow.

     “Afraid of what?”

     “A lot of things, Nicolai. She doesn’t know many things about me, about what I…DO for a living.”

     “Although I do not exactly...agree with what you choose to do, who am I to question it? Your…gift, it was bestowed by the elements. It was given to you for a reason. Surely she would understand.”

     Charrie abruptly stood then. Setting his cup down with a firmness that caused a clink to ring through the air.

     “And as if that wasn’t enough…” he began, as he started to pace.

     “When I get around her…I feel…funny.”

     Nicolai smiled, resting his chin on his hand lazily.

     “Funny in what way?”

     “When I get around her, I never know what to say. Everything comes out…twisted. I want to tell her one thing, but then I’m afraid of disappointing her, so I say something else. I want to tell her about what I do, but I don’t want her to stop…looking at me the way she does. She looks at me like I’m…I’m…somebody worth knowing.” He leaned against the mantle, reaching one hand down and letting the flames curl around it.

     “Her very presence calms me. My magic, it is always…unpredictable. It has been this way since birth. But when I feel the most out of balance, she rights me. She’s the counterweight to my uneven scale. I cannot help but want to be…the very best around her. I want to be fair, I want to be kind. I want to be the person she thinks I am. If only because she deserves it.”

     Nicolai nodded, then set his tea down on the table lightly, looking pointedly at Charrie as he did so.

     “I am not a doctor, Mister Riddle. A scholar, perhaps, a good leader, depending on who of my citizens you ask. But a doctor, I will never claim to be. However, I do think I know of your…condition.”

     “Is it curable?”

     Nicholai chuckled, then stood.

     “It is already dusk, and will soon be night. I have arranged for a room to be prepared for you. Tomorrow, Ivan shall escort you to a place I think will…bring some clarity. Perhaps it will help you find the cure to your ailment.”

     —

      It was the wee hours of the morning when Portia stepped into the wooded glade. She’d taken a carriage from White River, insisting on riding non-stop overnight. The driver had protested, forcing her to stop in Cogham while he switched uni teams. Then they were off again, Portia sitting up with the driver, keeping her eyes open wide.

     She’d followed the wooden signs directing her towards the glade, listening carefully for any sound. There was only the sound of rustling leaves, the chirping of moaches, and the babbling of running water.

     Then, her ears caught the sound of a faint melody. She stepped further forward before she heard a shout.

     “Look out below!”

     She stepped back and watched with slight curiosity as a wood and rope ladder dropped from the branches above.

     “You’re early, but Lady Illusen will see you.” The voice shouted yet again.

     With a slight sigh, Portia began to climb. Upon reaching the top of the ladder, she spied where the voice had come from. A green-cloaked Shoyru stood before her, his face darkened with war paint. She observed the compound bow in his hands, beautifully carved with intricate markings.

     “Welcome, Mayor of White River.”

     “You know who I am?”

     “Lady Illusen said you were coming. The trees warned her of your arrival.”

     “Okay then. Lead onward, sir.”

     She admired the wooden walkway upon which she stood, and the various buildings nestled in the trees. All appeared to be made of wood, vines, and other materials.

     The Shoyru led her towards the largest building, then stood beside the entrance. She looked towards him for a second, then entered.

     Her eyes adjusted to the darkened room, dimly lit by glowing mushrooms. It appeared to be a brewing room. Portia noticed the various spices hanging from the walls, and small shelves full of other ingredients. But the person she was looking for stood at the centre of the room, slightly bent over a large pot.

     “Welcome, Provost Provoskia.” Illusen greeted.

     “Greetings, Lady Illusen.”

     “Forgive the mess, you caught me before my first visitors. I am preparing a new batch of potions to give to my questers.”

     The Earth Faerie smiled at Portia, dropped a small handful of ingredients into her mixture then grabbed a large ladle and began stirring.

     “My lady, I am here to ask for your advice.”

     “I supposed that would be the case.”

     “You know the entirety of the Meridell Woods.”

     “I know all of the forests in Meridell, from the Meridell Woods, to the Lightwater Forest, to Shadowglen Woods. There is not a tree in Meridell I do not know.”

     “Then it is safe to assume that you also know all of the thieves in the woods as well?”

     Illusen’s hand stilled, and her cheerful expression hardened.

     “Yes. Yes, I do. But why do you ask this? I do not take part in any of those things.”

     Portia lifted her hands in surrender.

     “I never meant to imply, my lady, that you did. But I have a problem with a thieves guild.”

     Illusen’s eyebrow raised.

     “Ixi Raiders, or the Eclipse Guild?”

     “Eclipse Guild. But how did you know?”

      “There are only three thieving outfits in the South of Meridell. One is not a threat to a town such as yours. The other two, one could be persuaded to take drastic measures if they felt the thirst for coin.”

     “And the other?”

     Portia saw the faerie’s eyes darken with anger.

     “The leader if you desire to call him that…he would order a raid of a town just for the pure fun of it. He is utterly cold and ruthless.”

     “He’s the leader of the Eclipse Guild, isn’t he?”

     Illusen nodded.

     Portia tucked a stray curl of her fiery red hair back under her cap, thinking.

     “The Guild that is not a danger…are they enemies with the Eclipse guild?”

     “Rivals, yes. The leaders of the guilds hate each other with a passion. They tend to have little scuffles with boundaries. But are they at war with each other? I would say not. But I am not the one to ask about that.”

     “Who could I ask about it? I may need their assistance, Illusen. I…I am willing to make an arrangement if needed.”

     Illusen smiled, her green eyes lighting up.

     “I may have someone you could speak to. But I will warn you, you must travel further into the woods. And do not, whatever you do, insult her friends. Or there is no hope that you will gain her assistance.”

     Thank you, Lady Illusen.

     “Just listen for the singing, Provost Provoskia.”

To be continued…