July 25th, 5AC

As the sun touched the horizon, Timothy’s slim frame emerged from an essence stone wall into a courtyard beneath its orange rays, leaving few signs of his passage behind. Just a bulge of stone, that rippled briefly bulged its surface before fully damping out.

It wasn't an official entrance, nor one that was written down anywhere but in Timothy's head. But hey, when you made a castle, who wouldn't add a few secret passages for private use?

And they only stayed private if kept his mouth shut. A secret untold and unused was the only kind that kept, so he made a point to use them sparingly, or not at all.

Timothy glanced around briefly, letting his physical eyes check for observers that his mana senses told him didn't exist. Ah, well. Habit. And not a bad one considering the variety of existing cloaking spells.

He walked across a small strip of grass, a deceptively narrow boundary between the order of regimented castle walls behind him, and the swirling chaos in front.

Between garden variety New Earth and La-La land.

He walked forward into that mess and grimaced as no path opened for him. The hard way then. It wasn't easy or particularly safe to navigate here. If here was even the right term. It wasn’t a place so much as between two places. A transitional existence left in constant flux by the incompatible realities that existed on either side of it.

If he waited a while, good manners would force Jenney to open the way. But did he really want to stand here like an idiot until then? No, he decided. Not today at least.

The twisting, pulsing madness of colors, mana and dimensional fragments wasn't anything man was made to see, turning his guts nearly inside out with nausea and his mind with confusion. But he wasn't just a man. He was a wizard and that was a different kettle of fish.

With a practiced twist his mind and perspective shifted into a different mode. One that filtered out most of the nonsense and left behind traces and impressions. Less detailed but also less likely to cause insanity.

Timothy took three steps forward, followed by two back. Twisting right, then left as needed following a tracery of ephemeral connections through the spacial maze.

With grace and confidence, he danced through nothingness on his way to Neverland.

Every once in a while he was reminded of how weird a place the world could be.

And Google, but he loved it!

Troublesome as it could be, it was even more inspirational. Jenney might not have made it intentionally, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. The natural byproduct of expanding her aura to contain her garden, she’d created a Realm.

That might seem a pretentious term for a smallish garden, but Underhill had too many connotations and he couldn't think of anything else that fit. So Realm it was. For now.

And it hadn’t remained small either.

So he danced through the edges like some kind of demented Macarena doll. Left food in, left food out… Whatever, but more important than moving, was listening! Feeling the pulses and shifts. The pure chaos caused by the walls of two realities rubbing against one another. Like sandpaper rubbing out a sharp edge, or a pair of fingers trying to pop a zit...

He carefully packaged that thought and pushed it into a mental box. No point mentioning it to Jenney. The world didn't seem to like what she'd done but it hadn't stopped her either. There was a lesson in that, but he wasn't sure what it was.

He slid through another twist of distorted space to face the dimensional membrane itself, a convoluted combination of thought construct manifestation and physical reality. Just not the normal reality.

Timothy sighed, without the chaos to mask it, it looked more like a Honey I shrunk the Kids crossed with Sleeping Beauty. A massive wall of thorny vines, piled and twisted against each other in a pile many stories tall, and my what thorns they were. That word just didn’t seem grand enough. Thorns were the poky bits on the side of a rose, at worst the needles on a cactus. Not 8-inch long, magically sharpened and reinforced daggers surfaced with an odd oily greenish-grey sheen.

Sometimes he felt like a male Thumbelina. Or an Alice who drank the wrong potion. Everything was so much bigger than it should be. He paused to work through that bit of whimsy, then let it go with a snort.

A bit too far.

He reached forward to touch one of the vines, careful not to even brush against the thorns. When a magic user was well known for her alchemy and the growing of exotic plants... No way in hell was he taking any chances.

She might not be the type for deadly poisons. But an irritant, now that was right up her alley. And not a short-lasting or easy-to-cure irritant either. No, it would be a maddening, incurable itch that would last for weeks.

With his hand on the vine, he pulsed his will forward. A polite knock, I'm here. Not a supplicant’s 'Please sir, may I come in?' but a family member's 'Do you have a minute.'

It would still take her a while, It always did. But where he waited said something. And he didn’t begrudge her the wait, she had a lot to take care of and could only split her attention so many ways.

In the meantime, he wasn't unhappy with the extra time. He traced the lines of mana and meaning that fed her boundary. It was an opportunity, and he treated it as such. Studying wasn’t just books or the classroom. It was the observation of interesting phenomena wherever you found them.

And the oddity of a spontaneous mana formation caused by a deliberate mana formation definitely qualified. More, it was an opportunity to see behind the scenes. To see the mechanics behind dimensional magic. When a cloth was sheer and smooth you couldn’t learn much from it. But find a frayed end to pull on, and you might just unravel the mystery.

He kept to tracing the outer lines, careful to restrain his probes to the lightest of touches. Spying was hardly polite behavior, but looking at the walls without trying to get through them? Jenney could hardly fault him for studying her front door. It was only fair since she was the one making him wait, wasn't it?

Timothy continued to trace them, marveling again at the semi-living constructs that were far more than just outer defenses. They were also mana taps.

He followed the swirling mana threads with glee. Tapping, he decided, was a very appropriate first impression. Like any persistent construct, it drew in and converted mana passively. The difference here was one of scale and opportunity. At most of 80 yards in diameter, it was a hell of a lot more surface area to draw from.

And what surface area it was. The dimensional boundary was a standing wave of mana. Chaotic, but constantly so in some ways. The mana types were broken down and while they swirled unpredictably, the types and quantities were fairly consistent. And she’d set her drains to take advantage of it.

He tapped his lips considering. Constructs claimed and contained mana. Mana and matter were linked. More, they were partially containing and at the same time being contained by each other. Mostly. There was mana without mass and mass without mana, but rarely for long...

Timothy shook his head. It wasn't a clear-cut and dried relationship. But here one specific perturbation of that relationship was on display. The mana in her aura was extremely dense. As was expected of a top-level Origin. But unlike every other persistent construct, hers was mostly immobile. Her roots were sunk and her choice made. The dense mana had plenty of time and stillness to create, reconnect or whatever the hell it did, but it wasn’t just mana now. Since there wasn't really room for the larger garden Jenney’d wanted, she’d ‘made’ room.

Constructs hardly took up physical space after all. His mind boggled still at the concept. Even after knowing it was possible, he knew of no one else who had succeeded. And many had tried.

Timothy watched for a while before sighing with regret. It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was innovative in the extreme.

But it also inexplicably left him sad. And that sadness did not come from judgment. There was a flavor to her aura... something he could feel even if he couldn’t explain.

And that worried him. Her aura, her intentions, had transcended the Field and become ‘real’. For some value of the term at least. The shapes and forms displayed here were indicative of her thoughts and mind. He’d like to make cracks about what a mass of thorny vines rejecting all comers said about her outlook, but that wasn’t it either. Everyone had defenses now. It wasn’t paranoia if the world really was out to get you.

But if it wasn’t the form that was pushing sad vibes out, it was the spirit. Isolation, stress and mild depression. It was an ulcer-inducing blend.

Timothy wasn't a hypocrite, he too existed apart when he could. But circumstances had conspired to drag him, kicking and screaming into constant social interactions. Or at least weekly. He was constantly on the lookout for new phenomena, new experiences and new opportunities to learn.

Jenney had made a hole and was pulling it in after her.

Oh, she wasn’t completely unconnected. There was a vast pipeline of good in and out of her Realm. Herbs and Medicinal materials in and the best healing potions in the Union back out. Not to mention large quantities of food.

But while goods came in and out, there were fairly few people welcome inside.

It was a painful irony that Timothy, a born hermit, was forced to teach classes and travel to set up new settlements while Jenney, the fun-loving hippie hid from the world in her own secret garden.

And not the silly bullshit irony of an Alana Morissette song. But Amy Winehouse levels. It was writing a song saying no to rehab then dying of a drug overdose. It was Cheser Bennington screaming to be put out of his misery, then doing it.

He poked at the vines again. Secret Garden hmm? Timothy wished his uncle had been in their group, maybe he’d be able to provide a key to this problem.

Or just a key to this wall. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get through. With enough time to study it, he was sure he’d find a weakness or three to exploit. But the amount of time involved would be prohibitive. Not to mention the likelihood of getting caught.

And oh, would that be a fun conversation. Jenney might abhor violence and lacked the willingness to kill intruders but that didn’t mean she was weak. In a constant struggle against beast waves, she’d eventually lose with that attitude. The Batman dilemma coming into its own. You can’t win if the other side will kill you, but you won’t kill them. They only have to get lucky once.

But she was family, and Timothy would not more harm her than she would him. That left the ball thoroughly in her court. A court where once inside not even Regi would be able to do anything to her.

And for those truly inimical invaders? Why it was good that she wasn’t alone. And her family was more than willing to take up the axe where she left off.

It was exasperating at times, her unwillingness to accept that violence was now a permanent and large part of their world. But she wouldn’t be Jenney if she wasn’t contrary.

If only- he let the thought fade as vines began to move. Twisting over and around one another like gigantic snakes in a pit. Snakes that compacted back slowly in a tightening dance to form an archway several feet deep, but backed by a solid wall of more thorns.

With a slight sigh, he closed his inner eyes tight, it was nearly impossible to look without touching, even for him. And when you touched something, it also got to touch you. With a slight shift, his aura, already tightly controlled and limited to his skin, grew opaque, sealing him in, and everything else out. Leaving him uncomfortably blind, but unaffected by the massive quantities of foreign mana lingering right in front of him.

Then he made it worse, a small hollow lead ball at his waist lit up with purple runes and another layer in the same color overlapped his aura.

Neither mana sight nor mana regen of any kind was possible now.

Then he began to walk forward into the waiting arch at a slow but steady pace. A pace the arch matched, thorns closed in behind him even as the back of the arch continued to open. A bubble in a sea of titanic strangling vines lined in sharp pointy objects. It was a damn good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic. Strangely, it was the sound that grated most on his nerves, a slithering, scratching, hissing cacophony all the more terrifying for being created by plants.

He didn't bother to complain and it wouldn't have mattered if he did. This wasn't about intimidation. It was an airlock. There was a term for pieces of foreign unclaimed mana inside your aura.

Contaminants.

Jenney limited how many and what kind of people or objects were allowed inside what was effectively an extension of herself. Timothy'd isolated his own aura for both their sakes. He had no desire to be converted any more than he’d wish the pain of conversion on her.

Not that it would be an easy thing to do, her claim was stamped into the very essence here. Both physical and magical.

It took another minute to pass through the boundary and he was unhappy to realize just how grateful he was to see sunlight glinting through in sparse rays. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but all the logic and familial love didn’t change the instinctual rejection that came with giving anyone that much control over his fate.

A simple catechism echoed through his mind. A trained response that acknowledged those feelings, but did not allow them to affect his behavior. Animals React, Humans Think. To be human is to rise above instinct. To be ruled by thought and logic.

He stepped out and froze. His breath left him in a rush as he stared at the vision before him. Did Eden once look this way? Maybe it wasn't so bad to be a pygmy in a land of fruit and honey.

Fruit trees intertwined with berry bushes and ground cover in every shape and color. Trees towered into the sky, sprinkling the land in spotlights that glittered through dust polen and water droplets. Even the bushes were twice his height and their berries as big as his fist. Multicolored and seductive, he had a sudden desire to eat until he couldn’t move.

Acai, Camu Camu, Guava, Jaboticava, Pitanga and Uvaia fought for first place in his sudden hunger. A shift of his head brought a looming zucchini plant into view. With gourds bigger than he was, it could have auditioned for Audrey 2.

He strolled through the verdant garden, stopping where he pleased and wandering wherever his feet took him. There was no point doing anything else and he'd just as soon enjoy himself. This place was the inspiration for the Threshold wards after all. No one would find anything here that Jenney didn't want them to. And if she did want him to find her? He could hop in place and still appear in front of her.

He stopped to pick a peach as big as his head and tried his damnedest to polish it off. He failed of course, but he didn't regret the attempt! With traces of juice dripping down his face he continued onward, towards what might be a bit of water.

Moisture dripped down on him in a nearly unending trickle, but without ever really seeming like rain while a thousand flowers perfumed the air in a medley that was far too harmonious to be accidental. And yet, even looking he couldn't spot any signs of deliberate planting. Everything had that unplanned look of the actual wilds, just orders of magnitude more productive.

Taking a second look, shaking his head before continuing at the same unhurried pace. Even if he couldn’t spot how he knew damn well it wasn’t wild. Even with his senses muzzled he knew many of these plants. Even used a few of them as reagents for spells or enchantments.

The pretty shrubs with crimson-edged yellow flowers were Fire Begonias. Fire aspected, digestive aids and a decent fungicide. In arcs around it were Indian Thistles. Purple feathery flowers raised high. Disease prophylactics and minor cleansing.

The very vibrancy of colors their flowers sported told him they were not ordinary variants. He could practically smell the mana coming off of them.

In another direction was a field of what looked to be thriving tomato plants, though a second look made him flinch away. Rocoto Chilis, though he wasn’t used to seeing them quite so vividly crimson before. His mouth burned just looking at their tempting, luscious, Ackbar red shapes.

He moved forward cautiously to find a series of four largish puddles. He refused to call the shallow-bottomed water-filled depressions ponds. Still good enough for his purpose, the peach juice residue was sticky and unpleasant on his hands. He touched the water first, leaving his fingertips inside it for a few moments, then moved on to wash his hands and face.

Even the ponds sported unordinary plants. White lotuses, Water Lettuce and a few Cattails.

He shook his head, impressed beside himself. It wasn't just the quality, but the arrangement. This was a formation. A spell built into her very aura from living reagents. The alchemic diagrams from before were petty and pathetic by comparison. Here living plants formed the runes, and their locations the shapes.

Cleansing, digesting, anti-disease and general health in sequence. If he was right, which he couldn't swear to without being able to see the mana involved, this was a sub-process to clean her personal mana. An extra, mostly automated self-maintenance cycle.

He'd never seen anything quite this extensive before, but then how many others had the need? Who else was crazy enough to take people inside their aura?

He walked on, looking with a completely different outlook. Now that he knew what to watch for, he spotted several more. Not because of any obvious pattern in their planting, but because the aspects involved were far too organized.

In between rolling hills, a small wetland of water-aspected plants steadily worked their way toward a change in climate. Shifting the temperature from fire and heat towards alpine. Cold weather plants and even ice graced the top of the hill. Micro-climates from arranging gradients of aspects with little to no directed mana required.

Brilliant!

A meandering walk away from the hill, he wasn’t dressed for the cold, brought him to a desert climate spotted with a variety of cacti. Between the two he even spotted what looked to be dual ice/fire mutated Agave. He wasn't much for liquor, couldn't afford the loss of focus with the amount of mana he handled daily, but that had to be valuable to a skilled brewer.

He shook his head and kept walking. Aimlessly following his. Pausing to enjoy a flower here, to pick a ripe tomato there. It was pleasantly relaxing after his busy day and he found his shoulders dropping as tension he hadn't realized was there, bled out.

Magically isolated, it wasn't a mana-based effect, but that didn't mean it wasn't magical. Was a perfect flute solo not magical? Was a masterful painting not magical? It might not be mana, but skill had its own magic and Jenney was a master.

He paused for a moment, as another plant caught his eye. Feather green fern-like leaves, bright yellow center to the flowers with white petals extending outward. Camomille. Good stuff, but added to the rest he was starting to wonder.

White lotuses were a symbol of peace, right? Peace, calm, healing, purification... All the nice things in the world, with no conflicts beyond fighting for sunlight. No threats beyond careful harvesting. Jenney's mission statement in a bottle.

Where were the stinging bees and Venus fly traps? The vampire vines and acid ferns? Where even were the blooming corpse flowers or death caps?

They weren’t here.

It was nice for a while, but something about its edgeless perfection became irritating if he spent too long here. Like a dream that was too good to be true and now he was looking for the catch.

And not finding it was just making that well-honed paranoia worse.

This was not his place. Its truths were not his. And worse, staying for any length of time would try to change that. That thought carried him onward as the light began to dim. He'd entered at sunset but this was not that natural occurrence. He’d been walking far too long for that. The light here was as much at Jenney’s whim as everything else.

She wanted a brilliant sunset, and here it was. As if painted the ever-present mist lit up in crimsons and yellows.

The already flamboyant greens, reds, blues and vibrant purples were inflamed with shades of orange and violet. The world gave a last hurrah to light and color, a small slice of heaven, before the inevitable night.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He was enthralled, slowing his steps to take in every last second of it, savoring the moment. Just because it was fake didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful.

Then it ended. The sun fully dropped and the darkness took over. For a few short moments, it was well and truly dark.

Then the night lights lit themselves. Light blues and greens of bioluminescent mushrooms and ferns lit up tiny private little halos of light, while mosses and fungi outlined the trees in neons.

At last, he passed beneath the florescent flowering arm of a 15-foot-tall berry bush. The flowers that dotted it glowed in the soft lighting, large white cupped shapes that foretold many more berries to come while their fist-sized spawn hid. Peeking out here and there from behind leaves and around branches.

Jenney’s shaded bower spread out in front of him. The berry bushes and trees not just surrounding, but enveloping it. Broad leaves intertwined with berry bush branches a green shingled roof and while it didn't look sturdy enough to withstand the ever-present drizzle, it was perfectly dry. As the master willed it, so it was done.

Why should she bother with physics and leaks?

The ground was carpeted in a soft, thick moss while the 'furniture' was shaped from exotic topiary. Chairs formed from twisted and coiled vines. Tables from massive mushrooms. Even the lights were red and glowing fire-aspected peppers. The heat he'd imagined earlier was no longer just his imagination. Not just light, but heat lamps. They glowed a deep crimson and cast the surroundings in a warm mysterious, even slightly edgy light.

Timothy walked in calmly, striding over to a favorite chair and letting out a happy little sigh as he sank into its impossibly comfortable grip. A grip that shifted and moved a bit to better fit his contours. He’d been invited to the VP’s office once for an award. That bastard's luxurious chase and lounge couldn't hold a candle to this!

From his seated, slightly reclined position he took his time to look around and appreciate the variety of life that harmoniously blended to make the nook cozy.

Variety and extravagance. So much value all in one place, he let out a sigh. Coco plants, life flowers, even a bed of daffodil garlic! The damn things were hard to raise after the change, and even he didn't have a steady supply. Wild garlic, in a place without the modern spice trade, was gold on the clove.

He’d like to say money didn’t grow on trees, but Jenney put the lie to that.

His eyes finally dropped to the tycoon in question. She reclined in baroque splendor. Garbed in a lightly embroidered sun dress, vibrantly colored fit to make a Paradisian blink, and gazing blankly into the canopy. Her own vine recliner, complete with colorful blue and violet flowers, embracing and supporting her supine form in green depths that spoke of affection, far clearer than any plant should.

A vine snaked off her chair to pick up a mug from the smaller mushroom table to her right and deposited it in her waiting hand. Yet another offered a similar mug to Timothy, which he accepted with a smile and a few words of thanks.

To the vine or to Jenney he kept it deliberately vague. He was never really sure which was which, or if there was a difference. Were they extensions of her will or living beings? Either way, he spoke thanks and accepted the obligations of a fêted guest. And let whoever pleased accept it. He took a deep breath of the slowly rising steam. Breathing in with extreme pleasure a luxury he very rarely enjoyed. Hibiscus tea, Jenney's own blend.

It wasn’t for sale. Not for any amount of coin. Not even for family. A frustrating fact that he had contested, to the point of damn near begging. Sure he could purchase some of the wild stuff and try to make his own. Or frequent one of the many tea shops.

It just wasn't as good. Jenney was talented in many things, but the art of tea making, while not strictly a defensive multiplier, was one that he especially valued.

He wasn't addicted. Of course not. He could stop if he really wanted to. He just didn't want to!

So he liked his tea, sue him.

Jenney wasn't interested in his money. Nor really in anyone else’s. She made nearly as much as he did with her healing and herbalism. No, the good stuff was reserved for bribes when money wasn’t enough to shift someone. She didn’t put it that way, of course. She claimed the tea was too good to profane with a price tag.

It being true didn’t fool Timothy. There were many truths, and she was an artist at telling the ones she pleased. And since it couldn't be bought, a small jar was one hell of a bribe when she needed something done.

He took his first sip of the thick and almost crimson liquid. A small sip, letting it linger for a time on his tongue, a small bite giving it body while the fumes assaulted the roof of his mouth and his taste buds. Both of which promptly surrendered in ecstasy.

He held it there for a few seconds, then let it roll back over his tongue to get the full effect. At every step, the taste shifted slightly. Till it hit the back of his throat and left a warm, pleasant burn behind.

Like paintings, gardens, garlic and music, here too was magic, even without mana. It was beauty, it was grace, and what's more, it was delicious!

What more could you ask for?

He glanced again, with greater appreciation this time, at the surrounding plant life. In particular, at the four mutated Hibiscus trees that towered at the four corners of this place, a riot of colors gracing them in almost royal grandeur. Not just the red of his tea but yellows, pinks, tans and purples.

They’d been in her care for less than five years, but between her intent, constant use and large quantities of mana, they’d become something far more than they’d been born. More perhaps than nature may have intended.

But if so, then fuck nature!

He snorted and gazed at them longingly. They weren’t that tall. Shorter in fact than their naturally occurring cousins. Somewhere around twenty feet instead of the twenty-five of a mature plant. Which was surprising because they’d been larger than that once. Every time he saw them, they shrunk a bit more. Not short, but perhaps concentrated.

They were exploding with energy, with life and flavor so much more intent than their giant wild ancestors. Like an over-sized bonsai tree. Maybe someday they would be. He wondered what that would taste like…

With a start, he wiped a bit of drool from his chin and looked away. He'd love to snag a cutting. He let out a sad sigh and dismissed the idea. It would be nice to have his own source, but the tea was a blend, and he didn't have a clue what else was in there. Nor was he much of a gardener. Black thumb, not green.

All of which was pointless to worry about, because Jenney wasn't letting anyone touch her babies.

No, he had his eyes set on one of those little gift jars. Only she never seemed to pick him for those favors. Dammit. He only got to drink when he visited. Then again, that might be the point.

Maybe she wanted to see him more often. Could that be it, beneath her surly attitude and isolationist borders she really did want some company?

It was a nice thought. So nice that he’d treat it as true. But it was equally likely that she just enjoyed being a pain in the ass.

He let it go, trying not to look at the ambulatory vine that was even now adjusting a teapot on a small stone stove. A bit too much like tentacles...

He suppressed a small shudder as the vineticles beneath him slithered about enough to provide an armrest. He wasn’t going to be able to unsee that now…

He focused instead on Jenney. She was a large woman, built like a lumberjack and with a blocky face to match. He'd heard her called handsome, though usually only when someone wanted something. Pity, they would have done far better to flat lie and call her pretty.

She looked a great deal like da. An unfortunate occurrence considering the man's granite block stature. What was impressive, even awe-inspiring on a middle-aged man wasn't kind to a young woman. Or even a not-so-young woman. There was too much strength in her looks to be pretty.

He took a second look and winced. Or at least there usually was. Under the dim pepper lights, she looked surprisingly vulnerable and he forced himself not to demand an explanation. Are you hurt? Who did it? Give me a target!

He let it go. She'd tell him if she wanted to. Besides, on a second look, he could make a good guess. He didn’t need to read her aura or follow a mana line to recognize strain and overwork. He’d seen it in his own reflection more often than he cared to admit, but not to this degree. But it made him wonder, and his ever-active mind started putting several pieces together. Bits and pieces he'd noticed on the way in, even at a level below conscious thought. He wasn't liking the picture they painted.

That chaotic borderland, that standing wave of rejection was bigger than he remembered it. Not by much, but enough. Add that to an unwillingness to come to Ma’s home-cooked dinner and the exhaustion he’d felt after she’d expanded down to the sewer towers.

Even the way she was hiding her left arm in a baggy sleeve instead of grabbing her mug with both hands like she normally did. All was not right in this pocket paradise.

He'd wondered. Her path and this garden were incredible achievements. Groundbreaking and spectacular in a way that was hard to describe to non-mana wielders. She was one of very, very few actual tier 3's in the union. Breaking through the bottleneck by manifesting her aura.

Throw in the dimensional effects, and the Tardis style bigger on the inside, and he'd always wondered at the price. Nothing was free in this world. Especially not magic advancement.

Still, he held his tongue. He was no hypocrite and his recent thoughts about Merry came to mind. Good or bad, at least be competent... It hurt to see his words return to bite him. Jenney was incredibly competent, even her detractors couldn't say otherwise.

He disagreed on nearly every level, from what she chose to focus that competence on, to the directions the Hold should take and even how they fit into the new environments. But he could not deny that the- cough- fruit of her hands put her in a category of her own.

How could he begrudge her the choices or the price she paid for them? She followed his golden rule to the T here. Do what you will, but pay for it in full and upfront.

Refusing to continue beating the same dead horse, even inside his mind, Timothy tried to recapture the feeling from earlier, of living in the moment. The moment and the stunning mug of tea that went with it. The silence lingered. A bit surly at first as Jenney waited defensively for whatever imagined message she thought he had.

He refused to guess what that might be, and in time she apparently figured that out as well, letting the surliness bleed away. Even before he finished the cup, there was a quiet shift and the silence became comfortable and congenial. Just two siblings enjoying a cup and a wonderful night.

Timothy reflected on the damn good advice James gave him years ago. Advice that had proven itself true more times than he could count. You can't fix other people's problems. Very rarely you could provide a hint or three that would let them fix themselves. The rest of the time all you could be was a willing shoulder and an attentive ear.

If they were so easy to solve they wouldn't be problems.

Despite that, ‘all’ was not nothing. Sometimes that shoulder was all that was really needed.

At last, she spoke. “You appreciate my garden.” She mused, statement rather than question. “Not just for what it's worth, but for what it is. For the simple beauty of its flowers and the taste of its produce. Not the mana densities and growth potential. Just the plants for their own sake. I wish more could see through that lens.”

He decided to risk a question. “Don’t you appreciate it? Don’t your apprentices?” She had a fair number of them at this point and could have had far more if her standards were lower. What Hold didn't want a source of healing potions and perhaps even a fairy garden of their own?

Not that that was likely. If Jenney was having trouble with it as the creator of the path, then no one else had a chance. The potions were possible though, and Jenney had made a great deal of political capital out of offering both the methods and the training for free. And to people from many holds and walks of life. They just had to have the right mindset and outlook.

He sometimes wondered if they also wanted to take advantage of her egalitarian outlook and notoriously loose lips. He pushed that thought away as soon as it popped up. It was unworthy of him.

“I do,” She looked around languidly but with real joy in her eyes, joy that faded a bit as she came back to the second part of his question. “And some of my apprentices do. I think it’s harder for the young. Always in a rush to go out and do something! Something big and impressive and important! Never willing to take the time to stop and enjoy the present.”

There was nothing he could say to that, she wasn’t wrong. Every student he had had a bit of that in them. You didn’t find your own awakening without help unless you had ambition in spades. It was mostly a good thing, a drive to go out and improve your world. It did leave them ill-suited for contentment.

She stared into the distance for a time, “It won’t work.” she mused, as much to herself, he imagined, as to him. “You have to love what you do. Love the plants, love the magic, love to feed and heal the world for its own sake, not for recognition or power. My way won’t work for those who are in it for fame, glory or coin.”

Timothy silently nodded, philosophy and worldview weren't separate from magic. Yet another reason to have as many Paths as possible. A good fit wasn't a guarantee. It was more than elemental affinities or goals. You had to resonate with the creator, part experience and part outlook.

Of course, even the best guardian fit was still a jacket from the rack while pathfinders got bespoke suits. You never could get a perfect fit for the followers because the path wasn't just spells and specific structures in your aura. It was based on hopes, dreams and the life lived by its creator.

No, Jenney couldn't just turn out magic gardeners. They'd have to accept more than her spells. They'd have to accept her beliefs, at least in part. Her worldview and ethics were as much or more important than the proper way of watering a gourd, peeling a ginger root or when to add the nightshade to the pot.

He could imagine that was a difficult pill to swallow. He loved her, shared a childhood and the aches and pains of early adulthood. He’d been there for her first breakup, and she’d been there for him when the first company he worked for went under.

And despite that, he had trouble tolerating her pacifism. All the love in the world couldn’t transcend basic common sense. But then, common sense couldn’t invalidate love either. Family was like that.

For children without those common ties, he couldn’t imagine it taking. Peace and nonviolence might work on humans, Timothy didn't believe that either but was willing to at least let it linger as a philosophy debate. It didn't work at all on beasts.

With children who grew up under a constant threat to their very existence, he could only imagine how that disconnect. More, they, including Timothy, actively indoctrinated those youths into a culture that was decidedly martial.

Fed a steady diet of pride in hunter teams and contempt for those who weren't willing to stand up and contribute. To be awakened and fight for your Hold was to have status. To refuse was to lose it.

Mostly. There were very few who could dance the edges of that prohibition and make it work. And Jenney was an Icon. A figure of power who fed and healed the people of this Hold since it first became a Hold.

History gave her a cachet that went beyond accusations of hypocrisy. While she might not participate in violence directly, the fruits of her garden, and the vegetables too for that matter, directly fed the war machine.

Hard to see food, growth potions and medical care for soldiers as being anything less than support.

He stopped woolgathering for a moment. Refusing to stay focused on the negative when there was a bit of hope in what he'd heard. “‘Some’ is not ‘none’. You found someone who really matches your path? Wonderful! Most have to settle for good enough. I've had no luck at all in that regard. And I’d really like to find someone good enough to take the sewer maintenance off my hands.”

She snapped her widened eyes to him, almost seeming surprised for a moment, before closing them and leaning back. “That’s true, I suppose. But I don't think of it that way. They aren't really successors. They can't be.”

She hesitated, then spoke. “I don't quite agree with you, and your fetish for absolute individuality. We have all stood on the shoulders of giants, and that doesn't make our own growth less individualistic.”

A bit of a non sequitur, where was she going with this?

“A true inheritor would have to be a pathfinder.” Ahh, he had the shape of it now, but he let her finish. People got angry when he pointed out that he knew what the rest of the conversation would bring, and could they just skip to the end of it? “Someone who can take my path and keep pushing it forward in their own direction after I'm gone. I've found a few guardians, it's true. Ones that resonate close enough to follow my path most of the way through the second Tier. They’ve learned most of what I’m willing to teach. Enough to pick up some of my potion work, gardening and herbalism. But none of them can even understand how their aura should shift. It’s not the same thing.”

He nodded, it wasn't a new position, though he hoped to discourage its adoption for a while longer. They needed as much variety as possible for the guardian's sake. Once they had that, then he’d have to cave. A few paths pushed miles ahead might benefit a Hold more than a thousand that dead-ended in low Tier 2.

In a few generations, they might have paths mapped through Tier 3 and beyond. But if that was all they looked at, then a great many guardians would be the next thing to useless.

Specialization was the only way for individuals. But societies needed a more generalist approach. Timothy hid a snort of contempt. For himself this time. He acted like it was even a question. Even Pathfinders would need an affinity for a path if they wanted to understand and hope to extend it.

The waiting stretched out, it could have been uncomfortably long, but it wasn't. He was relaxed, content, and even happy.

He held no expectations of success or failure. He simply was, existing in the now as a loving and sympathetic shoulder. A shoulder she would use, or not, in her own time.

“Ma was here earlier. Nagging at me to come to dinner. To go out for an evening on the town and maybe relax in the Baths. She doesn’t understand and I-” She broke off for a second, staring into space. “I can't seem to tell her.” She hesitated for a while longer, searching for the right words, then the damn broke and they flowed out in a flood “It's not because I don't want to! It's because I can't!” With a violent shudder, she tossed back her left sleeve.

The hand hidden within looked like it had gone through a blender. The dark browns and greens of deep bruising were bad enough, but the way she held the appendage and the way it bent back on itself wasn't natural. Her bones weren't just broken, They were smashed!

“I tried to leave the garden, just for a moment. Luckily I led fist first like a proper Mason. Oh, don't give me that face brother.” She barked. “It's healing. Slowly, I'll admit. Rejection is a hard concept to deal with. I’m making progress, it's just slow.”

He let out a sigh. It was her choice, he reminded himself. Even if, like them all, she made the choice near-sighted. Even if she wanted to go back now, he wasn't sure she could. The swirling rejection, her words, wasn't growing with the garden but on its own and it might not disappear even if she let the garden fade away.

“I don’t regret my choices, Tim.” She spoke, echoing his thoughts. “But I do miss some things. Crazy isn't it? I never really valued going out before realizing that I no longer can. Before realizing that I would never get to go out for a bit of shopping or a dip in the pools. Steal a bit of colcannon from the pot on the stove without Ma noticing. Maybe even catch a concert.”

Joy and sorrow fought within him. He hated having his name shortened. He always had, and so, of course, as young children do, she always used it when she wanted to get a rise out of him. But here and now the hated childhood shortening felt like a peace offering. It was a reminder of years past when she was his favorite older sister. The one who'd taken him out for hikes when he'd angered Ma. Who'd taught him to paddle a canoe. Who'd dropped by with a pot of soup when he was sick in college.

And perhaps it was a desperate cry for help. He was no stranger to the feeling he mused, thumbing the stump where his left pinky used to be. Sacrifices and magic went hand in hand. That didn't mean it hurt any less to see her suffer.

And maybe, in part at least, she didn't have to. “You're making some assumptions there Jen. And I don't think they're all true.”

“Oh? Are you going to show me some secret trick to get out of this? At the low, low cost of giving up all I've worked for! All I believe in? Just say what you think, you think it's garbage don't you?” She was shouting by the end of her questions, rage and pain united in a way he'd seen many times before. Dammit Ma! Both of them were too damn stubborn. They didn't push worth a damn, all it did was put their back up.

“No, Jen.” He kept his tone gentle. “I'm not one to beat a dead horse. I don't have a wand I could wave and fix all your problems. But that doesn't mean I can't suggest a way to deal with the symptoms. Just because you can't leave, doesn't mean you have to give up on all those things.”

“I can make you a small bath. If you want company, that's even easier. You don't know how curious people are about this place. Give them a chance to explore and you'll have more company than you can stand.”

“Offer it to a few musicians and have your own concert. If you don't want it to be private, then invite friends and family in to see it with you. Walking among the shops on the 3rd level might be a problem, but with the amount of money you make, I'm sure they'd be overjoyed to send salesmen by with demos and goods.” He’d work the isolating enchantments on the salesmen and musicians himself if it got that look off her face.

He hesitated, her face had regained a bit of a glow the longer he spoke, hope peeking through the exhaustion. It might be enough… “It wouldn't take me much effort to whip you up a kitchen and Ma wouldn’t turn down having her dinners here if you can’t come out.”

Hope and exhaustion disappeared together as her face shut down completely, eyes narrowed and back suddenly rigidly straight. “I don’t want your, or her, pity Timothy!” He leaned back from her suddenly biting voice in confusion. How did she get pity from that? Freaking women… “And don’t you dare tell Ma that I’m that desperate for company!” Ahh, that's where the trouble was. Cats with their tails stepped on as well as backs up. Neither willing to bend. At least anger was better than pain. He'd take it as a partial win.

“Alright, alright, I think you're acting damn silly sis, and Ma too. But I won’t tell her, that's your business. If you want a bath or the rest though, the offer’s open. I'll gladly arrange it.” Or at least arrange for an assistant to do the boring legwork.

“Hmph!” She crossed her arms and glared at him. Ya, should not call her silly, even when she was. Shut up and listen… right.

It took some effort, but he recaptured the attitude from earlier. Just wait and enjoy. Eventually, she sighed and uncrossed her arms. “I can make my own hot spring. It's a good idea and I thank you for it. I could also do with some music and company.”

The pulse of her thanks hit him, even through the isolation spells. Debts bypassed most defenses. That’s why they were dangerous! He consciously refused to act on it. Refused to hook and bind it as newfound instincts demanded. Instead, he twined it around his own obligation for the tea. Canceling them both.

Of course, just because he didn’t magically take advantage, didn’t mean he couldn’t try a little emotionally. Perhaps it was time to push his luck a little. “You know, Ma is mad for your tea. I'm sure she'd like a jar.” In for a penny, “Or two.”

She stared at him for a few long moments, mouth open in shock at his blatant impudence, then threw her head back and laughed. The laughing went on and on. She would have fallen from her seat if the vine hadn’t curled around her in a seat belt.

“Ahh, I needed that. Nice try Tim. You never were a good liar and misleading might not be your thing either. ‘She'd like’? We both know there’s no chance in hell that she'd ‘ask’ for anything from me right now.”

He grinned. “Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it!”

“And how much of it would get to her, brother dear? Don’t think I didn’t notice how you scarfed that mug down.”

“Scarfed? Is that all I am to you, a scarfer? I'll have you know that she would get at least half of whatever you sent!”

“Uhuh. I’m almost tempted just to repay the laughs you gave me.”

“Almost? Come on, make that a small yes.”

“No. Ma and I'll work this out on our own. You butt out of it. You hear me, Timothy?” Ahh, the dreaded ‘I’m your older sister and I know best’ tone. I know you of old.

“Fine, fine.” He aped a silly overly exaggerated shoulder shrug. Then sharpened his expression sharply, suddenly dead serious. “But please Jenney, do work it out? 'Let not the sun set on your anger.' It might be a bit late for that today, but both of you are hurting yourselves...”

“I said butt out.” She interrupted, glaring.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Let's go back to something else. Will my wise and powerful sister listen to a bit of common sense? About magic mind you. Not parents or philosophy.”

Relaxing slightly her glare decayed slightly as her eyes squinted with only a mere bit of suspicion. “I'll at least listen.”

“I'll take it! Then here it is simple and true. You need a break before you burn yourself out.”

Suspicion turned to rage. “I won't give -”

He placatingly raised his hands palms toward her. “Hold your horses! I'm not asking you to give anything up! Just finish the cycle. Take inspiration from the Cardea that were inspired by your Realm. Set up the best of your guardians with a mind meld and see if they can help you support this place. It would take some serious modifications to the base enchantment as we don't need four co-equal rulers, but assistants. And for sure no soul bindings. No, more like the shift work the Hold guardians use to run the sewers and wall wards. We just need to have you at the head of the link.”

She halted, frozen for a time as she thought it over. After a minute, to Timothy's great joy, she unfroze enough to wave a hand towards the two-cup teapot, a few vines slithered out in response and returned several seconds later with two heavy, lidded stone canisters. Ritualistically, she opened the first canister and with a small ladle, pulled out a full scoop of mixed plant matter that was quickly dumped in. A quiet but distinct RAP rang out as she dislodged any leftover grains from the scoop.

The canister was sealed, before the second was gingerly opened, releasing a blast of steam and heat that was visible even in the dim lighting. She accurately poured a thin stream of boiling water into the pot. Starting at a few inches and rising up to several feet, somehow without the boiling water splashing out of the precisely shaped teapot. The lid was placed back on the small pot and raising it, she gave the entire assemblage three precise circular shakes before removing an unseen plug from the spout and refilling first her own cup, and when Timothy rushed to provide it, his.

“Alright. The existing spells won't work but with a few adjustments... It's possible.” She mused, blowing gently into her mug. “We'll need a pretty robust filter with the significant power mismatch involved. I don't want to damage the guardians-”

Timothy nodded, leaning forward. “Of course. Let's start with Levinson's lesser principles of seclusion-”

“Levinson is a pompous jackass! How could you buy into his nonsense? No, Morrigan's seven isolations is a much better-”

“Hell no! You want to scar your mind? Or theirs? I'll admit Levinson has far too high an opinion of himself, but strip out the unnecessary pomp and flourishes and his work is solid! While Morrigan- well she's just too aggressive for mental spells. It's great for combat, but anything long-term is a disaster waiting to happen! How about referencing Lotse's work on spirit barriers instead?”

“She's great, but hardly useful when you want to be precise. It's all mysticism and dreams-”

Pulling out several wooden tablets they slowly started working through a preliminary plan. Hopefully enough to give her a break. At least for a time. He didn't bother to say that it wasn't a true solution. The rejection of the world was increasing and if it kept doing so, and she couldn’t grow at the same or faster rate, eventually it would crush her.

Not to mention the aural corruption she’d have to deal with from letting others, even those with a high affinity and training, work within her aura. It was going to be a real job to balance that out.

But even if it was a bad solution, it was at least a solution. It would buy them both some time to find a better.

And he considered that a solid win.