Isemberd spent the following days taking care of the final repairs at his home, practicing his carpentry skills and scouting the woods to make sure the monster-tree he killed wouldn’t have any way of reappearing. He also worked on medicine and documents people brought him or came to pick up from him.

Alard’s visit that week did a lot of good for his reputation with the townsfolk, and a few people even ventured into the grove to pick their packages. They tried to engage in small talk with the young alchemist the lord knight had spoken so well off. Sadly, Isemberd wasn’t the most talkative of the hosts, but everyone seemed to enjoy the visit nonetheless, if not by the sage’s hospitality and tea, by his cheerful black owlet.

The noble lord didn’t find the time to visit him during those days, and the knight that Isemberd had ordered around the last time came two or three times to invite the mage for a meal with the entourage. Isemberd tried really hard to not be rude when refusing the many invitations Alard sent the lad to do.

During the morning of the second day, Isemberd and Gillibert were in the attic where the mage was working on repairing some damage on the rooftop that he didn’t finish the week before. The work was almost complete at this point, and he did all of it without using magic as a personal challenge.

“Master, I think the woods are a little weird.” Gillibert complained. “Weird and quiet.”

Between one hit of his hammer and another, the mage asked:

“Can you elaborate?”

“Last night I was flying around and ended up meeting that squirrel from before.”

Gillibert was on his roost, that was nearby, close to Isemberd’s big wooden chest. The owlet continued:

“He told me a lot of animals fled this way. They were fleeing from something coming from the direction of the road. They also seem very frightened of our home.”

Isemberd glanced at his owl. Gillibert added:

“But, if there are many more animals here, why is it so quiet? What are they hiding from?”

“Lately, I’m having a very bad feeling myself…” Isemberd said, stopping and turning back his eyes to the nail he was hitting.

He seemed to be pondering about it in silence while fixing the hole in the roof. The chest nearby that contained the infamous Shadow Tome started trembling and did a big jump, shaking around and bumping on things, scaring Gillibert out of his roost. Isemberd glared at the chest as if he was about to attack it.

“Master, is it possible that there are some kind of monster coming from that direction towards the town?”

“Yes, it is possible. However, places like Scarwood Fortress and settlements in general tend to be on the safer side.” He replied, still glaring at the chest.

The owlet stood nearby, landed on top of one wooden box. Isemberd added:

“For now, if you see or feel like something is too suspicious…”

“I fly straight back to you!” Gillibert replied, puffing out his chest.

The mage nodded and finished fixing the roof. After that, he closed and locked the window, waved a magic sign to make the roost fly gently towards the stairs. The chest did another sudden jump, as if some monster locked inside wanted to leave. Isemberd then gave it a solid kick, before pushing it back into it’s place and pilling a few boxes on top of it, then covering everything with an old bedsheet.

He walked down, struck by the awful sensation that some source of magic was nearby, one he could almost follow to the town. The angry voice that usually pestered him was a little lower and less insistent, a thing that made him more alert than before.

Now in his kitchen he saw Gillibert hopping from his roost to the table.

“Master! Is Sir Alard coming to visit us today?”

“I don’t know.”

The owlet flew to its master’s shoulder while he served water for himself from a small jar.

“And when are you going to give him your reply?”

“Later.”

The little owl seemed to try to work around a delicate topic without knowing how. Even so, he didn’t stand quiet for too long:

“I’ve been thinking, why are the other mages imprisoned?”

“They aren’t…” Isemberd said, looking outside through the window. He tried to explain: “The thing is… well… it isn’t. Could be worse.”

He tried to change topics.

“Do you want to visit the town’s square today?”

The dreaded question came anyway:

“Are you going to try to help the person from Soryn?”

Isemberd let out a heavy sigh and left his cup on the table.

“I’m considering a refusal. I don’t know her, I’m not supposed to have anything to do with all this.”

“What would be the problem?” The owlet insisted, curious.

“The problem is way too complicated for me to explain.”

“You will need the evil book, right?”

“Yes.”

An intense silence engulfed them. Gillibert seemed decided to find a solution as Isemberd almost could see the cogs spinning inside the owlet’s little head.

“Master…” he started, carefully.

“What is it?”

“I’m also, well, you know, not a person. But I’m also from Soryn.” He goggled at his guardian. “And you, I mean, you’re my master and my best friend!”

They gazed at each other for a long and uncomfortable moment.

“What if…” the owlet tried, taking one little step to the right, then another one to the left.

“Leave it to me.” Isemberd interrupted him. “Right?”

Gillibert flew to the window.

“Right!” He chirped.

As the mage was about to cut a slice of bread for himself, the magical animal yelled:

“Oh and Master! Of course I want to visit the town!”

He smirked shortly.

“You missed your chance, should have replied earlier.”

“We can investigate the big flat house!”

Isemberd didn’t say anything and the owl insisted:

“And you can also walk a little! And meet Master Alard and maybe deal with things quickly? Oh-oh and you can also buy those nice filled bread!”

Isemberd seemed to be pondering about it. Before the owl could insist even more, he got something to eat. When finished, he waved a magic sign toward the window. The whole house started closing itself up, chairs pushed themselves towards the dinner table, the door opened and the windows closed. The weather was good and the day was too hot, so the sage decided to go without his cloak or his staff.

He started the walk to Otterwesh with Gillibert cheerfully flying ahead. While within the grove, he decided to close his eyes and focus on the sounds of the woods. No magic involved, simply paying attention to the signs nature usually yielded, like normal people did.

He didn’t like the signs the grove was giving that day. It was weird, as Gillibert said, a hint of anticipating silence, waiting for something, as if the grove itself was holding its breath. To add insult to injury, the hexing voice of the spirit started mumbling in his ear, taunting him about it.

Ignoring the spirit, the sage arrived in the town and sat by the town hall’s shadow, near the center square where a nice fountain was spilling water up. Otter’s Den, the tavern run by Mr. Louis was nearby, and a street connected the square to the market from where they came. Isemberd was quietly observing people coming and going, while Gillibert was having fun with the water.

Deeply lost in thought, the sage was looking at the inn the owlet called the big flat house on the other side of the street. He couldn’t feel the pain of a magic source nearby, but kept himself alert anyway.

A girly voice broke him out of his annoyed meditation:

“Good morning, teacher!” someone greeted, running towards the sage.

“Hey, little poet.” he replied moving aside, so the girl could sit near him. “How have you been?”

Maeven bowed clumsily before sitting.

“Very well, thank you! How is your health?”

Gillibert came flying to land near the girl, and she caressed his head.

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“A little better.” He replied. “Thanks for worrying. Do you or your brother have anything new for me to read?”

“Oh, I had no idea I would meet with you today, so I left everything at home. Joran might have a few notes and drafts with him, though.” She shrugged apologetically and added: “I met a traveling lady that likes to write too, so she’s helping me practice before our next class!”.

Maeven seemed really excited about it.

“She’s staying in that inn, by the way.” she pointed out to the big flat house.

“That’s good.” Isemberd replied.

“Is way more fun to write with company and friends.” She thought out loud.

Gillibert hopped to her shoulder.

“I trust you.” Isemberd said, trying to not sound too monotone or boring. “I never tried.”

“Joran said we could visit you sometime in the future. I’ll bring pie this time!” She said, excited, and then added: “And I think that when you’re teaching us, it counts as writing with company.”

Something on the way Maeven spoke reminded the sage of Gillibert. The owlet looked at her before waving its wings, excited. Isemberd nodded with a smirk.

“Maybe you’re right. In that case, yes, I also think writing with company is better.”

“Joran think so too!” she added. “Can I play with Gillibert over there? I’m waiting for my friends.”

He nodded, and the girl left with the owlet on her shoulder, while the sage stopped to savor a small moment of silence and peaceful pondering. The sun was pleasantly warm, he closed his eyes for a long moment. Not even the angry and constant voice of the haunting spirit was enough to stop his enjoyment of that moment.

Then, the uncomfortable feeling started to grow inside him. Isemberd sat straight, looking towards the direction of the feeling. A typical group of adventurers was coming out of Otter’s Den and, the sage looked them up searching for the signs of a stereotypical magic student, but founding none. He looked for Gillibert and saw him flying near Maeven while other children walked close to them carrying a ball and chatting loudly.

Then, he noticed a woman walking towards them, waving to greet Maeven, that just happened to hold Gillibert on her hands and was about to come bring him to Isemberd.

“Miss Maeven! How are you today?”

“Hi miss! I’m doing good, how are you?” she tried to bow and tripped, almost falling.

The lady held her and Isemberd felt a painful wave hit him, his head aching as if he had just been hit and even his vision got blurry. He focused on reaching his inner magic source and the pain subsided while he started to see the magic flowing around the mysterious lady. Even the spirit got quiet, if only for a short moment. He got up besides the pain and dizziness, that quickly disappeared as his magic started anchoring his senses back into reality.

“I’m doing well.” The woman replied to the girl. “So, who's this owl from?”

Isemberd was getting close, walking fast, and Maeven raised Gillibert in his direction. The bird flew to his shoulder, cuddling to him and looking a little scared.

“Oh, he’s from my writing teacher!” she replied innocently. “His name’s Gillibert.”

The sage could feel her power like a suffocating warm from a wildfire, and he could see some blueish translucent flames dancing around them.

“Sir.” She called and he blinked, a little distracted.

“Yes?”

The young lady was good-looking, wearing a practical and well-made dress in reds and browns. Her attire was completely under the fashion rules of the north, where it was colder at this time of the year. Her simple jewelry, rings and delicate bracelets made of silver, completed the looks a noble lady.

Not only that, but her demeanor and posture however were resolute and firm as she had a few battle scars on her arms and hands. The sleeves of her dress were tucked above her elbows, showing strong arms for a woman. Her way of speaking showed some degree of military training, a treatment reserved in some places up north for third or fourth noble children, sometimes even women.

Without a family crest to see, however Isemberd couldn’t pinpoint where exactly she was from. The young lady said, looking him in the eyes:

“Good morning, sir! I saw your bird there playing with the children and couldn’t help but worry!” as she spoke, the sage tried to relax his posture a little and wait for her to finish. Her demeanor was genuinely urgent when she added: “I know they’re very rare animals around here, and they look cute, but these owls are very, very dangerous, even at this age.”

Her face was pretty and her hair was short, held together by a cute hairpin shaped like a half-moon. She was one head shorter than Isemberd, and when he observed her face, it were her eyes that gave away her place of origin.

She had a very clear heterochromia in her eyes, with a big vertical scar on the right side of the face, probably from a surgery. The eye with the natural color was hazel, but her magical eye had a natural tinge of red, almost like the eye of a rabbit.

A pretty red eye that emanated invisible magic flames, made to hunt and to help kill mages during the war. Isemberd replied, with the same serene and neutral expression as usual:

“I recently came back from a trip to Soryn. Bought the owl still in the egg with a merchant near Scarwood Fortress, milady.” he said, “It is a marvelous creature, and has been very well-behaved.”

That was the story agreed upon with Count Wells. The lady still looked really bothered.

“Sure, sure, but still, is a bird of prey, sir, its talons are very sharp, even at this size.” She leaned a little bit, looking at Gillibert with a serious gaze. “You can’t let it near children like that, an accident could happen! Imagine if something startles it, and it claws the face of a little boy or girl?”

“Miss Morgan, Gillibert is very nice!” Maeven tried to intervene. “And I’m always careful to not scare him…”

Isemberd hesitated. That family name was unpleasantly familiar.

“I believe in you Maeven, but it’s better to not try our luck, right?” the lady replied.

The little girl shook her head, clearly tempted to agree. Gillibert chirped from his master’s shoulder, but still looked a little tense. The woman nodded patiently.

“He is a very calm animal.” The alchemist insisted. “But I understand your worries, miss, I’ll try to be more careful with it, but Maeven is a special case, she has a thing for handling animals.”

“My brother says the same thing!” she added, moving to stay besides Isemberd.

“Then is settled.” Miss Morgan said, giving a nice smile, “Sorry to bother your games, girl.”

The other children of the group waved and yelled at Maeven and Isemberd and the sage waved back at them.

“Teacher, I’ll go back to play a little more. Joran wanted to see you, if you want we could go there together.”

He tilted his head in a quick nod.

“We can.”

The little girl stepped away as the mage noticed the foreigner lady was still nearby, looking at his owl with clear interest. Isemberd noticed the magical, almost invisible glow of her red eye. Miss Morrigan was a lady of exotic beauty, with her warrior demeanor and foreigner attire.

“He does look like a very calm bird” She said, finally taking a small step back. “Still, it is good to keep an eye on him.”

“Naturally.” he said. “I need to go. Thanks for the warning, milady.”

Before turning, he noticed she was now observing him with the same degree of attention now. Her eyes moved to the left, examining his face and probably his emerald earring that should be glowing under the sun. Isemberd had a hunch his disguise were very fragile at the moment.

“Wait, please.” She asked, resting her hands on her waist. “You do match the depiction lord Wells gave me from this town’s new apothecary. You certainly aren’tn’t an old lady called Rosemary, so…”

Isemberd nodded.

“Yes, I am.” He pushed Gillibert on his shoulder a bit. “Do you need any of my services, milady…?”

“I’m Erika Morgan.” she did a polite bow, “What is your name, sir?”

His throat was dry and he felt uncomfortable. Morgan was a noble house from Soryn, and he remembered their iconic herald, the blood-red griffin, very well. One of his most horrible battles were in a skirmish against knights and mages of the House Morgan.

He was worried she would recognize him from some sort of portrait or depiction from military reports of her family, or the rumors spread in Soryn after the war. The few mages on the Crystal Octahedron of Neoria ended up gathering a big reputation between their old enemies, and Isemberd had imagined his appearance was well known.

“I’m Isemberd.” He presented, doing a short and polite bow.

“No family name, neither place of origin?” she asked.

The sage nodded.

“Yes, milady, it is a very long story.”

“Sorry, I won’t bother you with it. Can I visit you some other time?”

Isemberd agreed.

“Of course, Lady Morgan. Can you tell me in advance what services do you need?”

She leaned a little, her eyes fixed on what Isemberd imagined it was his earring again. Lady Morgan gave him a side eye.

She was giving him too many quick looks, and her magic eye was emitting more magic essence than before, enough for him to see it moving towards him like flame tentacles. The mage hunter was trying to confirm that Isemberd was a mage, and she would probably be successful with it, but he breathed heavily.

“I have a document from Neoria, written by Count Wells himself, detailing the conditions of my protection in his territory.” she looked embarrassed and baffled for a moment. “The thing is, I need it properly proofread and explained to me, I couldn’t understand well all the terms of our families truce. Some of your laws are absurdly confusing! And to boot, people seem to have a weird aversion to magic…”

The uncovered mage breathed in deeply, and exhaled, pushing her power back with care, slowly making his magic overpower hers and take up space around him. He felt for a moment something rising inside him, like a deep desire to puke. Recognizing what it was and quickly taking action upon it, gritting his teeth and overpowering that too, his own blueish flames were now dancing around him.

Lady Erika’s magic was gently pushed away, not too strong to cause her pain, but with enough difference in power for her to get the message: he didn’t want her to keep prodding his magic source with hers. They exchanged a silent gaze of mutual understanding, and the noble lady seemed confused.

Isemberd replied about the work she asked, his cold grey eyes locked into hers:

“They are in fact very bureaucratic, and it is easy to need a law specialist to deal with simple things.” a pause, while the big wildfire of magic around him started to shrink and disappear, and then he added. “Just follow the trail through the grove after the town’s market, it leads right into my home. And yes, people lately are very distrustful of magic practitioners, so I suggest you keep a low profile about it until you’ve gained their trust.”

“Noted, Mr. Isemberd. Thanks for the warning.” She took one step away, and he could see her own magic power retreating. “I’ll be going tomorrow, is that okay?”

They agreed at dealing with her documents the next day and then she left. When he was outside public view, Isemberd moved in to a corner behind a house and mumbled:

“You can relax now.”

“Master… what was that thing in her eyes?” Gillibert asked with a weak voice.

“Nothing” the mage said, grabbing the owlet with his hands and making it face him. “Look here and listen.”

Gillibert stood quiet, in between the mage’s fingers.

“She did recognize you, but I still doubt she knows you’re capable of speaking. Therefore…”

“I keep very, very quiet!”

“Exactly. She also knows I’m a mage, and she tried to see how strong I am, but I doubt she could pinpoint I fought her family.”

“She seemed very scary.” Gillibert said. “But I don’t know why, she sounded so kind.”

Isemberd caressed the bird’s head.

“It’s okay. She didn’t mean to scare you. Let’s go home?”

“At least now you know her, master!” Gillibert said.

The mage didn’t reply and seemed to be lost in thought, with a tense expression, as if he was feeling very sick. They went back to the town square to find Maeven and then to the store where Joran worked to meet him. The sage didn’t take long to leave and agreed to meet his friend and his sister to write more day the next week. The magic aura he now knew belonged to Erika Morgan’s right eye was nowhere to be seen.

Unfazed by that fateful meeting, the mage thought it was a good idea to be ready for any unpleasant situation. He went back home and Gillibert was not much of a chatterbox as per usual. The deafening silence was annoying the mage, together with how little the haunting spirit was mumbling now. After meeting Erika, the evil force that followed Isemberd was too quiet for his taste.

At home, he went to make some tea and tried to cheer Gillibert up, and soon everything was back to normal. Suddenly, the spirit’s fury was so intense and its presence was so vile, the mage had to cover himself in his magic cloak spell to be able to muffle his senses and do his chores.

Later that night, he removed the spell and noticed something changed. The spirit was silent, and Isemberd decided that was a good moment like any other to sleep. His sixth sense, however, made him uneasy with the feeling something was wrong that never disappeared from his mind until he fell asleep in silence, stuck with only his own thoughts for the first time in a long time.

As if this time was the evil spirit’s turn to hold his breath, lying in wait.