Marina walked through the snow as more drifted down and settled upon her shoulders while she longingly watched the upwardly drifting plume of smoke. She had her cloak pulled tightly around her and her teeth were chattering with every step she took. She hated the cold, oh how she hated it, but she was secretly glad to not be on her way to the Forge of Ages, for she hated fire more than she hated ice.

“I would happily take neither,” she muttered to herself as she approached the fence that surrounded the stone cottage up ahead. “I do hope this goes well.”

She nudged the unlocked gate open with her knee, thankful that she did not need to remove her hands from within the folds of her cloak, where they were merely cold rather than frozen. It had not been a long journey, but Pheston’s friend Sigurd lived in the coldest part of the cliffs a couple of miles outside of Lundstad.

“It will be fine,” she said, trying to reassure herself. “I’m expected and I have dealt with mages before…it will be fine. I don’t need the others here.”

Marina walked up the winding garden path towards the pleasant stone cottage, almost slipping on the stones a few times. She hoped this had not been seen by Sigurd, lest he think her a buffoon. She stopped outside the front door and debated how to knock it without her hands leaving their just-about-comfortable position. She took a deep breath and shot her head down, banging the door with her forehead. Instant regret passed through her as she felt the unpleasant throbbing take effect.

“I hope that worked,” said Marina with a frown.

“Who’s there?” called a voice from inside.

“Yes!” she whispered excitedly before answering the man. “My name is Marina. I’m a friend of Pheston.”

The door swung open and an old man in thick blue robes appeared. He had a marvellous beard that reached his waist and a surprisingly thick head of braided hair that ran over his shoulder and down his back. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked the girl up and down.

“I thought the old coot was sending a lightning mage,” said Sigurd with a frown.

“I am a mage!” protested Marina in a squeaky voice, not looking particularly powerful as she stood there shivering.

“Show me a trick then,” said Sigurd, crossing his arms. Marina then noticed that he was missing two fingers on his right hand. She tried not to stare and blinked furiously to snap herself away.

“Magic trick…magic trick…” she muttered, pulling her staff from over her shoulder. “How much do you like your fence?” she asked.

“A reasonable amount.”

“Alright, how’s this for magic.”

Marina twirled her staff, ignoring the cold as she sent a surge of magical energy through the wood. From within the purple amethyst at the tip of her staff exploded a lightning strike that streamed towards the old wizard’s fence and blew the snow-coated wood into a thousand pieces that soared into the sky before raining down onto the land and wedging themselves like splinters into the fluffy sea of white.

“Very nice,” said Sigurd, nodding his head approvingly. “Bjorn told me of his father’s admiration for your abilities. Apologies for the insult, but I thought it might light a fire.”

“Oh,” said Marina. She quickly turned her look of surprise into a pleasant smile. “Well, it did. I’m sorry for destroying your fence.”

“I don’t get many visitors,” said Sigurd nonchalantly, “and it does a terrible job of keeping animals out. I’ll replace it with a better one in the height of summer when the snow is less pervasive.”

“That’s good,” said Marina, hoping she wasn’t expected to pay for it.

“Come in, come in!”

Sigurd stood aside to let Marina through the door and she scurried in gratefully, eager to get out of the cold. The mage closed the door behind him, cutting off the breeze that tried to creep its way inside.

The cottage was as quaint inside as it was outside, comprising of only a handful of small rooms connected to the larger living room that also served as a kitchen. By the roaring fireplace was a red armchair with cushioning so soft that Marina could have curled up on it like a cat and fallen asleep in minutes. Lining the walls were bookshelves aplenty, filled with everything from tomes of knowledge to collections of limericks. On the kitchen stove sat a large pot. It filled the room with a honeysweet aroma that made Marina’s tastebuds perk up.

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“Tea?” asked Sigurd, walking over to the pot.

“Yes, please,” said Marina. Perhaps life as an isolated mage wasn’t so bad. A warm house, books, tea. If she were to ever stop roaming the land, she could find herself somewhere like this to live quietly. She was doubtful, however, that she would be able to convince Friedrich to join her, so much in love with the road he was. Perhaps once his father had been saved, he would be more open to the idea.

“So presumptuous,” she muttered to herself while shaking her head.

“Excuse me?” called Sigurd as he ladled the honey tea into two porcelain cups patterned with flowers and dragons; a most curious combination.

Marina’s eye jolted wide. “Pardon me! I was talking to myself about a…friend.”

“I care not for your teenage frivolities. We drink some tea, warm ourselves by the fire, and then we discuss business. The brass ship.”

Sigurd made his way over holding his own tea in one hand and Marina’s in a pincer-like grip due to his missing fingers. Marina accepted the tea and couldn’t help but stare the man’s hand this time.

“A small accident involving a trek into an underground ruin, of which there are many in Corobath. It’s a necessity should you choose the life of a mage and seek lost knowledge and forbidden arts. One day, perhaps you too shall lose an appendage, limb, or even suffer a horrible scar.”

Marina knew she had been close to having a scarred face after the battle against Tierfyr, but Friedrich’s masks had saved both her and Teleri from any lasting injury. She shuddered at the thought of transforming into a goblin again, but at least Friedrich had given her the goblin mask over the spider mask. She blew on her tea and cast the image from her mind.

“This brass ship is under the lake, right?”

“Not for long,” said Sigurd with a smirk. “I can bring it to the surface with ease.”

“And how are you so sure I can make it work?”

“I’m not sure, I’m just reasonably confident.”

Marina took a sip of the tea. It was as delicious as it was fragrant, tasting of wild berries that added a sourness to the sweetness, preventing it from overpowering the tastebuds. “Go on,” she said.

Sigurd cackled. “I have explored every inch of the ship, which did not take long as it is not especially large, and have studied its structure inside and out. I know what makes it tick; I know what makes it move. All we need is your lightning power to keep it going and for you to be able to keep both yourself and it stable.”

“And this is where my elemental comes in?”

“Correct. It is the battery that will power the vessel and you can focus on maintaining its presence and managing its energy levels. I will teach you as best as I can, but I specialise in water magic so I am more based in the theory of lightning magic than I am in the practical side.”

“I see…”

Sigurd held up his hand and clicked his fingers, sending a small bolt of crackling electricity into the air. It whizzed towards the ceiling and dissipated before touching the wooden beams. “That’s the height of my electrical skill, I’m afraid. My affinity has always been for water and, to a lesser extent, ice.”

Sigurd held out his hand with the missing fingers. He wriggled the fingers left and closed his eyes. With a sharp clink, two new fingers made of water appeared, extending from the missing stumps and flowing freely as though muscle, bone, and flesh. Marina was taken aback and almost dropped her tea.

“Oh yes, magic lets you find a way around almost anything,” said the old mage as he held his hand out to the fire. He released the water fingers and they hit the burning logs with a hiss. They quickly turned to steam and Sigurd took a drink of his tea. “If you think shooting lightning from a piece of wood or powering a ship is an impressive feat, wait until you truly understand the true potential of the gift you bear.”

“I’m not interested in causing storms that wipe out entire villages,” said Marina pointedly.

“Nor am I in draining a town’s water supply, but that does not mean it cannot be done. My point is when you realise the scale of your abilities, if properly trained, the task before you will not seem so difficult.”

“I understand that, but it’s one thing to understand it and another thing to do it.”

Sigurd drained his cup and stood up. “Then we shall waste no more time. Come.”

“But it’s warm here!”

“It is your own fault for being foolish enough to have bare legs in the snow, girl. High boots and a cloak is not enough to stave off the briskness of Corobathian weather.”

Marina frowned and drank the last of her tea. “Alright, I’m coming,” she grumbled. “I hope the lake is at a lower altitude so the air isn’t so cold.”

Sigurd rolled his eyes and pointed at her. “Perhaps you should have studied fire magic, young lady. Seeing as you long for warmth and have such an unpleasable attitude.”

Marina set the cup down on a small table and stood up. “You don’t happen to know any fire spells that might keep us warm?”

“There’s a good trick that involves wood, kindling, and a few sparks. In fact, I used that trick to warm this very house.”

“I meant to buy another layer in Lundstad before coming here, but it slipped my mind…”

“If it will lessen the amount of complaining you do, you can bring my spare cloak.”

Marina’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!”

Sigurd threw a fur cloak over his robes and then tossed another to Marina. She wrapped it tightly around herself, so much so that she could barely move her arms, but she was already feeling brighter about this whole affair. She hoped that once she was weaving her magic, she would forget all about how cold it was and that her focus would be solely on powering the brass ship. She could not fail this task; it was for Friedrich.