I suffer from the unexpected issue of being simultaneously happy I managed to do actual magic, and mortification at the way it happened.

I don’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, as we have nearly twenty upset little ones to comfort.

With the help of everyone, we finally get the children settled after nearly half an hour. Half an hour I’m sure everyone is anxiously waiting to discuss what the hell just happened.

My stomach has been fluttering all the time. Some part of me can’t keep from screaming “I did magic!” It’s like a dam has burst inside of me, and let out a whole flood of euphoria that it’d been holding back. Ever since I saw those mages—those channelers as they call them—I’d been hoping I’d be able to do the same thing. The idea that I can do magic, that I can effect change in reality with just my mind is… well, it’s absurd, hilarious, awesome and… it’s everything I’d ever wanted of it.

There were no weird words to use, no strange motions to make, I just sat, concentrated a little bit, and something happened! It’s clearly different from the effect the mages on the wagons made happen, so I assume it’s a different rune, but it didn’t blow me or anyone else up. I’m still not certain why it felt so bad when I did this with the rune overlayed on my body, but given the effect it had on the surroundings, I think I have a fairly good guess.

Come to think of it, what would happen if I located the rune inside another person? Something tells me that going down that train of thought lies horror. I used less power than this time when I did it inside myself, and this drained about a third of my total juice, leaving me at a bit less than half full right now if I judge correctly. I really need to find another one of those fruits, but if what the kids say is true, that’s nearly impossible outside of the forest with the tree I already found.

After we get everyone settled, we are sitting in a circle again. Rhona inhales, but Mairi starts before she has a chance to say anything “Mama, how did you do that?!” I smile at her and deadpan “I haven’t got the faintest clue.” It’s not entirely untrue either. It’s the first time I’ve managed anything like it, and I can’t guarantee it’d work again. I don’t really believe that I suppose, if it takes me the rest of my life I’m going to figure out how this thing works.

Rhona seems to share Mairi’s misgivings, because now that Mairi is finished, she says “Emma, I don’t think it’s purely your fault, but… what was that?” I sigh. Unfortunately she doesn’t seem as excited as Mairi, which I guess is fair. “Well, that was one of the runes, the one I tried before. But more importantly, I kinda got carried away and used too much power…” she smirks at me, as she meaningfully looks around their hideout, and at the large circle still carved out in the ground. “You don’t say.”

The smirk disappears from her face “But seriously, lets not do that again.” She watches as some of the kids brush dirt from the cooking equipment. “I didn’t expect that to happen, probably none of us did,” she says slowly. I hear a choked sound from Iain’s direction, but he remains silent.

Eilidh speaks up for the first time “And you say you have 5 more of these runes?” I nod at her “Five more of the simple ones, and then two more complex ones.” I think back to the cave “There were two more runes there, but I never wrote them down, too complex.” Eilidh has a very complicated expression on her face, clearly thinking about something. Iain breaks in before she can say more though. “I don’t think we should do any more of this magic here,” he still anxiously looks around at the surroundings, apparently still expecting a group of mages to descend and roast us alive.

“Agreed,” say me, Rhona, and Calum at the same time. We share a look, then a grin with each other. Then Eilidh continues, “But you know where this tree is?” I nod at her, and she continues “Then we should send someone there with you. Rhona?” I’m surprised at this sudden change of heart. Didn’t she just say we needed to burn the piece of bark and act as if it never existed?

Iain is quick to reject that notion, his face panicked “What are you saying Eil? We should forget it even exists!” Eilidh, however, remains calm as she fires back. “The cat is out of the bag now. Do you think we’re ever going to be able to explain that to them?” she says, as she meaningfully looks at everyone around. Not just the older kids, but the small ones keep glancing towards us as well, curious about what we’re talking about.

Rhona seems divided. “I get your point Eilidh, but the danger…” Eilidh bristles at these words, her expression twisting into one of anger as she shouts at Rhona, sparks flying from her eyes. “Don’t lecture me about danger! I should think I know danger a lot better than you do.” Rhona apparently realizes her mistake, and tries to placate Eilidh “I’m sorry Eil, I didn’t mean it like that. But it’s not just you we need to consider.”

In this whole discussion, I’m mildly bemused that they don’t seem to consider the obvious option of just kicking me out. It’d make all their problems go away, and things would go back to how they were before.

The argument proceeds, with me not being able to follow the whole thing perfectly. Eilidh is arguing in favour of sending a bunch of people to go retrieve more fruits, at which point I feel the need to point out that I’m not certain of the location of the tree. All of them dismiss that point, apparently certain I’ll find it again. Calum doesn’t seem to have an opinion beyond no magic in the base, he doesn’t really appear to have an interest in it. Iain is against any involvement with it. Arguing that they should stay well away from it, and finally Rhona seems to partially agree with Eilidh, but also agrees with Iain that it seems foolhardy.

Finally, Mairi breaks in, a voice we haven’t heard for a while. “I want to learn how to do that…” she says sadly, vaguely gesturing to the epicenter of the dust explosion.

Everyone falls silent, and Eilidh’s expression seems to say “See, I told you!” to the whole group. Iain splutters, apparently a bit lost for words “Mairi, it’s not safe!” Mairi’s face falls just a little bit, and she remains silent for a while, but then she says “Iain, how can it get worse?” The silence after that statement is packed with meaning, but eventually Iain replies softly, almost like he’s asking a question “We could all die?” It’s almost as if silence has on the role of communicating meaning now, as it falls again in the wake of his statement.

For some reason, Mairi glances at me, then the rest of the children around us, before her face firms, and she states, “Then we die!” Everyone shifts back a step at the vehemence in her statement, me included. Her eyes shoot fire. “Look at that!” she forces everyone to look at the circle of dirt dug out of the ground. “We can do that!” then her righteous indignation seems to leave her, and she sinks in on herself “I don’t… I don’t want to worry that…” she breaks off, dissolving into tears. When she instinctively turns toward me, I step forward to embrace her. She flinches slightly in surprise before crying even harder.

The tears of the little girl seem to take all the fire out of Iain’s opposition, and eventually he concedes that there’s probably no harm in at least trying to find the tree. He’s absolutely opposed to a large group going though. Which works out fine, as it’s impossible for many of them to go anyway. Rhona has to stay, because she’s the primary cook, and surrogate mother to many of the children. Calum has to stay, as he’s the primary defense they have against intrusion. Iain has to stay, as neither of those two would be able to organize anything without him. That leaves Eilidh to come along, and Mairi refuses to stay, so eventually the party we settle on consists of those three.

The plan is to trace my way back along the way I came, locate the forest with Rhonain’s town, and follow the road back to the tree, which is incidentally called the “craobh an eòlais” or roughly translated, “tree of knowledge”. It’s weird to think that I made my way all the way over here, only to go back again, but it does seem like getting the fruits would be a good idea.

Unfortunately, nobody has any idea how long the fruit would stay edible, much less how long it’d retain it’s magic providing properties. In the worst case, only Mairi and Eilidh would be able to eat the fruit. We’ll also need to find some way to transport it that doesn’t make it abundantly clear what we’re carrying. The fruit literally glows, so putting it in my bag will make it seem like I’m carrying a christmas tree on my back, not to mention quickly squish it between it’s other contents.

Rhona and Iain come back with a small chest though. One small enough to fit in my sack. I’ll still be carrying an obvious chest on my back, but nobody will know what’s inside. It’s better than nothing I suppose. We all decide that leaving now is probably a bad idea, and we should leave at first light of dawn tomorrow, so we have a full day to make it to… well, there won’t be a lot of chances we’ll have to stay in villages along the way, unless we want to stop after half a days walk. Maybe it’ll work out once in a while. We want to get there and back as soon as possible though. Even though the kids now have a fairly decent supply of food again, everyone is worried both about us being away too long, and what will happen while we are.

The rest of the day flies by in a flash, and before we know it, we’re bedding down, ready for a trip early tomorrow. As I hold a sleeping Mairi, I’m sort of happy that she’s coming along. Though a voice of reason suggests she might be better off staying here, my heart insists that the safest place for her is by my side.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

After a hurried breakfast, we begin packing. Even though Calum has kept the imperial sword after I handed it over, he now hands it back, and tells me to keep the girls safe on the trip. I glance at Eilidh and wonder if it wouldn’t be more helpful in her hands, but she already has her knives, and I have nothing, so I guess it makes sense. I briefly consider asking if Mairi needs anything, but then reject the notion, imagining that will quickly end in bloodshed. Naturally, the next moment I look at her, I see Rhona strapping a belt on her that contains a small dagger, but will undoubtedly look almost like a short-sword in Mairi’s hands. So much for my fears. Also, where did they get that?

When it’s clear it’ll work for Mairi though, Rhona hands it to me, “We got it this morning with the money you donated. It’ll help keep her safe.” When I just stand there looking at it, she rolls her eyes and point at my sack “Don’t put it on her until you’re out of the gates please.” It doesn’t appear like they take kindly here to 8 year old girls running with daggers. I wonder why.

I bring all three sets of underwear I’ve managed to obtain over the past weeks with the children. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they obtain clothes in much the same way they obtain food. There’s a lot more care to exactly who they take them from though. There’s a strong desire not to take from families that already have too little, that means no stealing clothes anywhere in the slums, even thought they’re just hanging in the street literally everywhere. People here are considerate of each other in strange ways here, even while they ignore each other’s suffering, they go out of their way not to make it worse.

Conversely, it’s pretty hard to take clothes from the outer or inner city, since people there are a lot more careful with them clothes. Less so with the cheaper ones though, so that’s practically the only thing we ever end up with. This works fine for us though. Nobody would ever believe a street child did not steal a fine silk doublet.

I’ve never managed to obtain a new dress in my size though, so I’m still clothed in the one that went through hell. I suppose I now have a lot more good memories in it too though.

I’m mildly amused when Iain takes my money, or what used to be my money, and counts out 10 square coppers to Eilidh. I don’t begrudge her carrying the money, it’s probably safer with her than with me.

When everything has finally been packed, we quietly leave the city. I’m almost dissapointed by how anticlimactic it is. Mairi hangs on my arm, and Eilidh follows behind like the bored teenager she is.

Everyone kept saying leaving the city was so dangerous, and now we just pass under the arch of the gate, the guards in their well-used armor tell us to be careful, and nothing else happens. I wonder what is up with that. Why’d the kids have so many issues getting out of the city by themselves?

Stepping out of the city is like stepping into a different world. Gone is the rotting-trash-and-piss cocktail that usually assaults my nostrils, replaced by actual fucking oxygen. The wind whispers across my face, carrying nothing but the scent of dirt and grass. If I thought that would be the main thing I’d notice, I’d be wrong. While the absence of the smell is noticeable, the lack of noise is deafening.

I watch as Mairi’s jaw drops and her head swivels back and forth, drinking in the rolling hills and endless sky sprawling out before us. Next to her, Eilidh crosses her arms and lifts her chin, trying to maintain her cool facade, but her wide eyes betray her. I can only imagine this is their first time outside the city. Well, the first time they can remember, anyway.

I’m very much inclined towards making the river our first stop. While we’ve washed, such as it was, with water that fell from the sky and was caught in buckets, it’s never been a proper bath, like I regularly had in rivers and streams before I arrived in the city.

I pull the wide-eyed girls along until we get back to the wonky magically created bridge that I passed over when I came here. The river narrows a bit as it closes upon the bridge, and passes below it in a torrent of water. Mairi stares at it for a good half minute before we get her to move on.

We step off the path, and I lead them along the river’s edge, away from bridge and path. Our footsteps crunch against loose pebbles until the rushing water beside us calms to a gentle burble, and we’re hidden from view of anyone passing on the trail. I’m genuinely grateful for the sparse population here. After weaving between a few moss-covered boulders, we find a lovely spot that’s out of sight of the road or any outlying farms. Wildflowers dot the gravelly shore - our own private little beach.

Mairi is hanging from my arm, trying to drag me closer, and looking at the water with excitement. I get the feeling that the only thing holding her back is the fact she doesn’t want to let go of my hand.

I watch Eilidh rock back on her heels, arms crossed tight against her chest as she eyes the water like it might rear up and bite her. Her toes curl into the dirt at the water’s edge.

“Uh, you really want us to get in there?” The words tumble out quick and high-pitched.

I raise my eyebrow at her. “You don’t enjoy the prospect of being clean for once?”

She takes half a step backward, shoulders hunching. When she finally extends one trembling foot over the water, her whole body tenses. The moment her toes break the surface, she yanks them back with a sharp inhale.

“It’s cold, big, and I can’t swim,” she mutters, wrapping her arms even tighter around herself.

Cold? Well, I suppose the weather is getting a bit more chilly, but it’s hardly the beginning of autumn. More like end of summer. Of course, maybe the climate is just different and this is their version of winter. I haven’t gotten around to asking anyone. Plus, big? This little stream? It’s barely seven meters across at this point. I’ll admit that that means the water flows quite fast, but should be fine if we stay in this spot. It’s not like the river rapidly deepens, and the water is so clean I can literally see the bottom.

While I’m still considering how to convince Eilidh that the river isn’t a death trap, Mairi releases my arm and starts stripping off her clothes with the casual disregard that only children possess. Before I can even think to warn her about the temperature, she’s running full tilt toward the water, her wild brown hair streaming behind her. With a whoop of pure joy, she launches herself into the stream, sending up a spectacular splash that manages to sprinkle both Eilidh and me despite our distance from the water’s edge. When she surfaces, she’s grinning from ear to ear, her teeth chattering slightly but her eyes alive with excitement. “It’s brilliant!” she calls out, just barely keeping herself upright while standing up to her waist in the stream. "Like the rain, but better!” She sticks her hands in the water, deliberately splashing it in Eilidh’s direction, clearly trying to provoke her into joining her.

I catch Eilidh giving me a long-suffering look, the kind that suggests I’m somehow responsible for Mairi’s wild behavior. Her pale hair catches the morning sunlight as she shakes her head, but I can see the internal struggle playing across her face. She shifts from foot to foot, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her worn dress.

After what seems like an eternal debate with herself, she begins to carefully unlace her threadbare boots, placing them neatly on a nearby rock - a stark contrast to Mairi’s scattered clothing. Her cheeks flush pink as she removes her dress, keeping her underclothes on, unlike her younger companion. With small, tentative steps, she edges toward the water, wincing at each cold touch against her skin. It’s almost comical how different her approach is from Mairi’s enthusiastic plunge, but then again, that pretty much sums up their personalities.

It’s never occurred that she might feel embarrassed, given how close together the kids live. It’d be nearly impossible to not see skin at some point, and it’s just us girls here. But I guess she’s at the age where it would start to feel awkward for the first time. A slight smile crosses my face as I recall just how terribly awkward I was at her age. Being shy about undressing for a swim is hardly anything to worry about.

I strip of my own clothes in a manner that’s some halfway point between what Mairi and Eilidh did. I feel kind of silly myself, just dropping my clothes on the ground after Eilidh just made such effort to fold her clothes. But it’s just… pointless. These clothes are so messed up and rumpled that folding doesn’t preserve anything.

I idly wonder if we should wash the clothes as well. It’s probably not a bad idea. It’s morning now, and it should be getting warmer from now, so even if we have to wait here for a while it probably wouldn’t hurt.

A sudden shock of cold water hits my back, accompanied by high-pitched squeals and barely contained giggles. I whirl around, spluttering, to find both girls—even the usually reserved Eilidh—with their hands clapped over their mouths trying to contain their mirth. The contrast between Mairi’s open delight and Eilidh’s guilty pleasure is almost worth the surprise dousing. Almost.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” I growl in mock anger, my lips twitching despite my best efforts to maintain a stern expression. The water drips down my back, making me shiver slightly, and that seems to set off another round of giggling. It’s probably the first time I’ve seen Eilidh let her guard down completely since I’ve met her, her pale hair now dotted with water droplets, her eyes sparkling with mischief instead of their usual wariness. It’s an especially sharp contract to her silence after that event several weeks ago, whatever it was. I’m happy to see that there is still something that brings her joy.

Even if I do need to get splashed with freezing water for it.

I sink beneath the surface, the icy water stealing my breath and sending shivers down my spine. I let my head dip under, feeling the current tug at my hair while goosebumps ripple across my skin. The water is a lot colder than I’d expected. For a few moments as I luxuriate in the undoubtedly imagined feeling of the dirt on my skin being carried away by the stream. My muscles tense and relax as I adjust to the cold, but I don’t mind it - beats being filthy.

When I come up, and lazily look at where Mairi and Eilidh are paddling, I lunge forward, snagging Mairi’s arm as the current threatens to sweep her little feet out from under her. “Careful there,” I warn, though I can’t help but smile at her unbridled enthusiasm. She’s like a puppy learning about water for the first time, all boundless energy and zero self-preservation. The girl just grins up at me, water streaming down her face, clearly unfazed by her near-mishap. Or maybe she just trusts me to fix it if something goes wrong.

We spend the next while splashing and scrubbing. Even Eilidh seems to enjoy it. Joining in when Mairi starts a game of trying to catch water droplets in her mouth. The sound of their laughter echoes across the stream, and I find myself relaxing despite my habitual vigilance.

At some point, I can’t resist the impulse. We’re out of the city now, and I know how it works, right? Besides, if this works as I think it does, this place is too perfect. I sink into juice mode, and imagine the blast rune a few meters downstream, just a tad below the waters surface. Then carefully touch it with just a little juice.

The whoomph of displaced water makes both of the girls spin towards it in surprise. But when the droplets of water start pattering down on us, and I start uncontrollably giggling, they relax quickly. It works! If this isn’t what magic was made for I don’t know what it could be. “Look!” I enthusiastically shout at the girls, then point to a point in the water between us all. The look at each other questioningly, then back at the spot of the water I’m still pointing at.

The second time is even easier, and just like the dirt, the water is pushed away from the epicenter. The radius is a lot smaller with the little power I put in, but on the other hand, it feels like I can keep this up nearly forever. First a little splash, then a large splash happen as water is launched into the sky by the initial blast, after which it rushes together to fill the gap left by the displaced water.

The girls eyes grow wide, and they both shout they want more. Who am I to refuse?

Eventually, with our skin starting to wrinkle, and the games starting to grow old, we drag ourselves out of the water. The morning sun has warmed the rocks, and I direct the girls to gather our scattered clothing while I look for a suitable branch to serve as a washing post. We take turns scrubbing our clothes against the rocks, using smooth stones to work out the worst of the dirt. Mairi makes it into a competition, declaring proudly that she’s gotten her dress “cleaner than clean,” whatever that means.

With our newly-washed clothes draped over low-hanging branches like bizarre decorations, we all change into a new set of underclothes, and settle onto the sun-warmed rocks. The heat seeps into my bones, and I close my eyes for a moment, listening to the gentle sound of the stream and Mairi’s animated chatter about how she’s going to learn to swim properly one day, like the sailors. Beside me, Eilidh hums softly, her feet dangling in the water, making small ripples in the current. It’s a peaceful moment, one that almost makes me wonder if it wouldn’t be better to take all the kids out of the city.

As the sun climbs higher, our clothes finally lose their dampness, though they’re stiff and a bit wrinkled from our makeshift washing methods. I run my hand over my dress - it’s far from perfect, but it’s clean. The fabric feels crisp under my fingers, sun-dried and carrying that freshness you only feel on clothes dried in the open air.

Mairi bounces around impatiently as we gather our things, clearly ready to move on despite her earlier enthusiasm for swimming. She helps Eilidh fold their dried clothes, though ‘helps’ might be a generous term for the way she’s haphazardly cramming things into their bags. Eilidh quietly refolds everything when Mairi isn’t looking.

We make our way back along the river to the dirt path we’d left earlier. The path looks different now, dappled with late morning shadows instead of the early morning light we’d walked through before. I adjust my sack on my shoulder, feeling the comfortable weight of the supplies we’ve brought, and we fall into an easy walking rhythm. Mairi takes up her usual position beside me, her small hand finding its way into mine as naturally as breathing. Eilidh trails slightly behind, humming softly to herself - the same tune from earlier, I notice. It’s becoming a familiar sound. The background music to our journey.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

Our travel is relatively uneventful. We basically traverse the same path that I’ve taken to get to the city.

The first three nights are spent in the open. The kids are initially reluctant to just lie down, and especially to do so under the cover of the trees. Ultimately their trust in me overcomes their fear, but I notice that Eilidh spends a long time pretending to sleep before she eventually truly falls asleep, and Mairi is even more clingy than usual that night.

However, on the fourth day I manage to negotiate a decent price at a roadside inn, though the innkeeper’s suspicious glare suggests he’s not entirely comfortable with our ragtag group. The room we’re given is small and musty, with two narrow beds whose straw mattresses have definitely seen better days. But to Mairi and Eilidh, it might as well be a royal chamber.

I watch, amused, as Mairi bounces experimentally on one of the beds, her eyes wide with wonder despite her attempts to appear nonchalant. The straw crackles loudly beneath her, and she quickly stills herself, shooting a worried glance at the door. Eilidh, meanwhile, runs her hand almost reverently over the rough blanket of the other bed, her usually composed features softening into something approaching awe. She catches me watching and quickly withdraws her hand, but I can see her fingers twitching at her side, eager to touch the coarse fabric again.

“We’ve slept in proper beds before,” Mairi announces suddenly, though her voice lacks its usual conviction. “At least, I think we have. Right, Eilidh?”

Eilidh just shrugs, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she perches carefully on the edge of her bed, as if afraid it might disappear if she puts too much weight on it. The wooden frame creaks anyway, and she jumps slightly at the sound.

The night in a bed does everyone good. Even me, though I slept on our usual mat on the floor. Three days of travel in a row was fine for me, but though Eilidh and Mairi are in exceptionally good shape, their bodies are still smaller, and they were showing signs of flagging. A night of restful sleep completely restores their energy though, and we begin the fourth day early, and with good humor.

I’m honestly amazed that I haven’t heard “Are we there yet?” from Mairi. I don’t think any child I knew would make it an hour before they’d start asking how much futher they need to go, but she doesn’t just not complain, she seems to stay excited about what’s over the next hill.

Another day of travel joins our tally as we near the large town where I encountered the elderly man who directed me toward the city. I’m a bit excited to be back here. With the lack of stress I was dealing with at the time, I can actually enjoy the market. Or so I thought. The wide market street stretches before me, but where crowds of haggling traders once filled the air with shouts and the smell of spices, now only a few scattered townspeople hurry between the weathered shop fronts.

I’m disappointed, but given Mairi’s proclivities, this might be for the best. She’s been really good about it so far though. Since we brought enough supplies to last us there and back, there’s no actual need for us to steal on this journey. Of course, all the supplies we brought were stolen in the first place, so it’s all a matter of degree.

Since there is nothing for us to do here, we proceed on our journey. This leads me to wonder whether I should take the exact route I took here back, which will lead us past the spot where the caravan was ambushed by the bandits, or whether I should take a detour. I can’t imagine the remains would still be there though. It’s been weeks since that event. So we go up the hill that I stumbled down from so long ago. I smile when we pass by the farm that I stayed that night, looking around to see if the girl that I met there—what was her name again?—is about somewhere. But the place lies deserted in the afternoon sun.

The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves as we make our way up the hill, casting dappled shadows that dance across our path. The moment we step into the familiar copse of trees, the smell hits me first - a thick, cloying sweetness that makes my stomach turn. I stop abruptly, throwing an arm out to halt the girls, but it’s too late. There, scattered among the undergrowth, stand the remains of the ambush. The two wagons stand silently, exactly where I’d left them, in the light that filters through the trees. All the bloodstains seem to have washed away in the intermittent rain that fell since then.

The smell comes from the graves that I so hastily dug next to the road. They’ve been dug up, by animals perhaps, and what remains of the bodies is spread across the clearing. Half a jawbone grins up at me from the grass, and scraps of what might have been clothing flutter on nearby branches

I can’t help but turn towards Eilidh and Mairi. I didn’t exactly mean for them to see this.

I watch, horrified, as the girls look around the scene with curiosity. The disconnect between their young faces and their clinical assessment of death makes my skin crawl. Back home, children their age would be playing with dolls or arguing about who gets the next turn on the Xbox. Here they are, wandering around a clearing full of scattered body parts as if it’s an excursion to the local park.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Eilidh’s quiet voice catches me off guard. Her pale eyes fix on me with an unsettling intensity, and I realize she’s pieced together more than I’d thought. Before I can respond, Mairi wanders over to what’s left of one of the bodies, poking at a fragment of bone with a stick.

“Eilidh, they’re all spread out weird,” Mairi calls out, her voice carrying the same casual tone she might use to comment on scattered leaves. “Is this what happens when you leave them outside too long?”

Eilidh’s face tightens almost imperceptibly. “No,” she says after a moment, and there’s a hint of reproach in her voice at her younger sister’s flippancy. “Usually they stay… together more. Unless animals get to them.”

I feel bile rising in my throat, not from the grotesque scene before us, but from the horrible realization that these children have enough experience with death to make such comparisons. I find it hard to reconcile their matter-of-fact attitudes with their ages. What kind of world is this, where children can look at scattered human remains with such… professional interest?

Eilidh turns back to me after her ‘explanation’ to Mairi. “Well?” she prompts me. I sigh, and nod at her “Yes, I came through here before. This caravan came under attack while I was following them.” I’m suddenly struck by something, and motion Eildh to follow as I go to round up Mairi, still feeling a bit sick when I see her inspecting a… femur? God I don’t even know what all these bones are named. “I can’t figure out which one goes with which…” she mutters, as I try to get her to follow me. Did she really turn this into a puzzle?

It sort of makes sense, but… what the fuck? I’m on my way to check the last grave that I dug, the one where the bandit rests. Of course, this grave seems to be undisturbed. There’s nearly no smell either. Maybe just what lingers in my nose from the earlier scene. I guess I wasn’t nearly as tired when I covered this guy, so the layer of dirt on top of the body is more like a small hill. I guess between the darkness and my exhaustion at the time, I just didn’t do a good job of covering them.

Mairi’s small form appears beside me, her stick still clutched in one hand as she studies the raised mound of earth. Her earlier playfulness has dimmed somewhat, replaced by that sharp, calculating look I’ve come to recognize when she’s working something out. She glances between me and the solitary grave, her head tilted slightly to one side.

“Why’s this one all alone?” she asks, jabbing her stick toward the undisturbed mound. There’s something in her tone that makes me think she already suspects the answer. These street children have an uncanny way of reading situations, of picking up on the small details others might miss. The way her eyes narrow slightly tells me she’s already noticed how this grave is better made, how it’s set apart from the others, how much more care was taken in its construction.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I look around at the area. Mentally replaying the events of a month ago, “I was hiding here when the ambush happened,” I say, as I point in the direction of the clearing, which is barely visible through the trees. “A bandit snuck up behind me, and I stabbed him in the throat with a spear.” I sigh, “I ran away at first, but came back later and buried his body.”

I feel Eilidh’s pale eyes boring into me before she even speaks. “You… buried him?” Eilidh’s voice is quiet but sharp, like the edge of her shiv. “He tried to kill you, and you gave him a proper burial?” There’s something in her tone that goes beyond simple confusion—a hint of anger, maybe even betrayal. She takes a step back from the mound, her shoulders tensing as if the very idea of showing respect to an enemy is physically uncomfortable for her. I can see her fingers absently finding the handle of her shiv, a habit I’ve noticed she falls into when she’s unsettled.

Her reaction makes me pause. Of course it would seem strange to her—in her world, survival means never showing weakness, never extending mercy, even to the dead. The concept of burying someone who tried to kill you probably seems as foreign to her as her casual acceptance of death seems to me. I open my mouth to explain, but what can I say? That where I come from, we believe in treating the dead with dignity? That somehow feels hollow in the face of her lived experience.

As I stand there, trying to find the words to explain myself to Eilidh, that familiar sensation washes over me again—a tingling that starts at the base of my skull and spreads through my body like warm honey. It’s the same feeling I had after I buried him, when those strange words of prayer came unbidden to my lips. My vision blurs slightly at the edges, and I feel my consciousness step back, as if I’m watching myself from a slight distance.

When I speak, the voice that emerges isn’t quite my own. It’s deeper, more resonant, carrying an weight of ages I can’t explain. “All souls deserve peace in death,” the words flow through me, “for in the final silence, we are all equal. The departed are beyond earthly grievances, beyond the petty conflicts that divide the living. To show respect to the dead is to acknowledge our own mortality, to recognize that one day, we too shall need the kindness of strangers to guide us home.”

I feel my hand rise, almost of its own accord, gesturing to encompass both the scattered remains and the solitary grave. “Whether friend or foe, saint or sinner, each spirit leaves behind those who loved them, those who mourn them. In honoring the dead, we honor not just who they were, but who we wish to be.”

The words fade, and I’m left feeling oddly hollow, like a bell that’s just finished ringing. I blink, trying to ground myself back in the present moment, aware of the girls’ eyes on me, their expressions a mixture of awe and uncertainty.

“Emma, what in the living hell was that?” Eilidh asks me uncertainly. “Was it magic?” Mairi asks, with a raised eyebrow. “It seemed different from the water splashes.”

I look at them uncertainly, not sure what to say. “It’s not magic… I think.” I turn to Eilidh, as the oldest person actually from this world. “You’ve not heard of something like this happening before? Like with the fruits?”

She shakes her head “Hell no. That was creepy. Like you were possessed by a spirit or something.”

That bothers me, more than I care to admit. “That’s a thing that happens?” I stammer. I thought it was something to do with my sudden transportation. Some weird, but mostly harmless impartment. “Has it happened to other people?”

A small smirk plays across Eilidh’s face, and she adopts an exaggerated, spooky tone. “Oh aye, the spirits come in the night and make ye dance like a puppet while speaking in tongues.” She wiggles her fingers in the air dramatically, but seeing my genuinely concerned expression, her face softens. She drops her hands and shrugs, her ponytail swaying with the motion. “Nah, it’s just something old folk say when someone acts weird, you know? Like when Mairi starts talking about her elaborate plans to steal the baker’s entire stock of sweet rolls.” She shoots a pointed look at her sister, who pretends not to notice. “I’ve never actually heard of it happening for real. Probably just stories to scare children into behaving.”

That’s somewhat relieving, but… “So where did this come from?” I ask her.

She shrugs, “Dunno, it sounded kinda nice.” She frowns then, however “Not sure I agree though. Pretty sure I killed people that weren’t mourned by anyone.”

Several things occur to me at once, and my mind has difficulties processing them all at once. Elephant in the room is that Eilidh killed people plural. Second, she cares little enough about it that she can make a comment about it in casual conversation. Third, she actually understood what I just said. I thought I said all these things in English. No, I actually did say them in English.

“How many?” The words slip out, right as I mean to say ‘Did you understand that?’. I slap my hand in front of my mouth, as Eilidh’s face goes wry. Like, she seriously looks at me with a bit of pity in her expression.

“Thought you were the only one?” she says with a hint of amusement. Did I? No. Not really. I just wanted that to be the case. I spend weeks in their company, and suspected, but didn’t want to ask. I guessed it was something that was taboo, but Eilidh’s words just now give the lie to that assumption. They just didn’t feel a need to talk about a fact of life?

Eilidh’s face falls just a little bit. “I wish I could say I’ve lost count,” she says with a sigh, “but all five still haunt me.” I nod at her. That, I can understand.

The clearing stills, and I can hear each leaf scratching against its neighbor in the breeze. Then Mairi’s high, clear voice rings out, almost cheerful in its matter-of-factness. “I don’t think about the two I killed at all.”

Both Eilidh and I whip around so fast I feel a twinge in my neck. Eilidh’s face has gone chalk-white, her usual composure shattered as she stares at her little sister. My own heart seems to have forgotten how to beat properly, skipping several beats before thundering against my ribs. Eight years old. She’s eight years old.

Mairi looks between us, her brow furrowing in confusion at our reactions. Her small fingers fidget with the stick she’s still holding, and she takes half a step back. “What?” she asks, genuine bewilderment in her voice. “I thought we were comparing?"

The innocence of her question, contrasted with its horrific content, makes my stomach turn.

“It’s not like it was recent or anything,” Mairi continues, her voice taking on that defensive tone children use when they think they’re being unfairly criticized. She kicks at the dirt with the toe of her worn boot, still clutching her stick like a lifeline. “I was when I was little. You know, like… two years ago?" She looks up at us hopefully, as if this detail might somehow make everything better.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Six. She was six years old. I feel the blood drain from my face as I try to process this, try to imagine what circumstances could possibly lead to… My mind recoils from completing the thought. Beside me, Eilidh makes a small, choked sound, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Her other hand clenches into a tight fist at her side, knuckles white with tension. I can see tears beginning to well in her eyes, though she’s fighting hard to hold them back.

It’s obvious to Mairi that her words aren’t having the desired effect, so she adds, “They deserved it?..” as further justification. There’s a hint of panic in her voice.

Next to me, Eilidh can’t hold it in any more, and breaks down in silent tears “Why?! I do it so they don’t have to! What could possibly…”

Yeah Eilidh, you and me both. It beggars belief that Mairi would have to… But does it? My mind jumps back to what Rhona told me about Mairi’s past. Given the circumstances, I can understand how it might have happened. Still, the thought of a six-year-old even considering murder is… It’s too depressing to think about. It’s true that it wouldn’t be exactly uncommon, so maybe if she’d seen it happen, she might think it’s a great solution to her problem too?

Watching Eilidh break down seems to pierce the last bit of Mairi’s defensive shell. Her lower lip begins to tremble, and the stick falls forgotten from her fingers. The cocky facade crumbles, leaving a deeply uncertain girl behind. I can’t bear it - can’t bear to see either of them suffering like this. Before I can think better of it, I’m crossing the space between us in two quick strides and dropping to my knees in front of Mairi.

“Of course it’s okay,” I say, forcing the words past the bile rising in my throat. “If Eilidh and I can kill people, you can too.” The words taste like ash in my mouth, and my stomach churns violently at the wrongness of having to say this to a child. But what’s the alternative? To tell her she’s a monster? To add guilt to whatever trauma she’s already carrying? I reach out and grasp her small shoulders, trying to project a confidence I don’t feel. “You did what you had to do to survive. Just like we did.”

The words feel poisonous. Am I seriously telling an eight year old killing is a valid solution to dealing with some issues? But, my old concepts of morality hardly apply any more, and these aren’t children of that world. Am I going to tell her she can’t protect herself if I’m not around to protect her? No, hell no.

“Eilidh and…” Will I say that? No, not yet. It’s so tempting to make her feel better though. “…I are just sad you needed to do so at all. You didn’t do anything wrong Mairi.” Behind me, I hear a sniffle and a muffled sound of agreement, and then Eilidh rushes forward to hug Mairi. I wrap my arms around them both.

Mairi stands stiffly in our embrace for several long moments, her small body tense like a coiled spring. Then, gradually, I feel the rigidity start to leave her shoulders under my hands. She buries her face in my shoulder, her fingers clutching at the rough fabric of my shirt with desperate strength. A shudder runs through her tiny frame, and I can feel warm tears beginning to soak through to my skin. She doesn’t sob or wail - her crying is nearly silent, as if she’s still trying defend against something. I’m not certain what she’s crying about, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be here regardless.

After what feels like an eternity, Mairi’s grip on my dress slowly loosens, and her breathing steadies. She pulls back just enough to wipe her face with her sleeve, her nose red and her eyes puffy. There’s a moment of awkward silence as we all try to collect ourselves, when Mairi suddenly looks up at me with a wobbly attempt at her usual impish grin.

“Well,” she says, her voice still a bit thick but taking on that matter-of-fact tone she’s so good at, “I suppose that means I win by being the youngest.” She pauses, considering. “Do you think that makes me special, or just proves what Calum always says about me being a wee demon?”

The absurdity of her trying to turn even this into a competition, combined with her perfect mimicry of Calum’s exasperated tone on the word ‘demon,’ startles a laugh out of both Eilidh and me. The sound’s rough around the edges, like we’re all forcing it past the lump still stuck in our throats, but it cuts through the thickness in the air. Mairi looks pleased with herself, and I can’t help but marvel at her ability to bounce back—she’s had to learn this trick, hasn’t she? Had to figure out how to shake off horror like water off a duck’s back. I imagine it’s in large part why she’s still alive.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

After our unfortunate encounter, and Mairi’s revelation, we finally proceed along the last part of the route. We’ve almost made it back to Ronain’s village. Both me and Eilidh are lost in thought most of the way. Mairi however, is already back to normal, and is bouncing along with her usual enthusiasm.

At some point, she suddenly speaks to me, whispering, “She’s never talked about… anything. Why is she suddenly…?” Her eyes dart to Mairi, who’s walking ahead of us on the dirt path, then back to me. I consider her question. Why would Mairi suddenly start talking? Is it because we are out of the city, the source of her trauma? Is it because of me? Because it’s just the three of us? Because there’s no younger children she feels she needs to protect? I shrug. It could be anything.

I have a vague memory that it’s good for people with any form of trauma to talk about it. It suddenly bothers me that I’ve never had to deal with anything more than excessive anxiety. How am I supposed to help children that have gone through so much worse?

I bend down to Eilidh, whispering back “I don’t know, could be anything, but we should let her. It’ll help her get over it.” Damn, that sounds insensitive, like everything that happened to her is some scraped knee she’ll just walk off. “You too probably,” I add, catching her eye

She snorts, and scoffs “I’m fine.” A moment later, she gets a pensive look on her face though, and she adds, a little bit uncertainly “Probably…”

We spend one more day camping outside, because we can’t make it all the way from there to the village before nightfall, and the next morning, we set out early.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

At long last, when the sun is around halfway to it’s midway point, we finally arrive back at Ronains village. I feel like I should have gotten it’s name at some point, but I’ve either forgotten, or I never actually asked. The sight however, causes a powerful feeling of nostalgia. It’s a bit silly, because it’s been only a short while ago that I left here, but nevertheless.

I start to tell the girls to get off the road so we can circle around the village, but am suddenly uncertain why we’d need to do so. My last attempts to enter the village were unfortunate, but I was unclothed, and they were on guard after my first attempt, and presumably worried about my hair. This time, with clothes on my back, and my hair covered, they could chase us out for beggars, but I probably don’t have to be worried about getting shot with any more arrows.

While I’m still weighing the merits of different approaches, Eilidh and Mairi continue down the path, apparently having no such reservations. I hurry to catch up, watching as Mairi’s head swivels from side to side, taking in the village with wide-eyed fascination. City girl through and through—the rough timber beams and golden thatch must look as foreign to her as a silk merchant’s wares would to these villagers.

“Look at how crooked that house is!” Mairi exclaims, pointing at one of the buildings. “I bet if you pushed on it, the whole thing would fall over!” Her voice carries clearly in the quiet village street, drawing attention from several villagers who peek out their windows or pause in their daily tasks. A woman pauses mid-sweep, her broom forgotten as she gawks at us.

A boy, perhaps a year or two older than Mairi, steps out from behind a water barrel, his face pinched with indignation. “Who are you to talk?” he shouts, his small fists balling at his sides. “You look like you crawled out of a midden heap!”

Mairi pauses mid-step, glancing down at her worn dress and mud-stained hem as if seeing them for the first time. Her face breaks into a wide, innocent smile. “Oh, you’re right!” she agrees cheerfully, giving a little twirl that makes the frayed edges of her dress flutter. “I do look rather like a beggar, don’t I?” The boy’s jaw goes slack, his righteous anger evaporating like morning dew. He stands there gawping like a landed fish, completely disarmed by her playing the fool. Gods, she’s good at this game.

The exchange between the children leaves the adults shaking their heads, the offended glares they’d been shooting at Mairi just moments ago have melted away. That girl knows exactly how to play people when she puts her mind to it.

Eilidh turns to me, asking “So, we pass through here, and then proceed down the path?” I start to nod at her, but at that moment a shout rips through the village.

A small blur of motion is my only warning before I’m nearly knocked off my feet by an enthusiastic impact. Strong, skinny arms wrap around my waist, and I look down to find Ronain’s familiar face beaming up at me, his brown curls even more untamed than I remember. “Emma! You came back!” he exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement. Then, with all the subtlety of a ten-year-old trying to be clever, he makes a show of looking over at the boy by the water barrel before turning back to my companions. His voice rises conspicuously as he asks, “Who are these beautiful ladies with you?” He emphasizes ‘beautiful’ with such exaggerated courtesy that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing, especially when I catch Mairi’s expression shifting from surprise to amusement as she realizes what he’s doing.

Eilidh clearly doesn’t quite know what to make of it, though she blushes faintly, but Mairi happily continues her act from before, performing her best impression of a courtly bow towards Ronain, bending so low her wild hair nearly brushes the dirt. It’s only mildly ruined when she bursts into giggles right as she comes out of it. I arch an eyebrow—it’s not that amusing—but she just flashes me that gap-toothed grin I know means trouble. “I’m Mairi,” she announces with all the authority of a town crier, waving her hand toward her companion. “This is Eilidh.” Her finger jabs in my direction. “And this is my mom.”

I can feel my face heating up as Ronain’s head whips between Mairi and me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “But… but…” he sputters, his brow furrowing in confusion, “you can’t have children! You were here just a few weeks ago, and she’s…” He gestures wildly at Mairi, who’s watching the whole scene unfold with undisguised glee. “She’s almost as old as me!”

Internally, I’m cursing Mairi’s penchant for stirring up trouble. Trust her to take a perfectly simple situation and turn it into a convoluted mess within minutes of arriving. For fuck’s sake, Mairi, the village gate isn’t even out of sight yet. But despite my exasperation, I can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of my mouth as I watch Ronain’s bewilderment grow. There’s something absurdly amusing about watching this normally confident boy completely lose his composure, especially since he was just trying to play the gallant gentleman moments ago.

I let out a small sigh and rest my hand on Ronain’s shoulder, drawing his attention away from his sputtering confusion. “It’s… well, it’s complicated,” I begin, trying to find the simplest way to explain. “I met Mairi and some other children in the city. They needed help, and somehow,” I shoot Mairi a pointed look, which she returns with an unrepentant grin, “I ended up becoming something of a mother figure to her.”

Ronain’s eyes grow impossibly wide at this revelation, his previous confusion forgotten entirely. His gaze suddenly laser-focused on Mairi. “Really? From the city?” he breathes, bouncing slightly on his toes. “What’s it like there? Are there really buildings taller than trees? How many other kids?” The questions tumble out of him in rapid succession, his earlier attempt at sophisticated behavior completely abandoned in his excitement. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the other boy by the water barrel inching closer, trying to appear disinterested but clearly hanging on every word.

Mairi, ever perceptive to an opportunity for mischief, catches the other boy’s poorly concealed curiosity. She rocks back on her heels, affecting a casual air that I’ve come to recognize as trouble. “Oh, you know,” she says airily, “just normal city things.” The two lean forward as she speaks, moths to her flame. “Markets where silk-wrapped merchants hawk spices that burn your nose from ten paces. Jugglers who dance on ropes strung between rooftops. Towers that stretch so high you’d swear they scrape against the moon…” She lets the words hang in the air, glancing sideways at both boys’ rapt expressions, savoring every moment.

A sharp thwack breaks through Mairi’s theatrical storytelling as Eilidh’s knuckles connects with the back of her head. “Quit filling their heads with nonsense,” Eilidh mutters, her usual quiet demeanor tinged with irritation. Her pale hair gleams like spun silver as she whips around to face the wide-eyed boys. “The city’s not that great. It’s crowded, dirty, smelly beyond belief, and half the buildings look like they’re about to collapse.”

She pauses, her eyes drifting over the neat rows of timber houses with their carefully maintained thatch roofs, taking in the well-swept dirt paths and the small gardens visible between buildings. There’s a subtle shift in her expression, something between longing and disbelief, as she realizes there isn’t a single desperate soul huddled in a doorway or thin-faced child peering out from a shadow. “You should be grateful you live here,” she adds softly, almost to herself, her arms wrapping around her middle in what might be an unconscious gesture of self-comfort.

An older man with patchy white hair comes walking up behind Ronain, and immediately agrees with Eilidh “Indeed, cities are nothing but trouble.”

I glance at the elderly man, taking in his frail appearance. Despite his steady voice, his skin is papery thin and mottled with age spots, stretched over prominent bones like delicate parchment. The way he carries himself speaks of someone who has spent decades bent over workbenches and herb gardens, his spine curved slightly forward as if permanently shaped by his craft. When he introduces himself as Master Fergus, Ronain’s teacher in the art of apothecary, I can’t help but wonder how many more seasons this fragile-looking man has left to pass on his knowledge. Yet there’s a sharp alertness in his pale blue eyes that suggests his mind, at least, hasn’t succumbed to the ravages of time just yet. He rests a gnarled hand on Ronain’s shoulder with surprising steadiness, and I notice how the boy unconsciously leans into the touch, a gesture that speaks of deep respect.

My heart sinks as Mairi’s spine straightens and her eyes flash like a cat spotting a mouse. Fuck. I know that look. “So,” she bounces on her feet like an excited child, “does that mean you can make poison?” The question comes out with all the innocence of asking about sweetmeats, and I have to resist the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth. But before I can intervene, Master Fergus lets out a wheezing chuckle that catches us all by surprise. His pale eyes twinkle with something that might be mischief, not so different from Mairi’s own expression.

“My dear girl,” he says, his weathered voice carrying a note of pride, “an apothecary worth his salt can make anything.” He emphasizes the last word with a slight lift of his bushy eyebrows, and I notice how his gnarled fingers drum thoughtfully against Ronain’s shoulder. “The real question isn’t what we can make, but what we choose to make.” There’s a gentle warning in his words, though it’s wrapped in enough warmth to take any sting out of it. I can’t believe the old man is going all uncle Ben on her. It takes me quite a bit of effort not to roll my eyes.

Mairi’s initial enthusiasm dims slightly as she processes Master Fergus’s words. Her brows draw together in that particular way that means she’s working through something in her mind, her small fingers absently playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. Then, with the relentless directness that only a child can muster, she frowns and asks, “So, do you?” The question hangs in the air, managing to sound both innocent and slightly dangerous at the same time.

Master Fergus’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he slowly sweeps his gaze across the village square, taking in the tidy houses, the fat chickens pecking at seeds, the women carrying water, and the men hauling firewood. “Tell me, young lady,” he says, his voice carrying that particular tone adults use when trying to teach a lesson, “do you see anything here that would warrant such… extreme measures?”

Without missing a beat, Mairi’s arm shoots up, finger pointing directly at the boy by the water barrel who’d insulted her earlier. “Him,” she declares with cheerful certainty, as if she’s answering a simple arithmetic question.

The sudden silence is deafening. Ronain’s mouth drops open in shock, while Eilidh’s hand flies to cover her own. By the water barrel, the boy’s face drains of color as he stumbles backward, treating Mairi’s extended finger like a loaded crossbow. Even Master Fergus seems taken aback, his weathered face flickering between surprise and something that might be reluctant amusement. I feel my own chest tighten with that familiar mix of exasperation and embarrassment that seems to follow Mairi’s more… creative social interactions. Her deadpan expression gives me no hint whether she’s taking the piss or plotting murder.

I take a deep breath, step forward, and—mimicking Eilidh’s earlier actions— give Mairi a gentle but firm rap on the back of her head. “No,” I say firmly, trying to channel the proper maternal disapproval despite the absurdity of the situation. “We do not poison people over a few nasty words.” I pause, fixing her with what I hope is a suitably stern look. “Especially not after you’ve already won the exchange and made them look foolish.”

Mairi rubs the back of her head, her face scrunching up like a disgruntled cat. For a moment, I see that familiar spark in her eyes—the one that usually precedes some clever retort—but then she catches sight of Master Fergus’s raised eyebrow and seems to think better of it. Instead, she lets out a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping in exaggerated defeat. “Fine,” she mutters, though the corners of her mouth betray her, twitching upward despite her best efforts. “I suppose it would be a waste of perfectly good poison anyway.”

The whole exchange, as amusing as it all was, leaves me at a loss for what to do. I didn’t expect to have to explain to anyone why we were passing through the village. There is no way to explain why I and a bunch of children from the city have traveled all the way here. Ronain might not know how far away the nearest city is, but I have to assume Fergus nearly certainly does. We need to somehow hide that we came here for the tree, and give them a plausible reason for our visit.

I wouldn’t mind visiting my cave again either. If we’re going to do magic, I want to make a proper copy of all those runes, regardless of how often I need to rewrite them to get it right.

Master Fergus clears his throat, his eyes crinkling with a mixture of amusement and concern as he watches Mairi rock back and forth on her heels, clearly ready to launch into another potentially problematic conversation. “Perhaps,” he says, his weathered voice carrying a gentle authority, “we might continue this discussion somewhere more comfortable?” He gestures toward a modest timber house just past the village square, its window boxes overflowing with what I recognize as medicinal herbs. “Ronain and I were just about to break for morning tea, and I find conversation flows better over a warm cup and somewhere to rest one’s feet.” The look he gives me is knowing, almost conspiratorial, and I can’t help but feel grateful for his intervention. Standing here in the open, with curious villagers beginning to take notice of our unusual group, feels increasingly uncomfortable.

“That would be most welcome,” I gratefully grab the lifeline that he’s thrown me. Mairi looks momentarily disappointed, then brightens when she sees the house that Fergus is gesturing to.

A few moments later, we’ve vacated the village square, and I sink down onto a creaky wooden stool that surrounds a sturdy wooden table. Everywhere I look, clay cups and earthen pitchers crowd the surfaces like a drunken potter’s forgotten stock. Herbs dangle from the ceiling rafters, their shadows dancing in the dim light, while half-finished remedies and crushed plants litter every available surface. No woman’s touch here - either Fergus never married or his wife’s been in the ground a good long while. The clutter has that distinctly bachelor feel to it, the kind that comes from a man who knows where everything is but couldn’t be bothered to make it look pretty.

As soon as we settle into our seats, Ronain wastes no time in asking the question I’ve been dreading. “So, why did you come back?" he asks, leaning forward eagerly, his elbows propped on the table between us. “Not that we’re not happy to see you,” he adds hastily, catching a warning look from Master Fergus. I feel my heart quicken as I scramble for a plausible explanation, but before I can stammer out what would likely be an unconvincing response, Eilidh’s quiet voice cuts through the tension.

“We’re here because of me, actually,” she says softly, her pale hair catching the dim light that filters through the herb-crowded windows. Her fingers trace invisible patterns on the wooden table as she speaks, a habit I’ve noticed she has when she’s nervous but trying to appear calm. “I… I’ve always wanted to learn about healing herbs. In the city, there’s not much chance for that, and Emma mentioned meeting an apothecary here.” She glances up at Master Fergus through her lashes, her usual timidity making the lie all the more convincing. “I was hoping… maybe… you might be willing to show me a few things?”

I catch Ronain’s eye across the table, and there’s a peculiar mix of emotions playing across his young face. His brows are slightly furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jaw that speaks volumes about something that clearly bothers him. It takes me a moment to understand - in all my time here, I’ve never seen a female apothecary, and thinking back, I’ve never heard mention of one either. The way Ronain’s gaze flicks between Eilidh and his master carries an unspoken question, tinged with what might be territorial concern. Almost in unison, we both turn to Master Fergus, whose weathered face remains carefully neutral, though I notice his fingers have stilled their perpetual tapping against the wooden table. I find myself wondering why, of all the possible excuses, Eilidh chose this one.

Master Fergus’s weathered face slowly transforms, a smile spreading across it like sunrise over distant hills. “Well now,” he says, his voice warm and thoughtful, “it’s not often I meet a young person with the wisdom to seek out knowledge rather than wait for it to find them.” His gnarled fingers resume their tapping on the table, but now it seems more like an expression of pleased contemplation than nervous energy. “In fact, the last apprentice who showed such initiative was your mother, Ronain.”

I blink in surprise, but Eilidh remains perfectly still, only the slight softening around her eyes suggesting she’d anticipated this response. Ronain’s mouth falls open slightly, his previous territorial concern evaporating into confusion. “But you told me my mother was your best student,” he protests weakly.

“Indeed she was,” Master Fergus nods, his pale blue eyes twinkling. “And do you know why? Because she didn’t let the fact that no one had heard of a female apothecary stop her from becoming one.” He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him as he studies Eilidh with newfound interest. “Sometimes the best healers are those who understand what it means to need healing themselves.”

The warmth in the room seems to dim slightly as Master Fergus’s expression clouds over, the earlier twinkle in his eyes fading like sun behind gathering storm clouds. “Not everyone understood that, mind you,” he says softly, his gnarled fingers stilling their dance against the wooden table. “Some folks hold too tightly to the way things have always been done.” There’s a weight to his words that makes my stomach tighten, and I can’t help but notice how Ronain’s shoulders hunch slightly, his eyes fixed on a particularly interesting knot in the wood grain. The conspicuous absence of any mention of Ronain’s parents in the present tense hasn’t escaped me, and I find myself wondering what became of this brilliant, boundary-breaking mother and the father who’s equally absent from the conversation. The question burns on my tongue, but the heavy silence that’s settled over the room warns me against voicing it. Some wounds, are better left undisturbed until their bearers choose to share them. Unsurprisingly, Mairi also seems to understand this, and remains uncharacteristically silent.

The silence stretches for a moment longer before Master Fergus leans forward, his chair groaning in protest. His pale eyes fix on Eilidh with an intensity that seems to cut through all pretense. “Knowing this then,” he says, his voice gentle but weighted with meaning, “do you still wish to learn? It’s not an easy path, lass, and some folks can be…” he pauses, searching for the right words, “less than kind about such things.”

Eilidh meets his gaze with surprising steadiness, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Master Fergus,” she says, her voice carrying its usual softness but underlaid with steel I rarely hear from her, “I doubt learning herb-craft could make my life any more dangerous than it already is.” The truth in her words makes my chest ache. These kids are already outcasts, abandoned by the world, hell, they’re planning to become unsanctioned mages. Knowing which plants will stop a fever will be the least of the shit they’ll have to dodge.

I find myself studying her face. There’s something in the way her fingers have stopped their nervous tracing of the table, in how her shoulders have straightened ever so slightly, that makes me wonder. Perhaps she actually does want to learn this? After all, I’ve never actually asked her what she dreams about, beyond survival.

Master Fergus drums his fingers against the table one final time before laying his palm flat against the worn wood. His eyes, sharp despite their pale cloudiness, study Eilidh for a long moment. I can see the questions forming behind them - about her past, about the dangers she speaks of, about the careful way she holds herself like someone much older than her thirteen years. But he ultimately doesn’t voice any of them.

“Aye,” he finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “Well then, lass, I’ll teach you what I know, and you’ll learn what you’re capable of learning.” He straightens in his chair, and I notice how Ronain unconsciously mirrors the movement. "Though I warn you - I’m not an easy teacher. Every herb, every remedy must be perfect. There’s no room for almost-right when someone’s life is in your hands.” His eyes slide over to Mairi, a mischievous glint sparking in them as he throws her a wink. “Or when you are trying to do the opposite.”

I watch as Eilidh’s fingers resume their pattern-tracing on the table, but this time it seems less nervous and more thoughtful, as if she’s already imagining the precise measurements and careful preparations she’ll need to learn. Her nod is slight but determined, and I find myself wondering if perhaps we’ve stumbled into something more than just a convenient excuse for our presence here.

Ronain steals another glance at Eilidh, his earlier reservations melting away like morning frost in sunlight. His hands are fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve as if he can barely contain his excitement. I remember being his age, how emotions could flip as quickly as a coin in the air, especially around someone pretty. And Eilidh, despite the dirt smudged across her cheeks and her threadbare clothes, has a delicate beauty about her that seems to have finally caught his notice. He keeps opening his mouth as if to speak, then closing it again, clearly wanting to share something but struggling to find the right words. Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he blurts out, “I could show you my notebooks! I’ve drawn pictures of all the important plants, and Master Fergus says my illustrations are getting really good.” His cheeks flush slightly at this self-praise, but his eyes remain hopeful, seeking approval from both his master and his potential new study companion.

My gaze bounces from Ronain’s eager face to Eilidh’s downturned one, and the corner of my mouth twitches upward. Eilidh’s cheeks have taken on a rosy tint as she traces the wood grain with renewed intensity, pointedly not meeting anyone’s eyes. Behind her shoulder, Mairi’s lips curl into that familiar cat-who-got-the-cream smile, her eyes dancing with the promise of future teasing.