Lazy tendrils of smoke wafted in the air, filling the room with a woody aroma. The bundled herbs with their charred ends were devoured by the worming embers. Benold was not entirely convinced that this was not all mumbo jumbo. The man across from him sat cross legged on a bear pelt, hands out as if entreating some unseen entity. Benold sought answers, but had he really sunk to this?

Benold coughed into his hand politely as a prompt for the wise man to say something. When silence followed, Benold tried again, wondering if his socially acceptable urging was simply not heard. The wise man opened his eyes and tilted his head. Benold smiled hopefully, but the wise man just closed his eyes with renewed resolve, taking in a deep breath and tilting his head back.

Benold twiddled his thumbs until he became aware of his own indiscretion. Fidgeting was unbecoming! He quickly placed his hands flat on his thighs. "Well?"

"Wisdom comes to those who ask. You said you sought guidance, but you have not asked me the question that burns upon your heart," the man said in a droning yet high voice.

Muscles by Benold's eye twitched. He huffed lightly as he fought to maintain composure. "Alright. Fine. Then I will ask. Can you help me locate Trosyn Nytt?"

Again the wise man drew in a deep breath, holding the incense filled air in his chest before expelling it with a slight whistle. Benold's hands dug into his breeches, concerned over the filth accruing on his stately attire. Why couldn't the seer live in a nice wood panelled house instead of this ramshackle hut with its dirt floor?

"She is beyond your reach."

"She's not... dead?" The word fell from his lips with hesitance.

"No." The wise man's face became more wrinkled, as if that were humanly possible, as his eyebrows drew together. "I see a purification of water and fire. The skies wept, the sea roiled, and the flames danced down the mountain paths. The Horned One was tainted by the evil eye - and should he be freed he would spread like a disease. The one you seek, is not one but two - and together they have been pushed past the boundaries, beyond the Cradle of Fire. Beyond where the spirits can see." The seer took in another deep breath and let it out. "I can divine no more on this matter. The spirits are unsettled and have ended their communication."

Benold's frown deepened, scowling as if he could nag the spirits to toughen up and tell him more. The wise man remained placid and silent, observing Benold with his sunken eyes. "I do not suppose the spirits would draw me a map."

"No," was the man's dry response.

"Ah." Benold waved a hand in front of his face, coughing genuinely this time from too much smoke. "Well, here's the payment you requested." Benold held out a small sachet. "Apparently, they prefer partial shade."

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"It was a waste of time." Benold sipped his mulled wine with a frown. The dainty silver vessel he drank out of had such a small handle, his pinky could find no purchase and thus stuck out. "Wisdom shouldn't always be hidden behind cryptic gobbledegook. But that's all I received. At least he spoke Siperian."

These remarks were addressed to Mrs. Gray, whose hair matched her name. As far as Benold was concerned, she was probably born old. But it didn't slow her down as she went about the room, smartly tidying. She paused in her efforts to turn and bow to Benold. "Will you soon be leaving us again, sir?"

"Hm? No. Perhaps." Benold set down his refreshment and waved his hand. Mrs. Gray stood at attention until he made a silent gesture for her to continue her work. Moments after Mrs. Gray resumed dusting, Benold continued. "Obviously I know she isn't here in these islands. I searched high and low. No sign of her on the mainland, either. At least not in Ayokonia. I don't have the reach necessary to check the other kingdoms." Once again, Mrs. Gray interrupted her work to turn and face Benold, hands primly against her apron. "So telling me she is beyond my reach is stating the obvious. The cradle of fire... did he mean that metaphorically do you suppose?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Mrs. Gray responded in a carefully crafted tone appropriate to her station.

"There was a storm and an eruption the last night she was seen. But I refuse to believe she died," Benold slammed his hand down on the table. It shuddered under the force and he quickly straightened up, forgetting that the table, like most of his home, was in dire need of repairs.

"Right you are, sir," Mrs. Gray said tiredly. He glanced over at her, her matronly figure outlined against the new red drapes. The whole parlour was bedecked in tapestries and drapes, in a vain attempt at hiding the fire damage and ongoing repairs. Benold didn't want to see it. He didn't want to think about it. All he wanted was to solve the puzzle which plagued him. "If I may speak plainly, sir?"

Benold inclined his head to his dutiful housekeeper. "Please, do, Mrs. Gray."

"With only one maid left in your employ, I have a lot of work to do. You returned early and I still have the carpenters to clean up after. It is not my job to be your sounding board as well."

Benold dipped his chin in indignation. He was thinking better of granting her permission to speak. Out of the corner of his eyes, scorch marks seemed to be clawing out from behind their fabric shields. The whole room became tiresome to him. "Ahem. Well. Yes," Benold stammered. He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. "I'll be in my library. If you would, Mrs. Gray, have, ah, Cora meet me there."

"You mean Caorain, sir?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Benold waved his hand as if swatting at a fly.

"Alright sir, I will tell your wife you request her presence."

"Don't call her that," Benold said peevishly.

"What else am I to call her, sir?"

"I don't know." Benold threw up his hands in exasperation. Recalling how a master ought to behave in the presence of the help, he quickly set his hands to his side. "Her name is sufficient. I'm still learning the customs of these people. And when we exchanged gifts at our last diplomatic meeting, I did not anticipate that I'd be given a whole woman."

"As opposed to half a woman, sir?" Benold stared hard at Mrs. Gray. She cleared her throat as her smile dropped off of her face. His housekeeper bobbed her head and curtsied. "I will go fetch Caorain for you."

"See that you do."

What was a library without shelves and shelves of books? Benold asked himself this every time he entered the ruined repertoire of knowledge. New shelves had been hastily built to cover the sooty walls, but the empty slats did little to erase the reminder of the fire. Benold sat at his desk where a map of the island lay open beside plans for rejuvenating the settlement of New Karebryn.

It wasn't long before he heard the creak of a door, and Benold looked up to see the dark haired maiden enter and bow to him. Maiden she was, for he had no interest in conjugating his supposed union with a woman who did not even speak the same language as him. "Ah. Ca... came at last." Already he'd forgotten her name again, but didn't wish to offend her by calling her something else. Benold stood up again, plucking one of the few books that survived the flagration.

Caorain hitched up her long skirt and approached. The light caught the copper torc on her neck as she looked up at Benold inquisitively. She said something in her native language, but then tagged on, "I am come."

Benold pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have come." She looked somewhat confused and so Benold repeated himself until she corrected herself. Satisfied with this, Benold pulled a chair out beside him, and gestured for her to sit. He placed the book in front of her once he did so, and launched into another language lesson with very little preamble.

Memories swelled in Benold's already crowded thoughts. But instead of bringing him joy, they only reminded him of what he lost. As such, he frequently lost his temper with his charge. He was determined not to make the same mistakes with Caorain that he had with his previous ward.

"Chay, I do not good?" Caorain tilted her head, stringing the words together with some difficulty.

"Hm?" Benold realised he'd been scowling at her and his face softened. "You have done well enough. Well. Not good. Well. Although, if you want to say 'not well' you can say 'poor' or 'poorly'," Benold did his best to explain. He glanced down at Caorain's bewildered, blue-green eyes. That was a feature he had noticed prevalence of among the clans of Klogvan island. Plenty of them had red hair and green eyes. Benold was relieved, however, that Caorain was a brunette. He hated to think of her as a substitution.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Caorain looked at the book before her, studying the words closely as she sounded out them out. When she read a sentence containing fire, Benold's thoughts wandered again to the seer's message. He huffed with discontent, which caused Caorain to stop and look up at him with a frown.

"Continue. You're fine," Benold reassured impatiently. Before Caorain could continue the tortuously slow reading, Benold interrupted her. "Actually. Fire." He pointed at the word fire. He then pointed to a nearby lamp. "Fire." He made gestures with his fingers trying to emulate the flickering of the flame. "Fire."

"Fire?" Caorain repeated, making the same gesture. She then said something in whatever gibberish her people spoke. "Fire." She thought carefully. "Hot?"

Benold clapped once to show his approval. "Yes! Hot." Benold then squinted. "Cradle of fire... hmm... bed. We learned bed, right?" Benold asked, laying his hands together to form a pillow and tilted his head against it, trying to communicate a sleep.

Caorain mimicked his gesture. "Bed!" She then tilted her head and looked at the book. There was no mention of beds on this page.

"Fire bed. Um. Cradle... hmmm..." Benold shook his head. "This is pointless. You can't help me any more than that spirit speaker!" Benold said with frustration, pounding his fist on the table. Caorain winced, and some soot dropped down from the ceiling onto his maps. Benold hung his head. "Sorry."

Caorain looked at Benold, eyes wide with alarm. But then she frowned, and put her hand over Benold's. "Sorry, too."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. It's just this whole situation. I need answers, and no one will give them to me straight." Benold sighed and swept the soot away as best he could. "Cradle of fire." He stood up straight and circled his arms close to his chest, as if holding and rocking an infant. Caorain laughed at this gesture, which did little to improve Benold's mood. He immediately stopped. "Baby b-"

Caorain immediately stood up and leaned across the desk, laying a kiss on Benold's lips. Benold backed away, his face flushed. "That's not what I..." Caorain frowned, eyebrows drawn together with dismay and confusion.

"Baby? No?"

Benold shook his head and sighed. "No."

Caorain grumbled and sat back down. Benold rubbed his face, digging his nails into his skin. With another heavy sigh, he looked at Caorain, then back to the map. "Cradle of fire." Benold decided to try again, this time remaining out of Caorain's reach, deciding to hold an empty chair in front of him just in case. "Baby bed."

"Baby bed?" Caorain muttered the words back at him, bemused.

"Yes. Cradle. Baby bed. Cradle. Cradle of fire. Do you know where the cradle of fire... why am I asking? You don't understand me!"

Caorain turned away from him quickly. Silence stretched between them until Caorain faced Benold once again, nostrils flared and lips taught. "I understand well enough." Caorain echoed the phrase he had used earlier. "I speak poorly." Caorain looked back at the map and pointed at an archipelago. "Crethal Thane," she declared. "Fire mountain. Many spirits. Where spirits end," Caorain explained as best she could with her limited vocabulary.

"Crethal Thane?" Benold looked back at the islands. "I've been there! That's where I last saw Trosyn. Wait. Are you sure?" Caorain nodded, but there was an air of defiance in her he was not keen about. "Well... um... thank you. You've been... helpful."

Without being dismissed, Caorain walked around the table and left, her chin high and her air less than gracious. Benold rubbed his mouth and chin as he watched her go, bewildered as to her sudden change in disposition towards him. Surely she was not angry over a little misunderstanding.

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"It's hardly worth the risk. There's nothing to be gained going back there. No, no, you should continue developing the colony. And continue speculating in the locomotive caravan. And silver."

Benold sat on a three legged stool with his fingers steepled together, a look of deep contemplation on his square face. The advice of his long standing but not-so-trusted friend, Karm Sintol, rattled around in his preoccupied mind. "The natives here will trade plenty for obsidian and livestock."

Sintol rose and walked over to the bars that divided them, wrapping his hands about the iron cylinders. "But what do they really have to offer? Primitives! They'd offer a pittance in return! The mainland is where the money is, then you can funnel your profits into growing New Karebryn."

"They offer knowledge, land, and safety. The colony is doing much better when we actually negotiate instead of strong arm the locals," Benold said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Well I'm glad for you and your colony, governor. So... when will you get me out of this stinking pit?" Sintol asked, looking hopefully up at Benold. Slightly bewildered, Benold glanced around the dungeon. He straightened up and sniffed as a means of expression, but then regretted it as the stagnant air and Sintol's body odour permeated his sensitive nostrils.

"You should be more thankful you weren't extradited to Ayokonia. You have the whole dungeon to yourself, and I make sure it is kept much cleaner than Commander Slacht did."

"It's still a dungeon. I could serve you a LOT better back on the streets."

"I'm still mad that you tried to sacrifice my consort for the empty promise of immortality. So you can stay and stew a while longer."

"What? I didn't do it! It was those Unseelie people who tried to do that! They pulled a fast one on me, as I told you over and over!" Sintol's voice bubbled with exasperation.

Benold crossed his arms resolutely. "You were complicit. You knew I was against the whole idea of working with them and went behind my back! And we nearly lost everything."

Sintol sighed, letting go of the bars and walking over to the lumpy bundle of straw that served as a bed. "We could have been set for more than a lifetime if not for your cold feet."

Benold threw out his arms, incredulous. "Almost the entire colony was wiped out by quakes and tidal waves. Surely you don't think it was a coincidence that happened just as that barbaric ritual failed?"

"It failed because you interrupted it! And all for a woman," Sintol accused, his nose wrinkling. He then softened his expression. "So... how goes the hunt for Trosyn? I'd hate to think the reason we gave up immortality also slipped through your fingers."

Benold welcomed the change of topic, but discussing Trosyn with Sintol chafed at him. Nevertheless, when he recollected how few people he could confide in, he found his resolve crumble. "I'm not sure."

Benold relayed the puzzling answer he received from the wise man on the far side of the island. The two men sat in silence for a while. After teasing out possible meanings, Sintol shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you ought to cut your losses and focus on New Karebryn. As he said, she's beyond the spirits' reach, so what more can you do?"

Following a snort, a wry smile twisted up the corner of Benold's mouth. "She may be out of the reach of the spirits, but not out of mine." Benold straightened up. "Which is why I have a plan. And my next step will be to go back to the Forbidden Isles. I am certain Trosyn somehow made it out beyond them. And I will find her."

"I hate to bring this up, but who will be governor in your absence?"

"I'll deputise someone to act as interim Governor until I return. I have all of my wishes and mandates written out."

"But who? Commander Slacht was reposted, and your cousin is in jail. There's no one else you can trust."

"Who other than the Lienog liaison?"

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"How long will you be gone this time, sir?" Benold sat in his office behind a new desk, with Mrs. Gray, erect and proper as if she was born with a curtain rod up her back, standing before him.

"About a month, Mrs. Gray," Benold said vaguely. "Don't worry, I've already made sure you will have access to the funds you need to keep my estate running. But I also expect you will help train Caorain to assist in..."

"Sir. I must object," Mrs. Gray blurted out, her peaked eyebrows rising high upon her head.

"Object? Object to what?"

Mrs. Gray stepped forward, curtsying before stating her objection. "I am NOT a governess nor a nanny. It is not my job to teach Caorain anything," Mrs. Gray said with a haughty sniff.

"Caorain is not a child! She's my..." Benold fumbled here. He still refused to call her his wife. "She's your..." Benold also saw the danger in calling her mistress of the estate. The sad truth was, Benold had no idea what to do with the unfortunate girl.

"She might as well be a child. She speaks like one, and hardly knows anything about running a household. She tries, bless her, but she nearly burnt the house down trying to use the stove. Why, she left it open and tried to cook meat in the fire directly." Mrs. Gray frowned gravely. "And it's worse when you are away. She follows me everywhere."

"Well what do you expect me to do? I can't return her," Benold said, trying to keep hold of his patience. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Gray handing in her notice as well.

"Then take her with you," Mrs. Gray suggested.

"Take her with me!?" Benold made a strangled, scandalised sound deep in his throat as he jerked his chin back. He then rose to his full height. "Travel with a woman? Now see here, Mrs. Gray!" Benold objected, lifting a finger in the air. "That would be highly improper."

"She's your wife. How is that improper?"

"She is not. I... at least not in any way that matters." Benold said, glancing off to the side as he flicked some lint from his shoulder.

"Sir. If I may speak plainly, I feel for the girl. She probably doesn't know where she fits into this life," Mrs. Gray's stern affectation was momentarily softened, but it was a short lived disturbance from her stony countenance. "But I don't have the patience or time to teach her a new language, new customs, and how to manage a household. She needs a role. At least bring her with you and let her feel useful in some way, even if you busy her with simple tasks. Continue her lessons abroad."

With half lidded eyes and a stiff neck, Benold regarded Mrs. Gray severely. She had been a stalwart ally in helping manage his household, but he reflected since the fire she had been far more outspoken. And it was beginning to grate on his nerves. The worst part was that she had a point, one which he did not wish to face. "I will take your advice under consideration."