Meredith wandered miserably through the village of Drelwood. The late afternoon had grown dark, and the sky looked rife with a summer storm, which threatened to burst forth at any moment. She had been lucky enough to find the Drelwood market without much issue, but was having difficulties finding her way back through its maze of tiny, crowded alleyways. All the streets looked the same, yet nothing seemed familiar. Meredith cursed that fat old priest under her breath for sending her off while he and Dienna discussed their situation. Meredith was worried sick about Gran and Daela, and she hated having to wait until she returned from her errand to hear what news the priest had heard from the Godskeep. Dienna, of course, would share the details of their discussion the moment Meredith returned to the chapel, but the gods knew how long that would be at the rate she was going.
She had somehow managed to wander into the less fortunate side of town, judging by the small, rundown houses she was walking past, and though it was easy enough to see the chapel looming over her from where it sat on its hill, Meredith could not seem to find any roads that led directly to it. She found herself winding instead through small alleys around the hill’s eastern side, never seeming to rise any higher or get any closer to the chapel. Her arms were getting tired too; she was carrying a sack full of flour and a bag of vegetables, requested at Flavus’ behest. As she was rounding the corner of an alley she thought for sure would take her closer to the chapel, she walked right into a man walking the opposite direction, and dropped the bag of vegetables.
“Gods!” Meredith cursed in frustration. She bent down to recover the fallen potatoes and leeks before they became spoiled by the dirty street. The man she had walked into grunted loudly in annoyance, but otherwise paid her no heed; Meredith saw his bent, ragged form disappear behind the corner she had just come around, and she sighed.
“At least you had the sense to keep hold of the flour,” a low voice called out.
Meredith looked up. Down the street, some distance away, stood another man, this one tall, thin, and foreboding, watching her as she picked up her fallen groceries. His skin was exceptionally dark, a bluish black that was barely differentiated from the black robes he wore. They were not the robes of a priest or an acolyte, but those of a wizard—tightly fitted around the arms and the torso, but flowing loosely from the waist to stop just before hitting the ground. Over this black garment, he wore a rough-spun, gray woolen vest that stopped at his knees, and a worn leather rucksack. He stood perfectly straight, his bald head glistening slightly in the humidity, one arm resting on a plain wooden staff.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Meredith replied uncertainly as she stood and gathered the sacks in her arms.
One potato had managed to roll nearly to the wizard's booted feet when it had fallen, passing through a muddy puddle as it went. He bent and plucked it from the ground with one large, long-fingered hand, and brought it level with his face. He spoke a soft, spidery word, and the potato started to glow with a diffused light. Meredith watched, mystified, as the light faded, leaving behind a perfectly clean-looking spud. The wizard walked toward her in long, measured strides, and presented the pristine potato to her.
“Here,” he said. His voice was nearly monotonous, “We would not want this to go to waste.” He looked pointedly to the sad, crumbling houses on either side of the street.
Meredith took the potato almost reverently and examined it. It seemed cleaner even than when she had picked it out from the farmer's cart earlier that afternoon.
“Thank you,” she replied with hesitation. Truthfully, Meredith had always been curious about magic, no matter what the Way taught about it, and was inwardly delighted to finally be meeting a proper wizard, even if the circumstances were not ideal. Her arms were tired from carrying the sacks, her legs were tired from wandering Drelwood, and this wizard seemed particularly intimidating silhouetted against the storm-laced sky.
“You're welcome, young acolyte,” he replied, with the trace of a smile on his lips. Meredith blushed. This wizard was attractive, yet there was something disconcerting in his looks. His smile did not quite reach his deep brown eyes, which seemed dull and cold despite all other signs of mirth. Meredith wondered if his smile were genuine, or if he were mocking her somehow.
“If you will excuse me,” he bowed, and seemed about to go on his way.
“Wait,” Meredith took a step toward him. “My name is Meredith. I come from the Godskeep.”
The wizard turned back to her and nodded, “Yes, I should have thought as much, with you being dressed as an acolyte. My name is Endrick, and I come from the Repository.” His voice was flat, though not quite sarcastic.
Meredith smiled in spite of herself, “I should have thought as much, with you being dressed as a wizard.” Then her smiled faded, “I was wondering if you had heard any news about the Godskeep,.”
“No, should I have?”
His words were like a slap to the face. Meredith suddenly felt small, hurt—alone with a huge burden on her shoulders.
“Yes,” she replied. She contemplated for a moment, and then set down her sacks of groceries. In the middle of the darkening street, in hushed, exhausted tones, she related everything to the wizard: Lady Artima’s presence at the Godskeep, her claim to be carrying the child of Dartos himself, how she had used ogres and elves to overtake the Godskeep, and how Meredith and Dienna had barely escaped, while their families and hundreds of the Faithful were presumably still imprisoned there. Endrick listened intently, never interrupting her as she told her story, his dark eyes piercing yet impassive. When Meredith was finished, he was silent still, and she wondered briefly if all wizards were this difficult to read.
“Artima,” he said finally, pronouncing the name slowly, as if testing it out on his tongue. “She has been a thorn in the side of the Repository for a long while.” He turned back to Meredith, “This is dire news, indeed. I am sorry to hear about your family. I hope the best for them.”
Meredith nodded gratefully, “Thank you.” She paused for a moment, considering, “Do you know much about her? About Artima?”
He nodded, “She is a known defector who betrayed the Repository. She has been on the run from us for well over a decade. The last I heard was that she was living in exile near Astquary.” He frowned, “She is powerful. The Repository has tried to keep tabs on her, but she has been quiet for a long time.”
“Well, she's not quiet anymore,” Meredith replied bitterly. She sighed and picked up her sacks of groceries, “I appreciate the information, Endrick, but I should be on my way back to the chapel. It's getting late.” She started to walk away.
“Not that way,” Endrick called after her.
Meredith turned back to face him, “Oh?”
“That way does not lead to the chapel,” He replied simply. “I know this town can be confusing. I was frequently lost myself when I first arrived, before the local innkeeper showed me the way. Allow me to walk you back, and I can help you with your bags.”
Meredith bit her lip, contemplating. Her arms were awfully strained and she clearly had no idea how to get back to the chapel on her own. Deciding she would ultimately be better off for the help, she nodded, and handed over one of the sacks to Endrick, who began to lead her back down the street. At first, Meredith tried to keep her distance, following a few feet behind, but most of the streets of Drelwood were quite crowded, and Meredith was forced to walk closer to him to avoid running into the townsfolk. Before long, the two were walking side by side.
They said little on their journey, which Meredith appreciated, all things considered. She was still not sure if she should have told Endrick everything about Artima and the Godskeep, and telling the tale had left her emotionally drained.
When they were about halfway to the top of the hill, it began to rain in earnest. Endrick covered his head in the cowl of his robes, and Meredith adjusted the scarf she wore in her hair so that it now covered most of her head. They heard the rumble of thunder in the distance, menacing and growing nearer.
They came at last to the top of the hill, and to the chapel. Endrick held the gate in the wrought iron fence open for her, but did not come into the chapel’s yard himself.
“This is where I will leave you,” he said over the din of the storm. His face was barely visible in the shadow of his soaking wet hood.
Meredith nodded, “Thank you for your help,” she replied hurriedly. She didn’t want to stay out in the rain a minute longer than she had to. “Gods blessings to you.” She bowed her head and turned to scamper up the yard to the chapel door, sighing in relief as she came under the chapel’s awning. She was about to open the door when, all at once, she felt a strange sensation from toe to head—as if a warm wind were swirling tightly around her. When it stopped, she was puzzled, then alarmed. She looked out into the rain, hoping to see the wizard, but she could not make out his form through the deluge.
“Did he,” Meredith frowned, alarmed, “cast a spell on me?”
The thunder crashed overhead, driving Meredith inside the chapel without any further hesitation. As she made her way to the back of the chapel, she gradually noticed that neither the sacks she carried nor their contents were wet. Then, as she set the groceries down in the small basement kitchen that Flavus had shown her before sending her on the errand, Meredith noticed that she herself was not wet either. She touched her face, her hair, her clothes—all dry as bone. She thought of the wizard Endrick, cleaning the potato that had landed at his feet, and blushed at the realization that he had performed the same spell on her.
As soon as the two were reunited, Dienna related Flavus' news to Meredith. Such vague tidings were not what Meredith had hoped to hear, but perhaps she should have expected this. It had only been a few days since the events at the Godskeep, and news can only travel as fast as a messenger can ride. She tried to put her worries out of mind, and rather than dwell on her family's plight, Meredith told Dienna about what had happened on her way back from the market. Dienna had not been impressed.
“You spoke to a wizard,” Dienna had scolded, trying to keep her voice down. The two had found some time alone before dinner to discuss their plans, sitting in the cramped sleeping quarters in the basement of the chapel. Both women were in a foul mood. “After what just happened to the Godskeep?”
Meredith tried to pacify her, “Yes, I know, I know. But who better to ask about a sorceress than another magic-user?”
“They can’t be trusted,” Dienna responded darkly. She sat on her bed. Her jaw was tight and her eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness.
“But he could help us!” Meredith hissed emphatically. “You said it yourself: we can’t just sit around here waiting for the King to intervene. Who knows how long that could take!”
“I agree,” Dienna returned under her breath, “We can’t stay here waiting for someone else to take action, but that doesn’t mean we have to seek the help of wizards.”
“Why not?” Meredith said, her own anger surfacing.
Dienna scowled, “You know why not. They do not follow the Way. And how convenient for you to run in to another wizard right after what Artima's done. He could be working for her, for all we know. Maybe he's a rogue wizard too.”
“It is a bit coincidental,” Meredith admitted. She thought of the spell he had cast on her, “And I don’t trust him, but if we’re going to take back the Godskeep before the King does we will need magical help.”
“Perhaps we really should just wait for the King to take care of it,” Dienna said bitterly.
Now Meredith sighed, “No, come on Dee,” she said soothingly. “We’ll think of something. There has to be something we can do.”
Dienna was about to respond when there came a knock at the door. It was Flavus’ servant woman Gladdy, who announced that supper was ready.
After a cheerless supper in the dingy dining hall, Flavus invited them to attend the evening service. Though tired and distraught, they could hardly decline, and so were forced to sit through Flavus’ sermon on the importance of fluidity, which he said was a divine attribute favored by his goddess, Seltos. The few congregates in attendance, perhaps some twenty people, mostly older women, paid apt enough attention, though occasionally Meredith saw a stifled yawn. Dienna seemed lost in thought. She sat next to Meredith, her hands folded in her lap, staring ahead with a far-off look on her face.
For Meredith’s part, she sat through the entire service in agony, hardly mumbling a response. Her mind was occupied entirely with thoughts of her family. She kept imagining horrible scenarios in her mind about what was happening to them—torture, magical curses, unholy rituals, imprisonment—and had to restrain the tears that threatened to fall. She told herself she must stop thinking about it, but, inevitably, her mind would wander again to images of the Godskeep, now dark and perilous in her mind’s eye, a home to ogres who delighted at beating and poking her poor Gran with their sharp claws, and of dark elves who made passes at Daela and twisted her arm until she would cry out in pain…
“Meredith?”
She started. Dienna was trying to get her attention.
“The service is over now,” she said evenly, still staring ahead.
“Oh, right,” she responded. Without another word, the girls stood and headed for their room.
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