“Where do you live, Hag,” demanded Kaylan while keeping her grip on the old woman’s arm and her sword tip at the woman’s waist.

The woman smiled genteelly, “You may call me Vatia and mine is the weaver’s home in that gray stone building just over there.”  She pointed to a squat one story stone construction that was four buildings over from the Pale Moon & Ale situated close to the end of the main street and backed up to the edge of the forest.

Kaylan scoffed at her with disgust and said, “I’ll call you whatever I want, Hag.  You’ll do better for yourself and your friends if you keep quiet until we get inside.”  Kaylan did not like to take lives unnecessarily, however, had it not been for this strange old woman’s intervention, Kaylan would have been forced to end that boy’s life.  Things had already not gone as well as she had hoped this evening.  She did not relish the idea of trading one life lost for another.

Vatia stepped onto the porch of the weaver’s shop and opened the door to reveal a loom on the left and numerous bolts of fabric on the right.  Even in the dim light of a single lantern hanging on the wall Kaylan could see the fabrics were a myriad of colors and textures.  There were smooth brilliant reds and silky vibrant blues.  There was a rough textured cream fabric that appeared to have horse hair woven into it.  There was also a rich green that had bright yellow threads interlaced throughout.  The weaving was undeniably extraordinary, each bolt distinctly different from any other.  Kaylan stared at the many bolts that were stacked one against the next all along the wall.  She mentally acknowledged the price these fabrics would fetch at the Port and did not understand why such magnificent materials would be left unused or unsold. 

She slowly examined the rest of the house. This front room was obviously the work room.  Vatia gestured for Kaylan to follow her to the rear of the home.  There was a smaller alcove just off the hallway from the work room.  It contained nothing more than a simple sleeping pallet with no linens and a chamber pot at the south end of the pallet.  Kaylan followed Vatia to the next room which turned out to be the kitchen and dining area.  There was a round table that was only large enough for a single plate and maybe a mug.  There was one wooden chair next to the table.  The fireplace held a kettle hook upon which Vatia hung a pot of water.  She stoked the fire to heat the water as well as the room.  The outside chill had settled on the house during the time they had been at the inn. 

Vatia motioned Kaylan to the chair next to the round table that was close to the fireplace.  “Would you care for some wine Madam?” asked Vatia politely.  Without waiting for an answer she pulled two mugs from the mantle and filled each with wine.  She handed one of the mugs to Kaylan then sat on a short wood stool directly in front of the hearth.  The fire was warm but not suffocating. 

Kaylan brought the rim of the mug to her nose and breathed deeply the sweet fragrance of the wine.  It’s the sweet pale peach grape wine that is the signature flavor of this territory - very potent if you are unaccustomed to it. I guess I won’t be drinking much tonight, she thought glumly.  ‘I know of what you seek,’ she had said.  How could she know what I seek when I said nothing to provide specifics of my quest?  Kaylan resisted the urge to ask the questions in her mind for she was confident the answers would come with time.  Based on what Kaylan had already seen of this weaver’s home and the puzzlement of her statement, Kaylan surmised this very bizarre old hag held many mysteries which, by their very nature, required a particular level of caution.  Kaylan did not want to risk losing an opportunity for information by asking the wrong questions at the wrong time or in the wrong manner.

Kaylan watched Vatia with a severe intensity that did not seem to have any effect on the old woman at all.  She simply sat on her stool in solemn submission.  Kaylan cocked her head to one side and asked, “You are a weaver?”

Vatia smiled benignly but said nothing for several minutes.  Her eyes seemed to twinkle brightly in the firelight as she sat mutely. Then, “I am a weaver of fabrics and textiles – not tales, if that is what you are really asking.”  She maintained her poise as Kaylan pondered over her remark.

“I suppose that is exactly what I was asking,” she finally replied somewhat perturbed.  This woman, whom Kaylan had never met until tonight, had a mysteriously perceptive ability to see to the root of things.  Kaylan kept an eye on Vatia as she raised her cup to her lips.  She sipped a bit of the wine then set the mug on the table in front of her.  She saw Vatia grin before she too sipped wine from her own mug.

Kaylan was disconcerted by this woman’s self-assuredness but also by her mysterious way of seemingly knowing what Kaylan was thinking.  “What is it that you know?” Kaylan finally asked her pointedly.  If she already recognized what Kaylan wanted then why the need for the cat and mouse word chase?

Vatia leaned toward Kaylan to examine her more closely.  Her narrowed gaze seemed to scrutinize the Marshall unrelentingly while her eyes felt, to Kaylan, as if Vatia were boring into her soul.  Then she shook her head as if to answer “No” to some unspoken question.  Kaylan thought it all to be quite perplexing if not unsettling.  Vatia grinned, “I know of many things, Madam Marshall.  What is it that you wish me to tell you?” she responded with no more gravel in her voice than if she had been an eighteen year old maiden.  “I know of what you seek.”

Kaylan just stared at her confused by her questions as well as the sudden change in her voice.

“I know of what you seek,” she said again.

Kaylan sighed, “Yes, so you said…. multiple times.  Yet you have not told me what exactly it is that you know.”

“You do not wish to know how I know this?” asked Vatia in a suggestive manner.

Kaylan contemplated the woman’s words before she answered.  She was beginning to realize this weaver was not necessarily in her right mind and there may be more to her question than what was evident on the surface.  It was up to Kaylan to respond in such a manner that would not only answer the question but also open the conversation for what she really wanted to know as well as reduce the possibility of ending the conversation prematurely.

Kaylan took a deep breath then answered, “There are a great many things I do not wish to know but there are a greater number of things I need to know.”  She hoped this would help Vatia open up to her.  Vatia may be an elder in this village but Kaylan was still Marshall which seemed to create barriers where she did not want or need them.

“Ah, you are wise to realize that there are things you do not wish to know.  Admitting this to another is evidence of your wisdom.  But are you wise enough to know which things are the right things to not know and which things you should know?”  The old woman almost sang as she spoke.  Her words flowed from her as honey flows from the bell.  She’s being cryptic but why? Is this her way always or is it just because I am the one to whom she is speaking?  If I keep her talking, at least, there is still hope she will tell me about Haedis.  But there is also a chance that she knows nothing.  That is the gamble, is it not?  So keep her talking, Kaylan.  It was not difficult to realize the conversation was going to require more effort than Kaylan had first anticipated.  She took another deep breath and allowed it out slowly before she responded.

“One does not know if the information they receive is what they want, need, or should know. It is, at the time, just information until such time as it can be utilized and applied for good or ill depending on the person and the situation.  It is also up to the individual providing the information to determine whether they believe it to be of possible benefit to the one receiving it.  If the provider believes the recipient may use the information for ill then the provider may not wish to divulge such information,” Kaylan gave Vatia a level stare that was not intended to be threatening but more of an understanding.  She’s not the only one that can speak cryptically.  Vatia nodded her head in agreement but said nothing for several minutes. 

When she did respond she raised her eyes to Kaylan’s and the understanding was there, “You seek that which you believe will make others see you the same as you think you see yourself.  Searching for the details of an individual’s exploits, especially those of an individual that has been purged from your family history must be terribly challenging.  Do you seek these details to simply complete your family’s chronicles or is there a deeper truth to your purpose? Is your ‘purpose’ the true object for which you seek? I think, what you truly seek is who you truly are.” Vatia sighed with a quiet resignation.  She asked again quietly, “What is it that you wish to know Madam?”  Kaylan thought again about the words this old hag spoke.  What other ‘purpose’ would I have other than to find the dagger so I can prove that I have the right to be the King’s Marshall?  The woman leaned forward slowly then sat back on her stool waiting for Kaylan’s response.

Kaylan held her sword, point toward the ceiling, with the flat of the blade directly in front of her nose.  She reversed the sword’s position dramatically so the tip was now digging into the wood floor and she was able to rest her hand on the hilt.  A lighthearted laugh came from Vatia.  Kaylan knew it was irrational but the sound grated on her nerves.  For whatever reason, this old woman had no fear of Kaylan, which also seemed irrational – or at least unwise on her part.  It was highly unlikely that anyone had prior knowledge of Kaylan’s quest since she had not felt it necessary to discuss it with anyone previously.  So then, how is it this woman – in the middle of the mountains – knows specifically what I need?  Even Tramadon knows very few details, if any, of my reasons for coming here.

Vatia could see she had caused Kaylan distress.  In an attempt to reduce Kaylan’s anxieties, Vatia explained, “I am vastly older than I appear.”  She smiled broadly as if in response to some unspoken joke.  Kaylan wondered how much older she could be when she already looked to be close to ninety if not older.  “Although I am not originally from Shackles, I have lived in these mountains for many years and have been part of Shackles history far longer than most of its current residents.  I have outlived its first families and have the advantage of an extraordinary memory.  I have traveled far and wide throughout this kingdom and beyond and my memory has traveled with me.”  Vatia placed her mug on the hearth, folded her hands in her lap and glanced at Kaylan before she fixed her eyes on the folds of her skirt.  When Kaylan said nothing Vatia continued, “I have a few – unique – gifts.  One of which is, as I mentioned, my memory.  Legends and tales of old, long forgotten by most, rest dormant in my head until such time as they are desired to be retold.  Then they surface to reveal themselves as if they had just happened yesterday.” 

Kaylan sucked in her breath.  “You are a Tale Weaver then!” exclaimed an amazed Kaylan.  Vatia tittered at the assertion but slowly shook her head, no.

“Alas, my dear, I am not.  Having a gift to recall other people’s stories is one thing.  Being a Tale Weaver is something different entirely.  It is rumored they were descended from the Dragon Gods themselves.  I am hardly that,” she smiled benignly at the notion.